Page 28 - The Myth and the Moment

Morning

water and grapefruit juice, thank you. Maybe I should take some with
me; got to be cheaper here than in some small-town general store.
But can’t carry a whole wet-bar on the Greyhound bus. What should
I tell Al Hodges? Off for a vacation with my wealthy friends in Palm
Springs? How about a medical emergency: chlorine poisoning
requiring immediate hospitalization and maybe I’ll have to sue the
Pool Service? That would make him squirm, all right. For about ten
minutes until he checked it out. Could I get unemployment
compensation if I did something to get myself fired? Nah, not a full-
time employee. Probably not even on the company’s books, for that
matter. How would I know if Hodges really sends the government
any of the withholding tax he takes out of my check? Well, no
complaints. If I leave on good terms he might take me back again if
The End doesn’t come and I have to go back to work.
Work. Is that a dirty word to me? Do I betray my class origins
merely by posing the question? The ‘working-class’ reflex attitude is
like a folk-tale: the clever man displays his manly vigor in physical
labor, simultaneously maintaining two pretenses: working hard for his
bosses and getting away with something for his fellow-workers. The
prize for this juggling act is macho self-esteem, and the magenta-
manicured hand of a pouting pimply, poverty-stricken princess in
marriage. But here I am, a soi-disant artist or intellectual or prophet
of apocalypse, psychologically transcending my objective situation
while playing the game for all the cash I can squirrel away. And it’s all
too easy to slide into a slot in the service economy; unlike struggling
artists of other times and places, I’m in no danger of starving or
dying of consumption—certainly not in sunny Southern California!
No, the pitfalls are lined with softer stuff. With money and
minimal comforts, the struggle is conscience versus ‘life-style.’ I can
isolate myself only so much against the blandishments of mass-media
hype. A hundred years ago, a marginal man could live among his
fellows and still pursue his private projects in peace. Electronic
commercialization of conscience has changed all that; and how to
keep the baby while defenestrating the bath water? If you don’t
participate in social life, your eccentricity inevitably sours into hermit
crabbiness; and if you do, your brain will drain of all sense of logic
and history, thence to be refilled with billboard imagery, television
news, and the endless craving to consume, consume, consume. Must

27