Trotsky, I need you.

Lately I have been writing about things that I do not understand, people whom I have never met and characters whose lives I do not understand, but merely make assumptions about, based on my pathetic knowledge from mainstream culture and random thrown together articles that I have read throughout my equally pathetic life. Of course, this is a clear indication that I indeed do find my own surrounding to be too uneventful to ever attempt to record and immortalize. Everyone around me seems indefatigable...and well, if I didn't have to get out of bed, I would not.

I am actually very proud of one fact, and that is that I have finally pulled the plug on the dead-end part-time, soul-sucking, relentless job. I realized that sitting on the reeking bus, with "Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now" set to "repeat" on my ipod, with unfocused eyes, curled up in a semi-fetal position in the seat was not exactly a fitting recurrent ritual. This vicious cycle was making me mean and apathetic, just like every person around me. The uniform didn't rub nicely against my skin, and the pants were big enough for two people to wear. The movie goers were mostly average drones- this is not simply my opinion, the statistics are all in favor of this notion, and given the demographics of a place like Durham...well...well.... besides, who would bother going to see a futile film such as "Transformers"? I saw these belly-hanging, sweats wearing drones leave the theaters every night, completely fascinated by what some guy jumbled on his supercomputer...no one really caring about the plot, or the message, or any other redeemable quality of a film. I still refuse to see that movie, however, I have seen Oceans 13, and I am ashamed to say- not only did I enjoy it, but I will probably be going to see 14, 15, 16...and as long as they keep them coming, I will keep on guzzling.

Mother and I walked into a sunglass store today. My intent was to try on a pair of Ray Ban Wayfarers....show her how wonderfully they fit my odd looking face, in hopes of her giving father a nudge-nudge wink-wink for what to get me for my birthday, Christmas, any other pointless occasion. But the employee of an official Ray Ban retailer not only did not HAVE the classic, timeless Ray Ban Wayfarers on display, but she did not even KNOW what these "wayfarer" glasses I speak of are. I was going to ask her what she is doing devoting her life to selling sunglasses if she has no clue about such an iconic style..that is like a mechanical engineer having no clue who Tesla is! (come to think of it, my father did tell me a story of when he was baffled by a "reputable" Swedish researcher in the field of electronics who has never heard of Tesla...I suppose career mistakes are made by people all over the world...some in more important positions than others). I even stooped to the level of calling them "the sunglasses Tom Cruise wore in Risky Business"...and I have never used Tom Cruises name in a sentence describing something I want before. But I figured, that's sort of up her alley...third rate actors climbing to huge mainstream, global success..she must have heard of him. But no, she handed me a pair of aviators and said "Oh my god I love Topgun". I looked at my mother, and we both agreed that we had to get out of that store, thereby proceeding to sprint towards the nearest exit.

Before I quit my job and started this luxurious life of loitering, stalling, vegetating...I had to write a "letter of resignation". I laughed at the thought really- I was serving obese people popcorn, having them spit in my face because I spared them butter and postponed their cardiac arrests another 15 minutes, having managers send me home whenever they "didn't need me", mopping up spilled drinks mixed with soggy popcorn bits of the floors, that after having done all of these unglamorous, degrading things, I had to write a fancy "letter of resignation" as though I held an important position at a reputable company....these capitalists feel it is fine to pick and choose when they want to be classy and civilized. So I wrote my first draft....if went something like:

Dear Sir/Madam,

With this letter, I would like to inform you that I am leaving my job
at AMC. I am moving to Toronto in order to study at Ryerson
University, and would like to take the month before I leave to get my
priorities organized, therefore I will not be able to maintain my part
time position in concession. My decision to leave this early is also
due to the fact that I am very disappointed at how the workers are
treated at AMC. I feel that my time was not respected when I would
randomly be sent home early, especially since it would take a
financial strain for me for transportation in order to get to work. In
my opinion, young people who make AMC the great theatre that it is,
are underpaid for the job that they do, yet have high expectations
thrown at them. I understand that these are all marks of being the
lowest life-form in a giant corporate equilibrium, and knowing that I
cannot change these factors, I have decided to quit and move on to a
job more suited for what I feel I deserve. Thank you for allowing me
to get acquainted with the capitalist worth system, working for AMC
taught me what I do, and do not want to do with the rest of my life.

Sincerely,
M. F.


...and that is just the edited, narrowed down first draft. There was a huge chunk where I wrote about Marx and his doctrine and how it could bring their entire establishment if only the shameful workers opened their eyes and realized that together they cannot be beat.......

..and then I realized this is not a battle I want to fight. I've thrown pear before swine my whole life, and decided not to continue to do so. I am unable to comprehend why people are so stubborn to want change, to want better things in life. Nothing confuses me more than when a son of a 50 year old wal-mart cashier and a laid off General Motors worker says that "communism is a fucking dumb idea, socialism...man..that's so gay", when he regurgitates these pathetic McCarthyist views that seemed to have been programed in his simple working-class mind from generation to generation. These are the people that need to fight, and yet, they are winning money of the same people who oppress them. The reason why America is so great is because Americans seem to be content with being exploited, they are told that that is the way of life, that is how things go here and that is it. It is a confusion to me, and I will never understand. That is why I will not fight for these people, they don't want to be saved. Instead they'll drape themselves in Republican, Conservative colours while they are sodomized by big shots who laugh at their fawning devoted, patriotic dedication.

So instead I wrote:

Dear Sir/Madam,

I am very sorry to leave AMC so abruptly. I hope that you will be able to find another replacement soon. Thank you for allowing me to be a part of your establishment.

Sincerely,

M.F.


And that's it. It feels better, As Veronica from the brilliant film Heathers remarked to the horny college student: "You don't deserve my fucking speech!". And now I can go to bed and dig into my Complete Works of Edgar Allan Poe.

You know who is really really sad? That bald guy and his unsuccessful band that plays for David Letterman. I bet he had hopes of making it in the industry, now he is supposed to be background accompanying music to an unfunny, unwitty, rude, carnivore.