Sometimes, it seems like rampant selfishness is going to ruin the world. Everybody puts themselves first, which in and of itself is not a bad thing, but they seem to do so at the detriment of others. People are SO self-centered that they can’t even see beyond the exact moment in time. To counter this, I have a proposal.
Everyone should be required to work in a menial low-respect job. Not forever, but for a while – long enough to understand what it’s like.
These include:
- Retail
- Food service
- Custodial work
- Referee / Umpire
- Secretary
After working retail during the holiday season, how many of us would continue to dig through a pile of clothing for the perfect size while leaving the rest in a shambles? How many of us would leave the fitting room overflowing with clothing we couldn’t bother to hang up?
How many of us would refuse to tip our servers for a mistake the kitchen made after waiting tables for a few months?
If we had to spend a few months picking up other people’s garbage, would we still litter and stick gum on the undersides of tables and toss cigarette butts on the ground?
Would we continue to scream at referees and umpires at our children’s games if we had once been that ref or ump?
Would we be more conscious of the work involved in putting together a mailing under someone else’s name if we had done it before? More understanding of the speed of our dictation?
People need a bit of compassion. If we can’t imagine ourselves walking a mile in someone else’s shoes, we need to actually get into those shoes and start walking. And then we’d learn that just a little civility, and a little extra work for each individual, makes the world an infinitely better place. We all just have to do our part.
My flight left from O’Hare’s F terminal, a neglected wing made up of intricately lettered and numbered gates. Outside, it was uniformly grey, from the sky to the tarmac, the jetways to the trucks carrying black suitcases and colorless in-flight meals. Grey, grey, grey. Oprah shouted, muted, on a TV across the way; she has a sister now. Like bingo hosts, gate agents shouted letters and numbers at random: gate changes, flight delays and estimated arrival times.
My usual seat in the front corner of Intelligentsia on Randolph was taken. I retreated to a tiny table in the back of the café, under a barrel light fixture with vintage bulbs. The glowing filaments gave off a deceptive warmth.
