In the Pajama Game, the people we're meant to identify with, as opposed to the stingy management, sing a number meant to be rousing and ironic about gaining 7 and a half cents per hour at the factory. And they excitedly add up the numbers to find that they can earn this or that over the course of their years. They're counting their money before they get it, and spending it before they have it.
I think of small gains too, and play "if only." I can try to decide if a raise of that magnitude meant more in the 1950s. I can scoff at the meaningless futility of a 40 hour workweek with possible overtime. I can thank God that I am not involved in the factory grind, never at an actual factory, that I used to be drowning in. Or, I can understand that as a child of the King, I don't have to provide. I am provided for.
If I wanted to, I could charge a trip to Paris on my credit card and go eat lunch there. In the course of human history, that means I am a very rich man.
No comments:
Post a Comment