The working man - Don't Be A Wage Slave

When I go into any convenience store or establishment that requires a rote activity, I am always in awe of the person undertaking this task: the working man. Again and again: – once, twice, thrice – this pursuit is repeated, be it at a check-out till or on the shop floor. Without additional stimulus, it is a soul-crushing and mentally debilitating occupation. I have the utmost respect for people who do this work for a lifetime. I highly recommend that young people become exposed to this activity at an early age. It gives wonderful impetus to one’s studies and the desire to find your true mission in life.

I had exposure to this kind of life, many, many years ago. I was young and still going to university. I became a chokerman, (1) a logger, for four consecutive summers. This time is seared into my memory. My father, a professional woodsman, assisted me in getting the position. I was thus quickly presented with two serious motivators: pride – I could not let my father down – and money. The pay was absolutely fantastic; double the amount of any other summer job. I had not understood, however, the task I was embarking on. At the very beginning of my employment, on my very first day, my body almost exploded with pain. The self was not prepared for the walking, climbing, lifting, and pulling required of the position. Imagine a strenuous workout at the gym every single day. I have never since experienced such physical trauma and I will never invite this pain again.

After a period of four or five days, my bodily suffering began to abate. Somehow I didn’t “break and quit” – most, however, did. I then, intuitively, begin to focus on the task at hand. After an aggressive and bone-shaking drive in a crew bus, you arrived at the loading site. (2) One had to walk from there to where the work actually began. This was like walking through the devastation after a horrific tornado or a thunderous typhoon. Branches and trees were strewn everywhere. Delicately picking your way along a fallen-tree trail, you arrived at where the extraction of each piece of wood was soon to commence. At precisely 8 AM, the Madill steel spar (3) roared to life and the chocker cables were suddenly thrust above you, precipitously hanging from thick cables suspended in the sky. (4)

I never got over my apprehension of the work — all seemed so exotic and remote. This, coupled with the deathly smell of the fallen forest, was indelible. A cataclysmic battle of giants was underway — technology versus nature — and, at this time, the environment was winning. The forest seemed to truly be infinite.

Her secret weapon, her poison gas, her moral retribution — the bugs: they came in all sizes – the big, the small, and the most lovely of all — the no-see-ums. (5) But wait, nature was not yet satiated with your blood, let us bring in her King Tiger, (6) the appropriately named horse fly. (7) You were walloped by its bite and stung by the pain. Your only recourse to stem this sneaking, crawling, and biting onslaught was Deep Woods Off, a type of repellent that mirrors Agent Orange (8) in its poisonous effect.

To this day, I have no hair follicles on the left side of my face. They were removed in a massive infection caused by this potion, I believe. But, in the end, I survived these labors, finished my schooling, and went on with life. The experience, however, colored my thinking with a strong sense of empathy for the laborer, the unskilled and semi-skilled working man. The Canadian Rock Band, Rush, (9) leaves us with a song: I get up at seven, yeah, and I go to work at nine. I got no time for livin’. Yes, I’m workin’ all the time. It seems to me I could live my life a lot better than I think I am. I guess that’s why they call me, they call me, the workin’ man.

A closing thought: In many societies, immature adults eschew this type of employment. They are told that it is “beneath them” and analogous to a mentally inferior being. This is a dramatic mistake in contemporary society. A large amount of university-educated graduates are thrust into service industries that are as repetitive as any factory floor. One only has to go into a Starbucks or a MacDonald’s for an example.

Their sullen faces are indicative of the bitterness that they feel – why me? A far better approach is to realize that employment is a journey of experience. But, yes there are many, maybe most, who shouldn’t go to university. That is not a job-training institution. Most adolescent students would be happier to be trained as tradespeople, like in Germany. (10) This, together with an overall societal acceptance of all levels of employment, will produce a happier post-Millennial population, I believe, and a more contented society, overall.

To sum up: This week, we spoke about being an ordinary working person and its effects.

To be noted: From Rumi (11) — Yesterday I was clever, so I wanted to change the world. Today I am wise, so I am changing myself.

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