I'm a call girl. I work for a conglomerate with a fairly tight grasp on a certain market. [Vague, I know.] I collect money [or I'm supposed to] for them and, in return, they reward me with two minimum wage pay cheques a month, 10 sick days [six paid] per year and two weeks of paid vacation. I've recently made it to my third year anniversary and feel like the consumerist beast has chewed away on another chunk of my soul. This must be how Prometheus felt.
But I have a secret and not a very well kept one of course. [I have a TERRIBLE poker face.] I have ambitions of being a hippie. A granola munchin', dreadlocked, commune livin' hippie. I want to say 'Fuck the man, man' with sincerity. And the Man gets cranky if you say things while he's signing your pay cheque. I am a dirty, dirty hypocrite.
If I had my choice, I wouldn't shop with big businesses. I'd love it if I could go to Mom and Pop shops, supporting the little guy. Instead I go to big brand grocers, clothiers, etc. Why? Because it's easy. How I wished my morals matched my bankroll.
How as I inspired to write this you may ask? A) Day to Day life. B) A really sad story. What was this horrible tale, you may ask? [And even if you don't I'll tell you.]
The other day at work I got a call from a man. His Grandmother is in a nursing home and his wife works there. One of his spouses patients has a [censored] sold from my company. She's 85, with dementia and is "blind as an f'ing bat." And trust me she has no use for the wares we peddle. [Hint: Technology.] Apparently a nice young man called her and offered her a doohickie for FREE! *gasp* Free, you may say? No, not free. A three year contact with charges. Only the [censored] itself is free. The man who called me further stated she wasn't the first octogenarian to be conned into this...
I believe in corporate responsibility. I believe in taking care of those who can't fend for themselves. This woman, and her fellow wrinkle crew, cannot. They were put into a nursing home for a being of reasons but the best being that they've reached a point in their lives where they need to be cared for- as they cared for their children. Before you ask, the man also informed me that each line in the nursing home shows up as exactly that; the address listed as a care facility. You can't tell me someone in the sales center hasn't noticed that. Or the customer's age. Or the fact they think Robert Borden is still Prime Minister. Corporate cold calling is the new Big Bad Wolf and it's gobbling up Grannie's credit score.
That is sick, Twin. Just sick. Nice last line by the way. I approve ;)
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