Hello, Welcome To The 'Ownership Society' Luncheon
"Welcome to the Ownership Society Luncheon", said the docent faced hostess with the Lee Press On smile in a chirpy voice. "If you want to have a seat over there at that table, we have some paperwork for you to fill out." She then scrunched up her little nose and said, "It will only take a second."
I sat down at the table and puzzled briefly over the neatly arranged pile of inscrutable authorization forms. Best that I could make out, I was pledging my productivity as an indentured servant to the monied classes while providing wide access to probe my credit history, my past, and any skills I may possess that would be useful to the Principalities. My knawing hunger and the smell of warm bread compelled me. I licked the end of my pen and begun scribbling hurriedly.
A Captain of Industry strode purposefully through a VIP entrance, gushed some pleasantries at the fawning, over-eager hostess and breezed into a cordoned off area amid a retinue of intensly focused security personnel and PA's. I instinctively tried to look busy. Signs stating "Peon" and "Patrician" hung above two opposing corridors. The Captain of Industry briskly swaggered into the one marked "Patrician".
The Captains of Industry would invest my meager earnings for me, provide me and my family with sustenance as would profit the enterprise as a whole and as long as was calculated to be sufficient for them, and protect property rights and the status quo with fierce displays of might if need be. All I needed to do was sign and date and submit fully to them.
I motioned to the hostess and she paced toward me like a concerned hen looking over an egg ready to hatch. "Is there anyway to preserve an iota of personal dignity with this?" I queried.
"Why, no ones ever dreamed of asking," she blinked. "If you would like, I would be happy to check with someone and get back to you."
I nodded and she turned, quickly notated something beside my name on the check-in list, and turned beaming to the next person waiting in line.
"Hello," she warmly murmurred. "Welcome to The Ownership Society Luncheon"
I sat down at the table and puzzled briefly over the neatly arranged pile of inscrutable authorization forms. Best that I could make out, I was pledging my productivity as an indentured servant to the monied classes while providing wide access to probe my credit history, my past, and any skills I may possess that would be useful to the Principalities. My knawing hunger and the smell of warm bread compelled me. I licked the end of my pen and begun scribbling hurriedly.
A Captain of Industry strode purposefully through a VIP entrance, gushed some pleasantries at the fawning, over-eager hostess and breezed into a cordoned off area amid a retinue of intensly focused security personnel and PA's. I instinctively tried to look busy. Signs stating "Peon" and "Patrician" hung above two opposing corridors. The Captain of Industry briskly swaggered into the one marked "Patrician".
The Captains of Industry would invest my meager earnings for me, provide me and my family with sustenance as would profit the enterprise as a whole and as long as was calculated to be sufficient for them, and protect property rights and the status quo with fierce displays of might if need be. All I needed to do was sign and date and submit fully to them.
I motioned to the hostess and she paced toward me like a concerned hen looking over an egg ready to hatch. "Is there anyway to preserve an iota of personal dignity with this?" I queried.
"Why, no ones ever dreamed of asking," she blinked. "If you would like, I would be happy to check with someone and get back to you."
I nodded and she turned, quickly notated something beside my name on the check-in list, and turned beaming to the next person waiting in line.
"Hello," she warmly murmurred. "Welcome to The Ownership Society Luncheon"
posted by obelus at 11/03/2004 01:06:00 PM
1 Comments:
Astounding. Pulled me right into a maze of cubicles with dangling "cheese" forever out of reach, sustained virtually in cyberspace by backroom techies spamming viruses to their corporate bosses while sheilding themselves from harm through cut-throat protectionism.
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