Date: September 21, 2007 03:15PM
While driving to work during my morning commute I merge off my exit and enter into a metropolis of financial stability represented by towering skyscrapers, some of the world’s largest companies, and fancy big-body luxury sedans being driven by grey haired, yet highly stylish, captains of industry. Every morning, as we sit in traffic, we drive beneath an over-pass which hosts the capital beltway. This is the main thoroughfare into the area.
A rather intellectual graffiti artist has recently made his mark on the stone bridge that we all sit beneath in bumper to bumper traffic, making our crawl into to the office for yet another work day. Scrawled in black spray paint is the word, the statement, “$lave$” - A powerful, yet simple, declaration and scathing indictment upon all those whom pass below.
Some sit in their cars looking angry, speaking on their blue tooth head sets, making physical hand gestures amid heated early morning debates with colleagues. Others furiously munch on bagels, or other assorted pastries, and down strong-brewed coffee stored in thermal containers. Some, with a comb, furiously brush their wind-blown hair, sitting in a convertible, exposed to the elements. Others smoke cigarettes, cautiously ashing their Marlboro’s lights out the window, trying to prevent the burnt carbon from gaining reentrance back inside their vehicle. Woman look at themselves in vanity mirrors, applying a final touch of makeup, switching angles as they gaze unsatisfied at their own reflection. Some pick or scratch at their nose while gently tapping the steering wheel to the beat of the new Maroon 5 or Lifehouse – whatever the flavor of the week on DC 101.1
I sit, and I stare, blankly, at the message that has been written for us all. Physically lifeless, but mind hard at work – thinking, knowing, that I am a slave to the almighty dollar. Acknowledging that I am spoke in the wheel of a capitalist society that operates purely in pursuit of personal and financial gain. I am a cog in the truest sense of the word. I am nothing but an ant marching, progressing slowly forward, mindful to not stray outside of the white dotted lines that guide me toward my grave. I will be doing this for the next 40 years, nearly twice as long as I have been alive, and that scares me, to death.
Sometimes I wish I was born during another time. Sometimes I wish I was born in another place. Sometimes I wish I was never born at all. Sometimes I wish I was one of the Hispanics standing around the bus stop, or sitting lazily on the grass, early in morning. No lofty expectations bestowed upon them, other than to scrape by, and provide bare-minimum sustenance and shelter to themselves and family. And at other times, I sit beneath my $lave$ graffiti sign, and wish for a meteor to come crashing to earth, ending life as we know it.
However, when the lights turn green, I go. I move forward, in pursuit of the end.