The Americans

They wore drab business colors—black, white and grey. Some of the men on board had THE blue workshirt—that dark navy blue that became popular years ago. Grey ties choked most of their necks.

I used to buy gray ties. I used to buy shirts with long sleeves and button holes at the tips of the collars. I used to want to be like those people in the business colors.

This was a train ride out of Wall Street. Every man and woman on board was an aspiring tycoon. 8:05PM and here was a train pakced with hard working Americans. Americans reading strategic planning reports, responding to emails on their Blackberries. Americans taking their money-making jobs home where they would have dinner with their bonuses before going to bed clutching spreadsheets in their desirous fingers. Dreams would come of corner offices surrounded by windows overlooking a matrix of cubicles.

There’s no freedom in being this kind of American. There’s no compassion, no democracy in the corporate office. Then we can’t expect there to be any “American” values elsewhere in the lives of a people who take their work home. When chasing dollar bills, halting for true respite and deep reflection only makes you poorer.