Making a Difference

It's time for my newest, least-favorite expression: "Making a Difference"!

Apparently this is the hottest of the hot new catch-phrases sweeping the nation. I've heard it on the news three times in the past 24 hours, and read about it twice on the internet. This Saturday is actually "Making a Difference Day", according to usaweekend.com. NBC Nightly News has a weekly segment about making a difference which they have cleverly entitled "Making a Difference".

At this point, I was going to list some of the numerous other organizations which have an event or feature labeled "Making a Difference", but I can't. Please go to Google and type those words in, hit enter, and you'll understand why. This phrase is all over our floor like David Hasselhof's cheeseburger.

So what does it mean? Well, within the currently accepted context, it equates to some sort of community service, but apparently the term "community service" is not longer hip, ya dig? The full and legal name is "Making a Difference in the Community". (Don't forget to over-pronounce the T) Because it's all about the communiTEE.

Now, hold on. I'm not against community service. I think it's very useful and nice, as well as a fantastic deterrent to misdemeanor crime. (Or felonies if you're a recognizable celebrity) What I hate with a passion are these phrases that everyone adopts and repeats over and over and over without ever really thinking about, or further defining what they mean. I have a certain amount of tolerance for the herd mentality because I realize it's an integral part of a consumer-driven, capitalist environment. The less you think, the more you follow along and chant the same song, the more crap you're going to buy because other people have it. And I'm all for a healthy economy, even if it means dumbing ourselves down and firghtening ourselves into submission by the potential danger that only online shopping and pharmaceuticals can vanquish. What? Do you think I hate America or something? Do you think I'm taking this a bit too far? After all, we're just talking about making a difference in the communiTEE.

We're sheep-zombies. We're the undead souls of sheep, cursed to wander the Earth and consume the brains of the living. This is why everyone in America can roll off the saying "15 minutes of fame", and "Your 15 minutes is nearly up", fully believing that some scientist somewhere in Sweden figured this out as a scientific principle. Yes, you are all entitled to 15 minutes of fame, minimum. If you've managed to read this drivel up to this point, you're probably in the minority who realize it's origin is some obscure quote by Andy Warhol from almost 40 years ago. Andy Warhol. A ridiculous, crackpot artist who was rambling incoherently in 1968, still (mis) quoted today by the zombie masses.

Sometimes these clever sayings catch on, but then are corrected by the Pussification Dept. censors and altered as not to become offensive. (See previous blog entry) For example, remember when someone made up the cute expression "My Better Half", to describe the person with whom they were involved in a romantic relationship? But, the Pussy Master said, "Hold on, y'all. How can we say one person is better?", and another said, "Yeah, and if someone is your half, it means you aren't WHOLE, man! That ain't cool." And so was born the lovely description, "Significant Other". What the fuck? "My Better Half" sounded like a term of endearment. "Significant Other" sounds like lab results. There wasn't a law enacted that states you need to be absolutely literal in your description of your mate. I'd rather someone asked me if I had a "Breathing Fuckhole" than a "Significant Other". At least I'd know what they meant.

So let's look at "Making a Difference in the Community". What does it mean? To me, it's somewhat vague, in the sense that it doesn't specify what type or amount of difference is being applied. So in effect, I could go out and set a building on fire, and I could claim I had made a difference in the community. The difference? There's a smoldering hole where Bob's Clam Shack used to be. That's a difference. But the term is vague, and that's the new cool. Vague is the new Hip-Hop.

With that in mind, here are some cool new descriptions and their definitions that I would like to submit to the masses of zombsheeps for instantaneous approval and adoption:

"Doing the Something" - You aren't doing nothing. You're working and then going home. You're Doing the Something.

"Riding On It" - You aren't really pedaling. You create no locomotion.

"Taking a Piece" - You're putting your hand in the jar, but leaving some jellybeans for the guy....who comes in here sometimes.

"Starting the Car" - You're starting your car.

"Bringing the" - You're bringing something somewhere for some reason. Nobody knows what, where, or why. But you're ROCKIN' it! "Dude, I'm "Bringing The" for the CommuniTEE".

"Uh..." - You're helping a friend move out of pure guilt, because he's asked like twenty people and everyone has plans that Sunday afternoon, and you know they're all just going to be jerking off at home and nursing hangovers, which is what you'd like to be doing, but you happened to be the last one he asked, and now you're stuck, and besides, you're going to be moving in three months and you know you're going to be in the same situation. In the communiTEE.

