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The Man



Who is The Man?

I'm not The Man.

Neither are you.

Or you.

Or

You



Is your manager The Man?

Your manager is not The Man.

He empties the bedpan of The Man.

But only when The Man is under the weather.



Is Donald Trump The Man?

The Donald is not The Man.

He works for The Man as His valet.

But only on weekends at His summer estate.



Is the Prime Minister The Man?

The Prime Minister is not The Man.

He picks up The Man's dry-cleaning.

But only if The Man's manservant is on holidays.



Is Tony Soprano The Man?

Tony Soprano is not The Man.

He picks up The Man's garbage.

But only on Tuesdays.



But I know The Man.

I've worked for Him.

And so has everyone else.

And so have you.

And everybody who works contracts.

Or have been part-time sandwich artists.

Or high-rolling, high-flying, high-paying Wall Street types.



I know what The Man's shoes look like.

Because it doesn't do to make sustained eye contact with The Man.

Makes you look uppity.



I know what The Man's name is.

His Name is "Sir".

But if you say His Name you're being too familiar.



I know where The Man lives.

He lives in a Star Chamber.

In a land far away, in a house next door to yours, with a peephole into your life.



When you get laid off?

That's The Man kissing your pink slip.



When you sign on for that non-renewable, short-term, no-benefits contract in not-for-profit profit land?

That's The Man letting you know he cares.



When you get docked pay for staying home with sick lungs or a sick child or a sick mother?

That's The Man showing you his family values.



But I have some good news.



I've heard The Man's been looking over his stock options.

The Man's been looking over his registered retirement savings plan.

Been getting advice from his psychic friends.



Because The Man's been looking into retirement.

Looking to reduce His workload.

To increase His leisure time.



Because The Man's getting bored with looking over us.

Looking out for us.

After us.



Because The Man looking to stretch His legs.

Looking to broaden His horizons.

For different horizons.



So my brothers and sisters.

My comrades and my coworkers.

My friends and my enemies.

Raise your glass.

And toast the host.

And eat your slice of cake.



Because The Man is heading off into the sunset.

Freedom 55 has finally arrived.

And the night is good for dancing.