It consisted in large part of the engineers and researchers who had built the Heart of Gold--mostly humanoid, but here and there were a few reptiloid atomineers, two or three green sylphlike maximegalacticians, an octopoid physucturalist or two and Hooloovoo (a Hooloovoo is a superinteligent shade of the color blue). All except the Hooloovoo were resplendent in their multicolored ceremonial lab coats: the Hooloovoo had been temporarily refracted into a free-standing prism for the occasion.
There was a mood of immense excitement thrilling through all of them. Together and between them they had gone to and beyond the furthest limits of physical laws, restructured the fundamental fabric of matter, strained, twisted and broken the laws of possibility and impossibility, but still the greatest excitement of all seemed to be to meet a man with an orange sash round his neck. (An orange sash was what the President of the Galaxy traditionally wore.) It might not even have made much difference to them if they'd known exactly how much power the President of the Galaxy actually wielded: none at all. Only six people in the Galaxy knew that the job of the Galactic President was not to wield power but to attract attention away from it.
Zaphod Beeblebrox was amazingly good at his job.
The crowd gasped, dazzled by sun and seamanship, as the presidential speedboat zipped round the headland into the bay. It flashed and shone as it came skating over the sea in wide skidding turns.
In fact, it didn't need to touch the water at all, because it was supported on a hazy cushion of ionized atoms, but just for effect it was fitted with thin finblades which could be lowered into the water. They slashed sheets of water hissing into the air, curved deep gashes in the sea which swayed crazily and sank back foaming in the boat's wake as it careered across the bay.
Zaphod loved effect: it was what he was best at.
Yes, some people thrive on attention. Crave it, even. Zaphod certainly does. That's his job: to distract. He wields no actual power as President of the Galaxy. Instead, he zooms around in boats and dazzles onlookers. That's what everyone expects. A show.
In a strange way, I think I'm a lot like Zaphod. I put on a good show, in the classroom, at work. I fool people into thinking that I'm always positive and happy and funny. It can be exhausting, especially at the end of a week where being happy and positive has been difficult. Sitting here, at my kitchen table, pounding away on this keyboard, I'm feeling . . . tired.
I know that, come Monday, people are going to expect me to rally my spirits, move on with the task at hand: closing the place where I've worked for over 20 years. I have to admit that I've been dropping a lot of f-bombs today, as in "I f---ing hate this place" and "F--- the whole healthcare system in this country" and "I just don't plain f---ing care anymore." That's just an f-sampling. If I were to make a full f-list, it would be quite long and extensive.
I guess I feel as though I've labored at a job for close to half my life, and it's going to be erased in the space of three weeks. The powers-that-be don't get that. It's just a liquidation, an entry in a computer that will be deleted to them. They don't have to see the people they're affecting. Don't have to look into their eyes and tell them they don't matter. It's easy for CEOs and CFOs and CMOs (basically all the ass-Os that exist) to make life-changing decisions and then go home to their beautiful lives and cars and dinners and vacations and tax exemptions.
Tonight, my wife and I are going out to dinner. I plan to have a few drinks. (maybe more than a few). Had a hard time keeping on my happy/positive mask at work today. When I got home, I set that mask aside, along with my patience, calm, and sense of humor.
Saint Marty is not a pleasant person to be around at the moment.
Please vote for Saint Marty (Marty Achatz) for 2019/2020 Poet Laureate of the Upper Peninsula at the link below:
Vote for 2019/2020 Poet Laureate of the Upper Peninsula
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