Thursday, April 18, 2019
The Man messes with us all in his different ways. Maybe The Man hasn't messed with you for ages, you think, or maybe you are The Man. I'm sorry to say that doesn't matter. The Man comes for us all, even you, like clockwork.
The Man came for me today at 3:15, just as I was finishing a bowl of potatoes, peppers, tomatoes, and tortillas. The Man said "Aren't you supposed to be shelving?"
Rattled, I gestured slightly to my food and said something about my break, but my heart said "Fuck The Man."
Eventually I headed upstairs with a cart of shelving, thinking "Fuck The Man. Fuck The Man. Fuck The Man."
The first book I had to shelve was called Jesus.
"You were The Man." I thought.
"Then The Man nailed you to a cross." I added.
"Then they made you The Man again."
Fuck The Man.