In a downtown Toronto office building, between the 18th
and 19th floors, an elevator was stuck. Inside the elevator were
a balding, middle-aged businessman in a gray suit and a young man with a nose
ring, spiky black dyed hair and wearing jeans and a torn black shirt bearing
the words “Fuck your God!” across the chest.
The
businessman put his iPhone back in his inside jacket pocket. “Looks we’re going
to be here for a while,” he said. “The repairman’s delayed because of the
street protests.”
“Great,”
said the young man.
“Glad I got
to the voting booth this morning. Did you vote yet?”
“Vote in
what?”
“The
federal election. For the Prime Minister. You know, the leader of our country?”
“Oh yeah. I
guess that’s what the protests are about.”
“So are you
going to vote later today? If this elevator gets fixed soon, you may still have
time.”
“No, I’m
not voting.”
“Hmph!
Maybe just as well.”
“What’s
that supposed to mean?”
“Well, it’s
just that you probably don’t know the first thing about your own government.
You don’t care to find out, so it’s just as well if you don’t make an unwise
voting decision. Sit this one out and let the responsible adults run things.”
“Yeah,
you’re very responsible. Very good at running things into the ground.”
“Cynical
too, I see. Let me tell you something: you think you’re a rebel but you’re just
a cliché. Every generation of youth is the same. ‘Woe is me, the sky is
falling! Drop out of the system!’ Only the end never comes. Civilization keeps
chugging along and you either join it or get left behind.”
“You don’t
know shit. You forgot what it was like being young, ’cause you’ve sold out. You
think everything’s fine ’cause your bank account’s bursting. You’ve got
blinders on, old man.”
“What do
you think you know that I don’t, then? Enlighten me.”
“When
you’re young, but not too young so you can think for yourself, you’re not part
of society. Not yet. You’re on the outside, but there’s all these forces trying
to push you in. Your teachers, your parents. ‘Get your skills,’ they say. ‘Get
a job, get a wife, settle down, have kids, work like a dog, go on vacations.’
When you can’t work anymore, you loaf around and then you die. That’s how
society works. People are recycled in it. You’ve got to be productive or it’s
like you said, you get left behind. Maybe you find yourself in jail or
homeless. But when you’re young, you’re not in the rat race yet. You’re on the verge
with all these hands at your back, but you’re still outside and you can see the
whole thing clearly, maybe just for a short while. You can see society for what
it is. And then you’ve got to choose to stay on the outside or sign
your life away. Most teens sign up and then they lose their objectivity, like
you. Not me, though. I’ll always be an outsider.”