I work at a warehouse. I find myself increasingly appalled at commerce in general. What excess! How labor extensive! How fucking pointless!
One of the products we work with is the KFC bucket. We get a shitload of these sheets with the buckets printed on it and slot em through a machine that cuts ’em appropriately. When it comes out, a battery of workers remove the trimmings and stack the buckets neatly on a pallet. The pallet is then taken to another facility to be rolled and have the bottoms installed. Not just KFC buckets, but buss fuses, movie snack boxes, happy meals, Coors NFL 2007 schedules. These things, after the effort and sweat put in the preparation for commercial use, quickly end up in a trashcan or find themselves fluttering in an empty parking lot.
I don’t know how I like living in a society that equates wasteful excess as fruitful progress. I could easily live without the glitter and flash of a product’s wrappings; the fact that such things are inherently significant, even important, to a person searching for products demands a paradigm rewrite. Capitalism ain’t the blessing our foundering fathers were so proud of.
But for all my frustration and incredulity, I still work at the warehouse. After all, I need to earn a living. I wish I had the guts of Henry David Thoreau, and his timing as to which era to be born in. You can’t live off the land in latter-day America; you’re bound to get riddled with holes for trampling someone’s lawn or end up eating from garbage cans. You almost can’t be self sufficient outside the cult of cash. Is hypocrisy sometimes involuntary?