The reverse broken-window theory (or how the White elite toast their bread)

 

The other day in my portable basketball hoop post, I “went out on a limb” but not really.

 

I told of how I came home one night and saw that my neighbors had put out one of those portable basketball hoops, and hence, there went the neighborhood. This was the “limb.” I was not being facetious. I really believed then, in my preliminary report, that a portable basketball hoop is a clear signalling device of riff raff squeezing into your space. First of all, such a prop indicates a 1) lack of well-developed parks, 2) lack of save arrival to such parks, and 3) an interest in hoops. This is all bad news and while not specifically indicative of a criminal or rowdy presence, certainly points in that direction.

 

Sure enough.

 

A few days later, a weight bench popped up in the middle of that common area. I joked that it looked like a prison yard.

 

A few days later, some skinhead thug Mexican types parked their cars in the alley (this was the Dodger’s opening day) with shitty rap music thumping.

 

And then, earlier this week, the newest addition was a Pit Bull! Yes, these new neighbors quickly attained the trashy status of ghetto burden. The portable basketball hoops were the tip off (so to speak, bad sports joke). All else that was ghetto disease followed.

 

The point of my preamble was that most subcultures spawn their trademark signatures like little furtive turd droplets. In the ghetto, it’s litter, broken windows, Monte Carlo’s on 20″ rims, and portable basketball hoops.

 

And today, something happened at work which made me realize the same dynamic works in corresponding proportions throughout all social classes. Mot of us don’t live with the white-collared, manicured elite, so we aren’t privy to their personal habits. Believe me, the upper class wealthy have some very annoying habits. I work on a floor with a bunch of whitewashed elites and I witness all the disgrace they come to bear on the lower rungs of society by mere thoughtlessness. They are thoughtless, clueless, helpless…I’m sure I could think of quite a few more -less suffixes which apply to the material elite. Just as the ghetto class tips us off with stupid basketball hoops and Pit Bulls, the elitist White class is fond of tipping itself off as well. I see it at work all the time.

 

Let me just speak of the incident today today which quaintly displayed the irregular happenstance that you can only see materialize among those of privilege.

 

This afternoon, I went to the kitchen to heat my lunch. There were two really wide, designer slices of toasted bread sitting in the toaster, obviously having been ejected earlier. I assumed the owners had run off but would be back very soon. There was a guy standing there who I knew and he told me the toast was there earlier when he visited the kitchen. At least an hour. Another kitchen member noted the toast smelled good. In fact, it did. The bread was the thick, pre-buttered type and the slices just sat there, cold, hardening, uneaten. Someone had actually gone through the effort to place them in the toaster, press the toasting mechanism with the putative intent to eat them, then run off. And never returned. For a whole day. Every time I returned for coffee (often), they were still there, until I left for the day.

 

There are tons of people on the street in Hollywood who are starving. I see malnutrition sloughing out of tired eyes around this town. Squatters, homeless, runaways…there are people struggling to live and “unfortunately” they never committed themselves to the soulless existence of corporate sainthood. But today, someone at work decided they wanted toast, and not just any toast, but designer toast, and they ran off and forgot about it.

 

What kind of life do we live that enables us to forget about food with such abandon.
Someone told me maybe they went to a meeting and forgot.
Not an excuse. This is a symptom. It’s a disease and I work with many people afflicted with the disease of UNLIFE.

 

You forget food because of your job, you forget what you did earlier because of your job. You forget to live…because of your job. But we convince ourselves through our needy materialistic ether that our need is in fact our life. We forget that Need is a faint, conscious qualification.
Good job.
I never did this, and never can.

 

So I’ll never get anywhere. And you know what?

 

You can have it. Enjoy your house and paying it off for 30 years just in time to die, sucker.
I have nothing, but I owe nothing.

 

Freedom allows me to remember that I have food waiting.