Okay. So this is most certainly not the Golden Age of Elizabethan England. It's Dark Age Britain. That much is evident. Even so, despite the fact that I hold two degrees, and were I in any other country in the world (even without these two meaningless pieces of paper that have cost me deep in the pocket, over £15,000, not to mention countless hours of studying) I would most certainly not be reduced to slavery. I have to get over it already. This is not a Golden Age. It is an age of poverty, plague, war, climate change, and anyone that thinks this is not the Dark Age, is living in f-ing Rainbow land (making reality up as they go along, rather than accepting it for what it is). Anyway.
There was a tense moment at work this evening. I got the blame for a mistake (though it was not my fault - that time at least). One ought to be forgiving, and see the very best in people, recognise the hard work they have done, not come down like a tonne of bricks every time a slight error is made. Yet this is not an enlightened period of history. My line manager is not yet eighteen years old. He is the village idiot. Slow. Lazy. The boy is insane (yet no less than the rest of them there). Anyhow. Captain Bligh was hard on me for trying to do two jobs at once (no one else would do the other job, for they were all busy, and all jobs need to be done: it is also time critical, with a conveyor belt running), my attempt at rectifying said mistake. I very nearly almost said to him, as Marlon Brando's character, Fletcher Christian, in Mutiny on the Bounty (in precisely the same accent, I might add), "Williams has been drinking sea water. I was giving him some fresh water. I'm afraid he'll die without it." Captain Bligh likes to kick his crew sometimes. Even his older brother thug, today, when one member of the crew complained that they were tired, was promptly put out of doors and drenched in the rain. They have not trapped anyone in the freezer with the lights off now for some time, so surely things are looking up.
I almost said to him, the thug, "You'll not put your hand on me again. Ship's company! You've given your last command Bligh! I'm taking control of this ship! Mills! They keys to the armoury!" Yet I did not. I am reminded of Mike McShane's character's line in Robin Hood, "Thank you Lord for teaching me humility." These people are not well read, they are not educated, they are not mindful, considerate, kind hearted people. They ridicule those well educated (especially the foreign thugs in charge) and have no conception of what it is like to be an artist or a scholar. They are impatient, sarcastic, and ill-suited to their positions (lowly though they are, though not as low as the basest slave that ever there were in Dark Age Britain: namely, myself).
I have been rehearsing in my mind what I shall say to them each when I do finally leave (for I have made preparations to elevate myself out of poverty: through hard work, study, learning ancient languages and penning plays fit for a king - or indeed a queen). I shall say to them, "Thank you for teaching me patience. My time here has been most instructive. You have taught me mindfulness, diligence, a measure of politeness, and most of all: the privilege of labour teaches us all things. I thank you all, kindly, for deigning me fit and suitable to be of good service." These are, of course, all of the qualities which they lack, for they are not that way inclined, but instead of saying anything negative, it is best to remain on good terms with all men and women, no matter how much they may despise you. Repay evil with good. Always.
Max.
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