One of the bosses at my last job was enthusiastically explaining a project to me, when she knocked over a freshly-opened bottle of grapefruit juice that had been sitting on my desk. She quickly threw the bottle away, and placed paper towels on my desk to soak up the juice. She went on explaining the project, and when she was done, returned to her own work. No offer to pay for or replace the juice, which had cost $1.25 at a local deli. I can't imagine that if she had accidentally destroyed a dollar bill or even some coins I had on my desk, she would walk away without replacing the money. What conclusion to draw from this? Have we come to see money, something with no intrinsic value, as more valuable than the objects it can purchase?
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Part of my last job involved researching various aspects of corporate philanthropy. Once, I was going through the annual report from Coca-Cola, noting their remarkable sales figures and ambitious plans for the future. In one section of the report was a pie chart showing the percentage share of total beverage consumption for the top beverages. Accompanying this chart was a long exposition on how unacceptable it was that tap water consumption held the largest slice of the pie. Detailed plans for replacing tap water consumption with Coca-Cola product consumption were outlined. That's right, Coca-Cola, unsatisfied with crushing the soda competition, begrudges you your tap water. Have a Coke and NOTHING ELSE, DAMN YOU!
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Summer 97: my then-boyfriend and I were driving back to his place very late one night, carrying on an animated conversation about vegetarianism (he is a meat-eater; I am not). I asked him if he would cook and eat his pet cat, and if not, what would make it any more distasteful than eating a cow? At the very moment I was posing this question, an orange and white cat appeared at the side of the highway entrance ramp, peering into the road. This cat looked so much like my boyfriend's cat, Kitty (who was not supposed to be outside), that we stopped the car to take a look. Only after rolling down the windows and calling to the cat did we ascertain that it was not Kitty. Kitty was safe at home waiting for us when we returned.
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I lived in Astoria, Queens (the setting of the television show "All in the Family") for three years. Once when I was walking home from the subway, I saw a father and son out in their garden. The little boy, who must have been about 8 or 10, was playing with a hose, spraying water gleefully onto a brick wall of the home (which wasn't harming anything). The father came over, scolded him, and redirected the hose towards some flowers or bushes. The image of the father spoiling the kid's fun has remained in my mind ever since. It shows much of what's wrong with the way adults often relate to children. Everything doesn't have to be "educational." Everything doesn't have to be work. You could learn something from your kid, they don't always have to be learning something from you. And what is a greater priority, that the flowers be watered at exactly that moment, or that a child be allowed to enjoy himself?
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One day last spring, I went to the snack machines in the psychology department between classes. First, I put a dollar into the soda machine to purchase a diet coke (which is supposed to cost 50 cents). It gave me the coke, plus three quarters change. Pleased with this unexpected bonus, I put the three quarters into the other machine to purchase some chips (which were supposed to cost 65 cents). This machine gave me chips, and no change.
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I attended the University of Maryland for a semester right after graduating from high school. I spent most of this time goofing off (my final grades were 3 F's and 1 A -- in choir). One of the things I did instead of going to class was meeting musicians for a potential band. My roommate, Shelly, had a one night stand with one of my contacts. After they slept together, he asked her to leave so he could get some sleep. I remember her coming in late at night, standing by the window looking out into the courtyard. She said, in a question not meant to be answered, "do you think anybody really cares about anyone else, anyway?" At the time, I could not agree with that view of the world. I've heard several people express similar attitudes or questions to me since then, but that particular question, together with the image of Shelly standing by the window looking out into the courtyard, has stayed with me. At some point, however, I had a flash that if I you just put the emphasis on "really" in that statement I had been disagreeing with for years, there you have something I will, in my darker moments, agree with.
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