I don’t talk to strangers. And it’s not because they are “strange,” as Jim Morrison once sang. Nor is it because they are supposedly potentially dangerous.
No. It’s because they just seem so egotistical and self-absorbed all the time.
I mean, each morning, when I see all the strangers on their way to work, they all seem so singularly focused on that one particular task, which so clearly only benefits them. And I’m pretty sure that they have never once given a single thought regarding how I might get to work. I doubt they’d even care if it turned out that my bus was late, or if I was stuck in traffic.
Then around lunchtime, while I am running an errand at the bank, I will see all these strangers queuing up in line. And I’ll bet you that the overwhelming majority of these strangers – many of whom are here to deposit checks and/or cash – will almost certainly put that money into their own bank accounts, rather than into those of other people. Such as me.
So until that day – which will most likely never come – when I peruse my monthly bank statement and find, much to my amazement, that a stranger has deposited $109.72 into my checking and/or savings account, I will continue my policy of not talking to strangers. Because they are all so unbearably selfish and conceited. At least as far as I’m concerned.
I swear, I don’t trust strangers any farther than I can throw them. Which is not very far at all.
Over the last week or so, I’ve noticed all these ads on TV. With Santa Claus in them. And it’s not like these commercials are merely appropriating the likeness of Santa’s image in order to peddle their products. No, Mr. Claus himself personally appears in these ads and plays an active role in helping these companies sell their wares.
In other words, it turns out that Santa Claus is a fucking sell out! Just like the rest of them!
And this devastates me on such a personal and profound level, I can’t even begin to tell you. But I’ll try.
See, I used to be Santa’s number-one biggest fan back when I was a kid. And I remember each year around holiday season, all my friends would be asking their parents for brand-name-X pair of designer jeans, or state-of-the-art-company-Y’s latest video game console. But not me, no siree. When my parents asked me what I wanted for Christmas, I told them that I was totally down with whatever artisan hand-crafted toys Santa and his merry band of D.I.Y. punk-rock arctic elves decided to churn out that year.
And I loved those fucking D.I.Y. artisan toys!
But now in retrospect, it seems clear that the man that I used to non-ironically call “St. Nick” was just biding his time. He was merely building up his indie cred, until he finally got the big blockbuster company deal. And he fucking cashed in.
What a fucking sell out.
It’s so depressing how many problems there are in the world today: war, poverty, racism, sexism, a dysfunctional political system.
That’s why I wish I was a real estate agent. Because they are always so optimistic about everything! Like, if a real estate agent was selling society, with all its faults, they would probably describe it as a “fixer upper” that just needs a little handiwork, and some tender love and care, to become a beautiful home.
And that got me thinking: What if I were a bit more handy? And what if I put in the time and effort to patch things up here and there? Perhaps I could fix up society!
And then I could flip it. I’d probably make a pretty penny.
Nothing is quite so profound and fulfilling as seeing someone on social media “like” or “favorite” a horribly written movie review that decries the woeful acting and editing in a newly released film that itself was intended to be a critique of modern society.
Sometimes people will complain because their favorite television series has recently “jumped the shark.” But you know, things could be worse. For instance, the TV show could have failed to successfully “jump the shark,” and been eaten by the shark instead.
You have to admit that this would be a far worse fate. Although, it would probably make for entertaining TV.