…and the ho-hum nature of the cost of mankind’s destruction of our planet. Just another expense to be amortized.
Who sets the number for Earth’s useful life?
How about those whacky Dallas Cowboys and their antics in the women’s locker room for the cheerleaders?
That’s not even high school stuff, hell, I never did shit like that. I was always able to keep a full dance card without any leering.
This is an excerpt from my book EMOTIONS: Not Your Mama’s ABC’s!:
Reminds me of the very first job I ever had. I was five years old when I befriended Johnny. We became best friends as we were the only American children living in the tiny Japanese village of Nakagami-Akashima. Our “compound” held four American families and Johnny was my next-door neighbor. We both held down the same “job.” We were hired by a local papa-san (anyone older than my brother was a papa-san to me) as his, for lack of a better word, slaves.
Actually, we were subcontractors, performing services for compensation. On Saturday, we would go early in the morning on his dusty wooden cart pulled by two small, but old, brown donkeys. There was a small patch of woods and Johnny and I would fill the entire cart with wood, some pieces even too big for our little spaghetti-arms to hoist. Papa-san would sit in the cart barking orders, laughing, and drinking whiskey. After what seemed like days, the cart was loaded and back we headed back to the village. Invariably, papa-san would have to wake us up from our exhausted sleep.
Turns out the wood was for firing the furnace for the community bathhouse, as there was no internal plumbing (outside of our compound) in the entire village. Everyone in town would eventually make their way to the bathhouse.
Papa-san asked Johnny if we wanted ten-yen (about two cents) or something else. Now ten-yen might not sound like much, but it might as well have been ten million dollars to us. We could literally live for weeks off that kind of cash. Sno-cones, candies. We could get a hundred pieces of candy!
Here is where the quandary part comes in.
The “something else” papa-san offered was the opportunity to go up on the narrow, rickety bamboo walkway he had constructed his drunk-ass self. From up there you could look down on the entire bathhouse even across the dividing wall and all the naked girls, or so he claimed.
Johnny and I had a decision to make, one that could possibly be life-defining. We were both money-hungry little kids and after the torture of loading wood all day, this was really a no-brainer.
Johnny smiled at me as he flipped his ten-yen piece, dreaming of the sweet treasures to come.
He looked really small from up on the walkway.
Here’s a little music: