Friday, March 20, 2015

A Funny Thing Happened On The Way?

Beep. Beep. Beep. There it was. The pulsating dot over the cell phone's GPS graphic representing The United Nations. While the courier was too new to his company to turn anything down. No matter how confused the details were expected to be even before picking up. Beginning with a maze of blocked entrances at least. He tapped yes.

The messenger bag was clean so Front Gate Security passed him on. But now, rather than wait for the next line's total Front Desk supervision, he called the client, direct, who said an assistant would be there "to get you soon." While why the package wouldn't come too wasn't his place to ask. 

The hustling, but polite, assistant nodded him in. Despite its being an exception for thirty years for messengers to be past Front Desk Security. Access blocked since even before the western wall's substantial bank of telephones were removed. Getting the courier to wonder whose power made this unnecessary move possible? Although they'd probably lost other bikes that wouldn't wait, so his guess was the client was willing to pay for speed.

So. A short elevator ride and he was dropped in an elaborate Reception Area. Where, except for the far off lone male receptionist, he was left to himself, in the center, to do a 360° survey of the exquisite decorations. Seeing what the whole city, since before the Dutch, reflects, success. Then his "supervisor" popped her head out a door to say, "A few more minutes. Please." Making sure he was still there.

Then just feeling drawn to look at a different door, without intending, a contingent of suits swept him with them through a short corridor somewhere that felt like backstage. Seeing things he wasn't meant to, the courier was wide-eyed while the two uniforms assisted the group's table seating. But in an atmosphere so friendly he moseyed on over to the gap on an actual stage he was stunned wasn't television and shook at the thought.
But with no time to weigh consequences, his feet instinctively felt the opportunity carry his shy personality center stage. 
At the podium the courier reached in his messenger bag for his company's stapled instructions he hadn't memorized. Placing the sheets on the podium, and bag between his feet, maybe half the hall raised their heads wondering "what the?" While the other half, at least for a while, would have been reasonably expected to ignore Secretary General Ban Ki-moon himself.  

The courier saw a little mike and "Hello" filled the hall. Dazed, he said, "Ladies and Gentlemen," and confused by Security, yelled "End ruthless rule!" 

Under apparent arrest, carried by two officials in both ears telling him his future was ruined, was the exact ramification the messenger was responsible for preventing. Though in his case, at that moment of extreme regret, a Sri Lankan yelled, "Wait!" Stopping his handlers. She insisted, "He's spoken here. It is my right to hear him out." Then directly asked the courier, "What did you mean, sir?" 

Realizing he needed composure most. He remained silent and passive till release. Then straightening his back and shoulders slowly returned to the podium where he 
covered the mike and cleared his throat. Saying calmly, "What's wrong is ruthlessness wins. Machismo's right even when wrong. To enforce civil society, everyday simple things are oppressive. You yourselves know from not paying New York City Parking Summonses through Diplomatic Immunity, that the bottom line is money and not public safety. Only our full integrity and the weak are punished for crime and it's this incessant acceptance that the weak's status is theirs and not all of ours, that makes the necessary individualism the scapegoat for the actual complacent flaws privilege shares with poverty. Will who we are always result from pragmatic excuses?"

 (Stephen Chernin/Getty Images)
Then, with the entire hall, even the courier thought - what? But, noticing Security's cautious circle closing in, he scanned the audience for pause, smiling, saying anyway, "I imagine the translators are boggled. Are they working?"

"No," the Sri Lankan answered "Cut off."

"Yes," the courier grinned. "I can't afford this expensive stage. But I'll donate," he said and "cough.

"Now. The reality is to protect rights justice is a contest. A stage for acting out tragedy, courting resolution. But not solving criminality's festering all these generations with how many more to come? Is it true all our shortcomings are financial? It's a financial decision that the whole world isn't bridges and tunnels separating auto and rail transportation to protect ourselves from the inevitable inherent error when they collide. Excusing mistakes for financial reasons is not moral. 