Jesus in Traffic

My wife and I were on our way to work this morning, sitting in very heavy traffic on Lakeshore Drive. It was drizzling rain, which in Chicago means that traffic slows to almost a complete standstill. We were attempting to switch from the far right to one of the middle lanes in an attempt to avoid the two lanes of traffic "merging" in from the on-ramps. My wife flips on the left turn signal, and we wait. And we wait. And we wait. Cars to our left see the signal as a threat that another vehicle is trying to disrupt their progress and their entitled area of space, so they speed up and lock bumpers to prevent any ingress. It's a very efficient system if everyone participates. We jerks in the right lane are always trying to pull this crazy shit, and we need to be stopped. That is, until we graduate to one of the lanes of privilege and honor, at which time we gain a position of great power and responsibility.

At one point I thought we almost had it. I saw a tiny opening of pavement. Almost instantaneously, the large white SUV that had been slacking behind, sped up and quickly blocked our path. As they pulled ahead, I noticed there was a "What Would Jesus Do?" sticker proudly displayed on their bumper. I thought it brought up a very valid question.

Well, Mister White SUV, I believe I can answer this one. See, I know Jesus very well. So here's how I see it:

Jesus would have gotten up late and rushed his way down Lakeshore in his urban assualt vehicle. He would have been jabbering away on his cell phone, probably conferring with St. Peter or Jude, setting things up for another day of ruling humanity. Now there's a city ordinance in Chicago that prohibits the use of cell phones in a moving vehicle without the use of a headset, but hey, this is the Son of God. Do they really think Jesus gives a damn about the rules? Rules apply to others. And besides, everybody else is doing it. What are they going to do? Pull us all over?

At this point, Jesus would have seen one of his loyal and loving subjects in the Kingdom of God, trying to get out of the purgatory of the right lane. But Jesus would not allow this. He controls the middle lane merely by his existence in it. And this lane space has been bestowed upon him by the Almighty Father in Heaven. Besides, Jesus is late for work already, and doesn't have time for this coutesy bullshit.

We can all learn from the teachings of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. As a tribute, I called his name out with great enthusiasm during this time, and again later when we were cut off at our exit by an Asian cab driver.

POLICY

"I'll have the broiled salmon please. But can I have it without the cream sauce? I'm lactose intolerant."

"Would you like to have it on the side?"

"Yeah, sure. Why not?"

...ten minutes later...

"Um...you said you'd bring it on the side. This salmon is swiming in cream sauce"

"Yeah, it comes that way automatically."

"Automatically? What, did you get it out of a machine?"

This is, word-for-word, a conversation I had several days ago at a restaurant across the street from where I work. Did she forget to order it on the side? Did the cook scoff at her and refuse to do it? Or was everyone who works in the restaurant bound by some invisible code of conformity? There was no apology, no offer to make it right. She said her line, I said mine, and she departed into the haze as swiftly as she'd appeared. The sauce on the fish was "automatic". There was nothing either of us could have done about it. We are helpless against the forces that have driven us into this unfortunate situation. I must have the cream sauce. The cream sauce is automatic. I hear and I obey.

Now I've been thinking about how many times, day to day, I encounter the mysterious force that controls the minds and actions of waitstaff, clerks, customer service reps, and most others in the service industry. The force has a name. It is called "Policy". (ominous tone) No one knows where it came from, or why it's here. They only know that they must obey, even if it means forsaking courtesy, productivity, or even simple common sense.

Whenever I go see my doctor, which has been somewhat frequently lately, the receptionist reminds me that I have a balance, and hands me a copy of the invoice.

"Would you like to pay the balance today by credit card?"

"No thanks, we mail these in. Also, I don't need this copy. I get these in the mail."

"Well, we have to give them to you."

"Why?"

"Because you might say you didn't get it in the mail."

"But...I just did."

Again, logic is cast away in favor of serving the Almighty Policy. The ability to think and to act, or even treat a customer as a human being is stripped away, and replaced with robotic obedience to the Lord and Master.

In the time of the Roman Empire, the army devised an ingenious method of defense and assault which was called the phalanx. Soldiers in the front line of the formation would lock their shields together forming an impenetrable, forward-moving wall. They could thrust their spears above the shields to gore the enemy while remaining virtually untouchable. America's legions of heroic clerks wage battles against The Customer in much the same way. Their phalanx is an array of complex and indisputable rules of engagement that bear down on us, driving us back as we are impaled by self-righteousness and an aggressive lack of patience. Each time we charge forward, we are beaten back in defeat.

"You can have soup. If you want to substitute salad I'll have to charge you extra."

"AHHH!"

"If you don't have the receipt, I can't accept it, even if it's shrink-wrapped in the orginal packaging and has our price sticker on it."

"OWWWW...OH GOD!"

"You're in the wrong line. You'll have to go wait at the end of the other line."

"NOOO, PLEASE STOP! ARRRRGGGH!"

"What's the reason you want to cancel your online service? I HAVE TO put down a reason."

"OHHH...woe is me. I lie down before you awaiting the blessing of death."

"The fish..."

"OH!"

"...comes that way..."

"AHHH"

"...automatically!"

"unghhhh.......( in a barely audible whisper) thank...you."