"The Man" is retarded

The investment bank I've been temping at searches my bag every morning with one of those x-ray machines found at airports. If I don't submit to this invasion of my privacy I can't go to work-which is actually fine with me, however, it is not fine with my checking account. I frequently find myself at odds with my checking account. It's so friggin needy and demanding, and hardly ever gives anything back, little Wachovia bastard.-- The bizarre thing about my morning search is that it stops at my bag. They don't have me pass through a metal detector, or drug sniffing dogs (I'm thinking being passed through a dog might take a few hours and would be most unpleasant-rimshot) nor do they wand me, pat me down, or strip search me (perhaps more pleasant). So what's the point? "Thanks for taking my bag off my hands for a second. Now, I have my hands free to adjust the anthrax and spy camera I'm clenching in my butt cheeks." Further, they only search temps and visitors. The regular, permanent employees they leave alone. But the Perms are the one's more likely to shoot up an office. They're the ones that care about there jobs and are emotionally invested in the office drama. If a temp gets pissed they just don't show-up or never return from lunch.

I know someone out there is saying, "That's right, Rachael, we need to do more to protect ourselves." Yes! Yes, we need to do more to stop companies from bullying the public into acquiescing their rights. Unfortunately, I'm too lazy to be a revolutionary or an anarchist or even a low level activist. Hell, I couldn't even be bothered to grow dreads and buy a hemp skirt. I'm lucky I get out of bed in the moring and eat food. It all makes me weep a little inside because this is what they're counting on.

But know that they are awful and that you can't beat death no matter how hard you try.