Perhaps
under different circumstances, in a more intimate setting, you would be
interested in my Preferred Membership Plus Price Protection and
Guaranteed Extended Warrantee Plan, or my SmartConsumer’s
“Paint the Night Fantastic” Exclusive Restaurant
Program with no obligation after visiting the dining establishments of
four member participants, but you’re tired now, I know,
you’re not feeling well, creditors have been hounding you and
you don’t do
anything anymore—not like when you were young and full of
potential and were what the Taoists (a very famous ancient religion)
would call an uncarved block, no, certainly not that, because now
you’re confused and misguided and very nearly used
up—so beaten down that when I call to ask how
you’re doing, you sigh and say, “Fine,”
(if you haven’t already hung up) and indicate with your
silence that you just want me to conclude my little performance as
quickly as possible so you can go back to worrying alone.
But let’s get one thing straight. First and foremost, I am
here for you. Yes, I want you to consolidate your debt into one easy
monthly payment at a savings of hundreds, perhaps thousands of dollars,
but more important, I want to reach out to you as a person. I
don’t want to mispronounce your name or get you at a bad
time. I want to help. I’m here to help. When you say
you’re not interested and expect me to thank you, hang up the
phone, and drop off the planet, please realize that I persist not to
irritate you, but to nudge you toward enlightenment. It’s not
your fault that you fail to realize I have something you need. I
understand that. But sometimes it’s frustrating for me too.
It’s like watching sick people die before me, over and over,
refusing the healing medicine I hold out to them. Of course
I’m desperate to save you, but my respect for you as a person
prohibits that. I want to help you save yourself.
Sometimes when I get worn down (yes, even I have bad days) your
selfishness can become overwhelming. Do you honestly believe
you’re the only person who doesn’t require
additional membership service solutions, credit card protection, or
mortgage insurance? I mean, when you get right down to it, what is it
you want from me? Unimaginable wealth? Toe curling, fourth chakra
orgasms, one after another? Immortality? Or just a little time to talk
and get to know one another so that when we turn in for the night, we
can think, Yeah, I had some human contact today; I reached out to
someone and he/she reached back, and for a minute we weren’t
so completely alone but were instead finally connecting as more than
just animals, more than automatons, and, yeah, I’m going to
get discounts on all my flights to Florida from now on as well, and
maybe I can take that savings and start a soup kitchen or homeless
shelter or sanctuary for runaway pregnant girls. Maybe I can start
giving something back. Finally.
But, wait, you say. You’re sitting on ninety thousand dollars
of credit card debt with a monthly minimum you can’t hope to
service, which has led you into a suicidal depression? Okay, I
understand that. I’ve been there. I’m exactly there
right now. With you. Maybe you’ve had some bad luck as the
result of unwise decisions. Who hasn’t? The question is, how
do you get out of this hole you’re in? Let’s think
about that for a minute. If I offer you a minimum savings of
thirty-five dollars a flight to Miami, Orlando, or West Palm, with
certain restrictions, and you make the trip, let’s
say‚ one thousand times, I’ve just reduced your
credit card debt by more than one-third, or roughly thirty-five
thousand dollars. And that’s minimum. That’s just
the beginning. It’s like T.S. Eliot (a very famous poet) said
in the last two lines of his blockbuster poem, The Waste Land:
“Datta. Dayadhvam. Damyata. Shantih shantih
shantih.” Do you see?
Here is my oath to you: I will never sell a product or service you
don’t absolutely need, right this minute. I will never sell a
product or service which I have not exhaustively researched first to
determine its quality and benefit to humanity. I will never sell a
product that doesn’t somehow, someway, save children and/or
animals. I will never not be “there” for you.
But now I have to ask—and this can be
painful—where’s your commitment to help? What are
you doing for the economy and the kids, the wretched, impoverished, and
diseased, the little people who fat cat politicians don’t
give a damn about? Don’t you realize that in order to be
spent upon, you must first spend yourself? I know it’s hard
for you to accept that in order to make others happy, you must first
make yourself happy—that, in a funny way, greed is charity,
materialism is spirituality, wealth is poverty, spending is saving.
