Loneliness is the only constant other than consumerism

Hello from the land of wage slavery. Someone asked me if I was okay the other day and I said, “No, as long as I have a job, I’ll never be okay.” I will start sharing my feelings on the news again soon. Until then, here is a piece that I wrote about friendship in a dystopian nightmare. It’s called The Drink. Onto the The Drink…

The Drink

They received an email with instructions on how to retrieve a free THC drink and an upgraded membership to a place they’d never been to. The Travel Agency, they called themselves, insinuating their ability to coordinate travels through your mind, enabled by consuming a drug that grows from the ground. Once illegal, now the drug is available in all forms of ingestion, users’ choice. The candy for those whose lungs have been weakened by long COVID-19 or those who want to avoid coughing up a lung even if the reward is the separation from dystopia.

They asked their friend across the table if they’d be interested in coming. She declined. Understandable given she is consumed with a disease that forces her to question her value in a society that only values healthy bodies. They both cried throughout the dinner. When they first met each other, they came to this restaurant happy, young, healthy, and hopeful.

“Remember when we snuck the bottle of tequila in here before COVID?” they asked at some point between the tears.

“Yes, after waiting for an hour for nachos!”

They laughed a nostalgic laugh, hoping they could conjure the times when they roamed around the city, weaving through unlimited events, looking forward to a life filled with whatever our society defines as success. When the laughter faded, they looked at each other comforting each other through the curves that capitalism and living long enough to understand how everything works throws at you.

They hadn’t been successful in the way they were told they should be. They, moving in and out of unemployment. Her tolerating a job for insurance to pay for treatment because the state will dispose of bodies that cannot serve capital.

They wrapped their arms around each other as they walked to the train. They said we’ll talk more. She went uptown, they went downtown to receive their free THC drink.

They walked into the Travel Agency excited to receive the elixir that would crowd out all the painful thoughts with nothing. They passed their ID to a bouncer stationed at the store’s opening, a reminder the state is always watching. The bouncer instructed them to walk to the register, show the email and whisper the password mentioned in the email. They waited in line looking around contemplating whether they’d been to this dispensary before. Wondering whether this was really their life. Traveling from dinner to get free drugs.

The cashier asked them for their email. They asked if this email would be given to the government to track their drug usage. The cashier uttered a self assured no. To have so much confidence to hide from the surveillance state, they wish they had that. They also wish they could be the type of person who could walk around not letting the knowledge of living in an autocracy built on human sacrifices permeate through their every pore. Making it onerous to breathe.

The cashier asked what flavor of THC drink they wanted, they asked what the cashier recommended, the cashier recommended a lemon drink because it’s not too sweet. They said yes to the drink. The cashier disappeared to the back and reappeared with the suggested drink. They took the drink and walked out of the store, immediately opened it, gulped down as much as was possible in one swig.

They hoped the drink would erase the pain of living in the world where loneliness is the only constant other than consumerism. Everything tells you to buy something so you can fill the hole created by being separated from other humans. They drank the drink, it submerged them in a protective layer where the pain was ameliorated by a mind floating into nothingness.

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Your favorite anarchist comedian/poet/social critic,

Marcela