August 16, 2005

Business and Bums

Say hi to the new, improved Rohit: the one who wakes up at 6 a.m. and sleeps at 11 p.m., religiously; the one who wears expensive dress shirts and even more expensive dress shoes; the one who carries a briefcase and standard-issue IBM laptop; the one who rides to work on the MUNI with a countless number of other yuppies, white iPod earphones showing unabashedly; the one who spends his days in the airports and nights in corporate hotels. Yes, that's right ladies and gentleman: Say hi to Rohit—the newly inducted faceless businessman.

All right, so maybe it's not as bad as the picture might indicate, considering this isn't the 1940s, I've never even worn a bowler hat, and the tie is (usually) optional, but still, even after only two days in my new corporate life, I've already started feeling like a totally different person. And after this morning's ridiculous run-in with a crazy San Francisco bum/hippie (surprise surprise!), I've been extra aware of my status as a yuppie.

The encounter with the bum happened at a time when I was least expecting it, and in a way which I had never experienced in Berkeley, which, of course, makes it incredibly noteworthy for rohitsrealm.com. On the ride to work this morning, I was sitting in my seat on the train, zoned out and not particularly aware of my surroundings, when suddenly the guy across from me started mumbling reproachfully about corporate pricks, yuppie assholes, and capitalist bastards.

Now, since I have lived in the Bay Area entirely too long to pay any attention to the ramblings of obviously crazy individuals, I continued to zone his idiotic ranting out, until I suddenly became aware that this man was directing his ramblings at me. It took me several moments to register that my appearance might draw these sorts of remarks and several more to understand that the man was going off on me because I hadn't relinquished my seat to a woman who had just boarded the train. Mind you, this woman was only slightly older than me, dressed in expensive designer clothing, and completely able-bodied and furthermore, there were at least ten open seats on the train, one which she indeed took. Tired and not particularly smitten by the idea of getting into a verbal confrontation with some random San Francisco bum so soon after moving here, I ignored him completely and suppressed the impulse to tell him to shove it.

Thinking back on it now, I realize that I shouldn't have been so complacent. This man wasn't simply attacking me, but all those people out there who actually earn a living, pay their bills, and in general, lead productive lives. Who, of all people, is he to attack anything? Worthless doesn't begin to describe someone like him—a drugged out relic of the 1960s, still foolishly deluded by false notions of a Utopian society that will never exist, harassing random people who have done nothing to him. That's not to say that corporate America is perfect or that many of the corporate types aren't pricks, assholes, or bastards, but honestly, I pay a hell of a lot of taxes to support worthless bastards like him, and the least he can do is leave me alone, and let me sit in peace while I ride to work on the goddamn train, also supported by my tax dollars. I mean, is that really too much to ask? Like I've said before, you already waste my money, please don't also waste my time and energy.

Did that sound too corporate to you? I'm telling you—it's the clothes. They change you completely. I suppose only time can tell if I too will eventually be consumed by the proverbial, if metaphorical, bowler hat.