Moses himself (one of the biggest stars of the bible) said,
“The meek shall inherit the earth. Do not put that log in
your eye unless you have a stick to carry with it.”
Let’s think about that for a minute. If my net worth
approaches forty million dollars as the result of lucrative and
effortless real estate investments, which you too could participate in,
am I really so well off? I don't think forty million dollars makes me a
multi-millionaire, certainly not a billionaire. In fact, compared to
Bill Gates, or Warren Buffet, or Oprah, or Jesus and the other bible
billionaires, I’m completely broke. Flat out busted. Meek. I
have nothing but the gasoline soaked rags on my back. I certainly
don’t have a log in my eye. And when people talk about
pyramid schemes, have they forgotten that the pyramids are among the
greatest of human achievements—a wonder of the
world—or are they just trying to keep you and me away from
the money?
What I’m really selling here (and selling is probably too
strong a word, since we’ll make next to nothing on this deal)
is peace of mind, gender equity, zero coupon bonds, a chance to get in
on the ground floor, freedom, equal protection under the law, purity, a
good relationship, health, decency, and a capacity for compassion. In
one word: a chance to imbue your life with meaning. A chance to belong.
And a chance to get the government off your back and out of your
bedroom.
So what’s in it for me? (It’s nagging at you, I
know. You’ll evolve though. I promise. Personal Evolution is
part of the Program). The answer is simple: You. You’re in it
for me. Listen carefully. We’re you for America.
That’s our slogan, or part of it. Here’s more: We’ve always been you.
Catchy, I know, but think about this: If we’re not you, who
is? Still not sure? Let me say it again: If we’re not you, who
is? That’s what I thought. It’s like
Mother Teresa (God rest) said of salvation: “Don’t
miss this chance of a lifetime.”
Hey, listen, let’s be better than everyone by helping in huge
ways, but—and this is important—let’s not
feel superior or expect anything in return. Frank Sinatra (a very
famous singer and gentleman farmer philosopher king) said,
“You and I are just like a couple of tots.” Think
about that for a minute. Let’s act like children, uncarved,
unspoiled, frightened, soiled. Let’s wear diapers and watch
television. Let’s be different but exactly the same.
Let’s learn to feel again, to love. Let’s become
who we’ve always been—and more: us, together,
separate but equal, massive and invisible, indivisible, with liberty
and justice for all. Because—don’t you
see?—it’s time to stop fighting us. I’m
talking about us, here. It’s like Jerry Lewis (a very famous
comedian/philanthropist who beat a crippled child to death with a bag
of gold in the south of France in the presence of the Kennedys and
their secret service contingent and later went on to heroically
campaign for millions of crippled strangers) said: “Hey,
Lady!”
That’s right! Like a Zen master beating you with a rod,
I’m trying to wake you. I know you know how much truth there
is in all the pop songs and world religions and poems and cartoons and
needle-pointed bathroom art and other sources of human and animal
wisdom. It’s time to surrender to that wisdom and everything
else. It’s time to bend and be strong. Because if you
don’t give me some piece of yourself, now, tonight, I will
track you down and make a haggis (ancient Scottish delicacy) of your
viscera and internal organs and feed your pulsing pieces to the goats
of human compassion in the name of Jesus and the Founding Fathers and
everything else Holy, because if you don’t know it by now,
I’m just going to say it, straight out: I love you.
I’ve always loved you. And you will never be able to stop me
from saving you. You are my baby donkey love infant and I am yours.
We’re both of us surrounded by strangers here, alone, but
even if we never meet in person, we’ll always have this time
together, this night, this exchange of goods and services and human
connection and money and love and eternity. But just—please,
please, please—I’m begging
you—don’t thank me. Paying me (paying each other,
really) is all the thanks/salvation either one of us will ever need.
And later, when you’re feeling spent from our love, the
loneliness and fear creeping back in, just remember: We’re
you for America. We’ve always been you. If we’re
not you, who is? Shantih shantih shantih.
