The Devil’s Contract (Part I)

Imagine having to get up every morning to go to a place you absolutely hate. You wake up feeling well rested, having some of the best sleep to date. And then, the realization comes that you have to go to work within the next two hours, and so you sit up and stare into the nothingness that is your room. The sun isn’t out so the darkness hides the tear that slithers its way from your eyelid and slowly makes its way down your cheek. You stare into the darkness with not a single thought coming to mind as you brain has made the executive order to shut down as the crushing fact you have to go to work is not the first thing it wants to think about upon waking up. It reboots and configures itself to not grab the nearest kitchen knife and drive it down your throat, so you don’t have to go to this depressing, soul crushing thing called your job.

After about five to ten minutes of contemplating suicide by way of existential crisis, you take a deep, tired breath and finally muster up the little willpower you have and stand up. You take another tired breath and shake your head in reluctant resignation as you know it’s your fault, you’re in this position but you see no other way of generating a source of income, plus you have bills to pay and the current institution you’ve signed yourself away to is getting the job done in that regard, so, by obligation to your survival, you have to go.

And you’ve long decided that just because you have to go doesn’t mean you have to like it.

You continue to contemplate the state of your existence and the thoughts are bleak. Thing is, it’s not the type of cynicism that’s depressing but funny and sad at the same time. At the very least there’s one person you know within the institution that feels the same way you do, and you derive a sick and twisted pleasure from complaining about the situation rather than actually doing something about it. You get in the shower, and you take your sweet time as every second before you have to go to the institution is worth more than gold. Every breath you take, even if it is tired and frustrated, is a sign of the freedom you’ll eventually have to give up within the next two hours.

You get out of the shower, and you have an average breakfast. Perhaps some cereal and English muffins, maybe oatmeal and tea, or bacon, eggs, and waffles, the good ole American favorite. This is probably the most enjoyable part of the day as the upcoming interaction with nonsense, dildo-up-the-ass managers, ridiculous customers, and robotic sheep that operate like automatons the moment upper management walks into the room as if they’re their parents or something.

You try your best not to think about the institution, but your brain is well aware of the upcoming bullshit and wants to mentally prepare you for it at all costs.

Even your sanity at the moment.

You eat your breakfast quickly, not because you were ravenous with hunger, but because you’ve been trained like a marine to eat your food in fifteen minutes or less to scrape for time away from institutional duties. To make the most of that slither of freedom they allow you each shift. Thing is that time tends to pass quickly when you’re free and slowly when you’re in the midst of everyday slavery. You look down at your plate and see that all the food is gone, and it fills you up for the moment. You quickly move on to other things you have to do before your shift at the institution such as journaling and meditating; for, if you’re aware of your enslavement, these two habits are the saving grace not only for your sanity but for your life.

After journaling and meditating you feel you’re prepared to face the day. You’re relaxed and even content with your situation, and the awareness of your voluntary enslavement doesn’t bother you as much. You prepare yourself for 6-8hrs of cognitive dissonance, pretending to be just a mild-mannered individual that doesn’t do much outside work but eat, sleep, shit, get up, go to work, and repeat.

You look at the clock and see that the end of your freedom, at least for the next 6-8hrs, is nigh and you must go and pretend to be happy to go to someone else’s establishment and kiss their ass for a bullshit wage that barely covers your costs of living.

You walk to the door and realize that you’re walking away from freedom into enslavement of your own volition because of a consumerist, gynocentric economy that forces men to get jobs they don’t want just to make ends meet. You also realize that, with the way the world is going right now, that UBI (Universal Basic Income) sounds appealing right about now. You rescind that thought when you think of the economic and social ramifications of such a thing and would rather stick with the capitalist system, we’re currently in. At least this system allows you to make your own way and keep what you earn, if you’re rich that is.

You reluctantly touch the knob, unlock the bolt, turn the knob and pull open the door. Ironically, the sun shines as you walk out toward the darkest part of your day.

A day at the institution called a job.

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