The Rat Race: Part 1 (The Performance)

Image Courtesy of Dec Art Company

“The ideology of democracy tries to maintain a society’s comfort and convenience based on liberal views, so that the bigger questions of life are never asked of those imposing democracy upon the people. The hierarchical systems of government, banking, corporations, and royalty end up being tyrants rather than servants.”

-Tao Te Ching, Translated by Jason Gregory

*You enter a small theater. The lights are off, but the seats are empty, so you reach out your hand to skim the back of the seats and choose the one on the end of the aisle. Your arms are resting on dark mahogany wood and you relax. It’s too dark for your eyes to make out the figure approaching, but judging by the light, small interval of foot steps, it’s a woman. Bright lights abruptly come on, and although you’re in the back, your eyes are nearly blinded by the synthetic white. You’re curious, so you keep your eyes open. But the light hurts, so you turn your head and avert your eyes from the stage when you hear a sharp, sweet voice*

“Welcome to America!”

She exclaims.

“Please make yourself at home, but remember to keep all nefarious activities like critical thinking and a high quality of life outside of the vehicle.” 

She squats down and puts her hands out as if driving a vehicle and motions her hands as if she is a carnival ride operator.

“One foot in front of the other now.” 

You feel amused.

“To make your stay here as comfortable as possible, please get the hell in line.” 

You shift your weight to the edge of the seat to take in everything that is going on.

“Don’t ask what kind of person you want to be or even can be. The only objective here is what you want to be when you grow up.” 

You yell to the stage as if the last sentence she asks was a direct inquiry.

“Oh, an artist?” 

You nod your head.

“Do you want to live under a bridge? Well, at least you’d have a big community to be with.”

She puts her hand to her ear as if she hears another person yelling a response as to what they want to be when they grow up.

You look around to make sure it really is just you there and just as your eyes scan the other side of the theater your gaze snaps back to center stage with a wild retort.

“A doctor? Perfect! But not the kind of doctor that teaches holistic medicine. The kind that goes by the book.”

She winks.

You finish scanning the auditorium - you’re definitely the only one there. 

“What book? Written by who you ask?” 

You press your feet to the floor with discomfort and glue your back to the seat. Oddly fascinated, you remain glued to her words. Before her last questions can catch up with you, she shoots out words with a sudden sternness. She locks eyes with you to make sure you’re paying attention.

“It doesn’t matter, it's correct.” 

You didn’t realize you were holding your breath. You close your eyes and breathe deeply and you hear her continue with the same stern sentiment she shared a moment ago. You keep your eyes shut to avoid the glare, but you can still feel her looking at you.

“And the same goes for our religions, our laws, and our politics.” 

Your eyes stay closed, but your amusement has faded and now you feel angry. With fists balled up, you remain quiet. She can be heard continuing.

“Do not question it.” 

You breathe deeply again and focus on your breaths as her voice falls to the background.

“Also do not question the dozens of pills we prescribe you so you’re just productive enough to continue working but not productive enough to escape. And definitely don’t begin to think about the chemical ridden food available in every family grocery store.” 

Now you feel like you’re gonna lose it - you begin to stand up and violently assert your opinions when she returns to a sweet, tender voice - a side she hasn’t yet shown. The sudden shift in her tone makes you feel disoriented. As fast as it came, your anger fades to hopelessness. Your limbs become momentarily limp.

“We look forward to seeing you soon for your next visit to the doctor’s and will send you a thank you letter with an even longer bill attached neatly to the end.” 

The program in her mind plays. She responds to another objection, but this time it matches that you had been thinking.

“A fractured system you say? Failing? Surely not.” 

Your eyes begin tearing up as you realize nothing you say will make a difference because she doesn’t want to hear it anyway. You wonder if she is a robot as she starts another rant.

“America is number one! It always has been. To continue being number one, it is up to you, and only you to show up on time, eight hours a day, five days a week.” 

After realizing this has gone on for a while, you take a different approach. You stop taking things she says personally and begin to observe her as if you’re watching a play. After all, you are in a theatre. You realize she’s saying a script she has been programmed with over a long period of time.

“Oh, it's your child's birthday you might have to skip. Not work, your child's birthday, silly.” 

Your begin to see she is the one who is trapped. As your hopelessness turns to compassion, you watch standing with your hands on the seat in front of you, your body relaxed.

“I heard you had a family emergency? How terrible!” 

You recall hearing these words before.

“We may have to consider someone more committed if this happens again. Next time, you might want to consider using one of your sick days or holidays.” 

At this point, she is used to the objections; her own statement prompts a defense when you haven’t said a word.

“There's not many, but you should make the most of it!” 

You continue observing and involuntarily your head cocks to the side and your eyebrows soften. The compassion becomes a softness inside of you as you see her innocence. She continues still in the script. You can’t tell if she is a brilliant actor or a brainwashed person.

“We want happy employees for our PR. And the holidays are a fantastic benefit because you can experience diverse cultures of the world and get a glimpse of the world without biased media. If you could afford it, that is.” 

Without missing a beat she boasts another response to objections.

“Maybe if you get another job, it’d be possible.”

You put your hands in your pockets and wonder how much longer she could continue with this act. You continue standing with patience and curiosity to see if she’ll break character.

“With what time you ask? Don’t worry you’ll figure it out.” 

You put your hand to your heart because you feel for her. Whether it’s an act or a brainwash, you can sense the tension and anger in her instead of you. She stands with a rigid body, stiff and pointing her finger.

“You better not be asking for handouts. That’s not the American way.” 

You wonder how long she’s been saying these things.

“We are so glad to have you …by the throat.” 

You begin to remember feeling that way and recall once more that she is the one who is trapped.

“Now on your marks, get set …go!” 

*The lights turn on and the curtains close. You walk away wondering if she knows she’s acting. As you exit the theater, you begin to cry - this time it’s not suffering you feel as a victim, it’s sadness for her as a human. Even if it is an act. You wonder if she will ever feel freedom the way you do now.*

By Arabella Davis