Saturday, February 06, 2016

The Corporate Cell

No one in this room believes in God. Least of all the phony Christians. When it comes time to do the corporate cheer (literally) their voices are the loudest. They think by claiming God it washes their greed clean. And that that gives them license - in their minds anyway - to fuck you any way they see fit. A bunch of self-oblivious snakes. They'll strike you the minute you relax.

I wonder if being on the thirty-sixth floor contributes to the cult mentality around here. The smirking credo is the higher the floor the higher the esteem. As they stand on the morning elevator watching their "lessers" get off on lower floors, they inwardly smile at their being special just by virtue of time spent in the elevator. Every time I survey this room I see the end of civilization.

Not that they see it this way! Just the opposite! They think they're ushering in the future, advancing mankind, improving the world. You can see the Jim Jones glimmer in their eyes as they speak of  grand plans hatched by gurus sitting high up in ivory towers. "He's got a PhD!" Their Cheshire smiles of smug self-satisfaction as you're sitting in the conference room with its panoramic backdrop provide a surreal scene of heads floating in the clouds.

Believe me when I tell you I know this idiot

Of course, their real objective is to remain disconnected to reality at all times. The greater the disconnect, the greater the success! It's a frightening formula for any of those still connected, but those are few - and getting fewer.

There are basically three groups. The vampires who hide in management's hard heart, the zombies who stagger along uncaring if life or death awaits them, and the competents (to be fair some of whom are Christians) who keep things together but are under constant attack from the other two groups who live in dire fear of exposure. You wonder what's going to happen when they drive the last of the competents out the door. Will the fools see reality then? How much longer will truth wait to claim its victorious day?

You can hear the office zombies and vampires gloat about the latest movies about zombies and vampires. People like seeing themselves onscreen (and to see themselves be elected too!). That's the limit of their thinking: "Oh, that's me! I'm going to tell everyone I think that's great!" As if that's enough to make it so. Even more scary.

Looking at these fuckers in their quaffed cubicles and sanctified offices operating in divine ignorance is to truly see a mad tea party in action. It's a wonderful waltz of self-deception complete with a perpetual flow of perky emails and contrived events asking to prove your furor for the faith. In this tea party, "one lump or two" means how many times do you want to be hit over the head. Ask for three and be a good boy! The abuse makes the abused feel safe.

You need VP approval before you can pour the tea. Why?
Because that's who knows the least!

But it was the Sky Man who was the talk of the office. He was this husky black guy, looked to be in his late-thirties, who washed windows without the usual platform. It was terrifying watching him hang suspended from the tops of our fellow sky scrapers, bouncing from window to window in high winds. The expression on his face was of complete calmness, however, just as if he were standing on the ground. Just getting close to the window gives me vertigo. But this guy is out there dancing around hundreds of feet in the air without a care in the world.

I did not enjoy watching the Sky Man work. Daredevils hold little interest for me. I don't know what his motivation was. Maybe he didn't value his life so cleaning that way meant nothing to him. Maybe he wanted to show off but I never got that impression from him. Maybe like the zombies he thought "this is just the way it is" and didn't think to question the risk. I was dying to pick his brain to hear what he'd say. Rumor was somebody did actually talk to him and Sky Man claimed "it was just a job."

Whatever. His presence certainly caused many ripples in the closed confines of our cell. "That man is crazy! He has no idea what he's doing!" That came from one of the dunderheads who really does have no idea what she's doing. You could tell she needed him to fail or quit in order to prove that those who avoid risk, i.e. thinking, are the "smart ones". The sharks loved to watch him. They didn't want to miss the chance of watching him fall. When I said as much to one them he got really angry and stormed off. Still get a few minor victories in here and there.

Management praised Sky Man for "doing what it takes to get the job done." Basically, they were treating him like they do any contractor. Use them, abuse them, and throw them away. They get put into the most impossible positions with the most unrealistic expectations then the poor saps take the blame when things go wrong. It's a beautiful set up for management to outsource the responsibility while taking credit when a project is completed. So they loved seeing Sky Man risk his life to give clean windows to the world.

I was on vacation when he fell to his death. They said it was a freak accident. Sky Man certainly did always look confident in that contraption of his and part of me desperately wanted to believe in him. Winning the lottery is nigh impossible. Winning the reverse lottery, however, seems fairly easy. If that chance in a million will kill you, there's a good chance it will happen. My first reaction was how pissed I was he died before I got a chance to talk to him. I never knew how much hope and anticipation I was harboring for that until too late.

Nothing was ever said but I do think a piece of us died too in the office. New people who came in after his death were looked upon as green grunts who don't know the ropes, had not experienced the horrors of war, and wouldn't believe us had we bothered to explain. Nervous jokes were made about Sky Man's death and I have to admit a couple of them I found funny too. We have to laugh at our own deaths to make it through the day. Seriously, someone thinks there's a future in that?

"What is it all for?" I think that's the (unspoken) question foisted on us by Sky Man's death. The corporate propaganda spews forth as ceaselessly as ever yet we veterans can't muster up the phony enthusiasm as before. Instead, we continue our silent parade of mock accomplishments as we too fall to our fate. Yes, there are still the book-reading radicals speaking of these being "exciting times" of drinking the Kool-Aid, deifying doomed decisions, and going to the grave for the greater glory of the corporation.

But I think our lives mean more than that. I think Sky Man's life meant more than that too. RIP, Sky Man. You are gone but not forgotten. Who knows? Maybe you were lucky to get out before facing the final outcome of the hell on earth we are creating.

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