DEPRAVED AND DESPONDENT IN THE WORK FORCE

Where do the weekends go? Those two days where you can pretend that the world doesn't exist and you can barricade yourself into your compound with only a television, your guns, your kid, some toys and plenty of Mexican takeout to last until Monday morning. What happened to a society that works solely for the weekend. Monday morning you walk into the office, the construction site, the courtroom, arena, wherever it is you earn your living and ask your fellow co-workers, "How was your weekend?" The most common response will be, "Too damn short!" Or you may ask, "How are you?" And you will get, "I was great until I had to come back to this place." And many of you are just like Grumpy Bob, miserable and moaning about the crappy job where you'd rather stick your finger in the nearest socket than have to put in another year of underpaid hell. How do we as hard working people across the globe find that which we love to do? How many out there truly do work that they actually love to do, when they are alone in their homes or apartments, away from the eyes of co-workers, friends and bosses who are always judging, what do they really think?

I know how people really are, they are three shades of crazy and two minutes from walking down to the nearest rooftop nightclub and doing a belly flop onto Park Avenue South. The drugs and promiscuous sex with everyone they meet is no longer making the nut. That vigor and mystery and feel good all the time has grown boring and despair and loneliness has replaced it. Every day they trudge into work and listen to some parrot boss with a stiff neck and pot full of piss tell them they are worthless schmucks who should go find work as a Barista or street sweeper. A fry cook at McDonalds for $6.25 an hour is too honorable. These people who show up at the bar on Friday night dressed to the nines, laughing at all the right punch lines and sipping the neon blue drink with the strobe light ice cubes, trying to hide the cut marks on their arms after laying on the bed crying in their tiny little Hoboken apartment because their life sucks but they want you to think they are killing it out there in the game of life. The game of life where 1 and 99,000,000 make it worth a fleeting glance and the rest get slaughtered right there in the street. I've seen a thousand fall and a thousand get reamed big time and become so vulnerable and flaky that some loaf is critical of their socks and they crumble. The depraved and despondent in the work force are sitting behind nearly every cubicle ready to rip off the tie, out of the blue, leap over the cubicle wall and make a full on sprint out of the office. If you are one of those people who are standing on the ledge of life, peering off into the abyss you call your future and wonder where in the hell you went wrong and everyone else did it right, you have to realize that most people are actually like you. Most people have something eating away at them but they are too scared or embarrassed or proud to put it out there. You have to find that magic that is inside of you and break out of the mold that everyone seems to fall into. A soul that gives up lofty dreams for modest pursuits enters into the masses.