The Curse of Civilization:
The 40 Hour Work Sentence
by Craig Manelli

The most grievous injustice in life has to be that of the 40-hour workweek. If I could have just 5 minutes alone with the slithering toad that contrived this licentious concept, perhaps I could attain just a fraction of the retribution, which is, undeniably, my due.

I struggle daily with the societal notion that in order to be a "well respected man" (or woman) one must appropriate the better part of his time each day to the drudgery that is work. I have come to the incontestable conclusion that some people are simply not destined to be a part of the work force. Myself, being one of the aforementioned individuals. Ever since I first came to the horrifying revelation that leaving childhood behind necessitated obtaining gainful employment, the quality of my life has been declining steadily. If memory serves me, this divulgence came to me as I accepted my High School diploma. While my classmates reveled in their newfound "freedom", I mourned the loss of innocence and autonomy from mundane responsibilities. To me, it seemed like a cruel irony. A sick joke played by a sadistic joker. I had the freedom to be a man, to pursue any ventures, which stimulated my mind. However, I had not the time to pursue such things due to the 40-hour workweek. This would prove to be the albatross, which would hang tenaciously from my weary neck for the rest of my disconsolate life.

Each morning I wake to the acrimonious cries of a wretched little incubus, which masquerades itself as an innocuous household appliance called "the alarm clock". Things inevitably get progressively worse from here. Once the initial shock of being rudely ripped from the serenity of R.E.M. stage sleep dissipates, the real misery begins. At this point its time to sell my soul. Now don't run for your crucifixes, and start burning these pages yet. I haven't made a pact with the old guy downstairs. I, as does everyone who is not afforded the luxury of a last name such as Kennedy, must sell a little piece of my soul each day. Each hour I spend toiling for the profit of others is an hour of my life, which can never be replaced. This terrifies me.

Of all the trite axioms and aphorisms, which are frivolously tossed about daily, perhaps none is truer than the age-old adage: "time waits for no one". Bearing this in mind, it is not hard to comprehend where my resentment of established work ethics originates. Assuming that we have only one life to live, our time on this Earth is truly a precious and radically finite commodity. Consider this: there are 24 hours in a day. The average person is expected to dedicate 8-9 hours daily to performing a task, which in most cases does nothing to further his intellectual, artistic, or physical capability. To add insult to injury, it is often a necessity for many of us to spend considerable time commuting to and from our respective places of business. When all is said and done, it would not be unreasonable to assume that the average working class individual spends between 10 and 12 hours daily on activities which are about as stimulating as counting the hairs on one's head. Of course, as usual, there are exceptions. There are those fortunate few who actually enjoy their occupations. To those auspicious few, I tip my hat.

Ok, so we have established that 40-50% of each workday is donated to someone else's gratification. By this I simply mean that each hour that I spend at a job, performing whatever menial tasks are expected of me, the organization I work for is profiting. If they weren't, let's face it, I wouldn't be in their employ for very long. Conversely, while they are profiting from my drudgery, I am trading copious amounts of precious life away for monitory compensation. What is an hour of your life worth? $10? $20? $50? I suppose the answer to that inquiry would be different for everyone. Speaking exclusively for myself, I don't believe one can put a price on life. If our mortality is indeed impending, how dare society demand that we trade it away for financial remuneration? It saddens me to consider what I might have accomplished, had I not been forced to sell my life away for a few dollars each week. Imagine if Mozart had been forced to take a day job. The world may never have blessed with the beauty of his music. The same may be said of Wagner, Nietzsche, Beethoven, Van Gogh, ad infinitum. Some of the most brilliant minds in history were owned by the "unemployed". Bach died virtually penniless, as did Edgar Allen Poe. Nietzsche died in a sanitarium.

The 40-hour workweek is the bane of civilization. It is a cancer which eats at the human spirit, until the only thing left is an over-weight, underachieving, prime-time addicted android which vaguely resembles a man, yet lacks the exuberance and creativity that is seen so clearly in the eyes of a child. Society takes humans and turns them into workforce-robots. We are the most recent incarnation of the Stepford generation. We've been literally brainwashed into believing that a strong "work ethic" is a virtue, which will somehow magically infuse us with a sense of pride and accomplishment. This is the most pathetic load of dung I've ever heard. Has anyone ever stopped to consider the possibility that if humans had more time to devote to ourselves, we might not need to artificially instill ourselves with false pride, based on the magnitude of our bank books, but rather on our intellectual and spiritual accomplishments. I can not count the times I have met some so-called "successful person", only to find that he or she possessed the I.Q. of sewer rat, with values to match. These types can usually be found congregating in and around government offices and state capitals.

Material wealth is not an indicator of one's success on this earth; happiness is, at least for me. Don't get me wrong, I love money. I adore it and all the things it can attain, but not at the expense of my soul. I believe true fulfillment can only come by being brutally honest with yourself, and staying true to oneself. Being forced to wake up each morning at an un-godly hour and mindlessly conform to a society which is suffering from acute brain atrophy is certainly not the path to self-fulfillment. There has to be a better way. Do I have the answer? No, but at least I have recognized the problem, and surely that is the first step towards rectification.

Craig Mannelli