"Justice? Justice is stretched to absurd proportions. It's impossible we'll ever be truly civilized while there's two sides to the law. In all practicality the marginal criminalization of the public makes the public enemies of the people. The police should be such good guys we're not put through the expense of citizens feeling they have to evade them. 'But hardened criminals' you ask? Not if what must be done is done educationally. Because it's not a mystery why people grow up bizarre. But what's strange is how authority handles everything militarily. Police should be everywhere with no reason to be nosy about everyone's business. 'But anyone could be a bad person,' I'm reminded. Yes and we're already dealing with that. Social imbalance must be solved from our humane core. The violent spectacle all around us is from a distorted belief in revenge when anyone's being dressed in sheep's clothing led to slaughter is wrong."

"Excuse me," a
 new official asked, swinging an arm lightly, ready to grab a hold? "Aren't you done?"

The courier said, "I would prefer not to" into the mike. And the two men looked at each other. One wondering what would move this along and the other curious to see how far it goes.

Re-addressing the UN General Assembly Hall, the courier said, "I know this is against protocol and still chose to do it. Rules are mostly broken because of opportunity. It would be nice if people who did drugs were morally corrupt and maintaining the Criminal Enterprise System the righteous thing to do. But that's not true. Get your heads out of the clouds. Not doing drugs does not make people morally superior. Whatever it is, the world has to stop being jealous of each others' adventures. A justice system would respect the public and not have opposite sides seeing each other as enemies. We're much too sophisticated and advanced for all this nonsense. Terrorists? The world stood and stands by letting wicked symbolize so much, that we're undone by our judgmental madnesses. Destroyed by everyone's superiority complexes.
"But," he said, raising his hand for pause. Perhaps pretending he was meant to say, "It's just how things are. Oh well. We just have to collectively shrug our shoulders, right? Well. The future would be right to judge us by what we haven't accomplished rather than what we have."

Then the courier nodded once to the hall and stepped back from the podium with a return motion as if Security's hands could be kept off indefinitely making him laugh, and consequently seem more suspicious. 

But who applauded first is hard to say because when the Sri Lankan raised her hands a quarter of the hall gave a light applause. And while h
e didn't get the package, he took away the valid hope someone understood. And that's that. Because, after all, how could being a publicity hazard lose his job when everyone's favorite show's As The Celebrity Turns? 

Essays Worth Not Missing 

March 7th's on intrusive advertising: 
The Cost of Paying Attention by Matthew B. Crawford in The New York Times adapted from his forthcoming book, The World Beyond Your Head: On Becoming an Individual in an Age of Distraction

The 15th's How Business Made Us Christian or March 14th's Digital Title A Christian Nation? Since When? TNYT by Kevin M. Kruse

Birth of a Freedom Anthem TNYT by Ethan J. Kytle 
and Blain Roberts. "We Shall Overcome"

And Slavery's Enduring Resonance TNYT by Edward Ball (An explanation of what's behind American Equality's veneer.)


The courier said, "I'm in the Waldorf. The recipient doesn't answer her phone. And the Package Room says she's not registered under her name, Delta Blair." 

The courier scratched his head. "No sir. If the recipient isn't here or you don't find her somewhere else I'm supposed to bring this envelope back to you. 

"You're not in the city anymore? You gave me this package in your bathrobe.

"Yes sir but I really wouldn't know how to go about charging you for my standing here waiting for her all night. And possibly all day tomorrow.

"I understand it's important. Yes sir. Okay. And if I just search Delta Blair her photo will bounce off the Internet at me, you say. 

"Okay. Twenty an hour. I'll wait. 

The courier was looked at peculiar waiting in the Lobby and explained his task to the Front Desk. He went for coffee and ate the sandwich his wife always made sure he brought with him. 

He walked for a bit on the 50th Street side. Past the swanky Apartments' Entrance, 
by the Loading Dock where the luxuries are shipped in.