My Unpopular Opinion About People
We deserve to die
During my last (and final) performance review, my boss used the word “granular” at least four times. Whenever I asked a specific question, he said the information they had wasn’t granular enough.
Existentially, in the middle of this review, I started to wonder how life had gotten to the point that in order to feed and house myself, not only did I have to work myself to death, I also had to endure these pointless conversations about bullshit.
I feel the same way about writing about nuclear power. As the numbers come in and public awareness is glacially growing, the objections to nuclear are becoming more tangential and esoteric. I’m receiving vague conspiracy theories now, and the word “scalable” has come up a few times.
Technically, matches are more scalable than nuclear reactors, primarily because there aren’t as many irrational fears or political consequences when it comes to producing or advocating for matches.
Others have said we have to wait for a new, as yet unimagined technology, which is why instead of walking to the supermarket, I’m going to wait until my descendants evolve into winged creatures who can fly there.
The longer I’m alive, the more life feels like a farce. Fill out these forms, go to job interviews, and pretend that you care, and when you finally get a job, doing it isn’t enough.
You have to pretend you like it, or to be busy when you aren’t, or that what your managers are saying makes any sense whatsoever. Question anything, and you’re the one with the attitude problem.
I accept some of the blame for this, but not all of it. I was born into this idiotic culture of make-believe nonsense, but by participating, I’ve also done my part to perpetuate it. I’ve rationalized that overtime makes up for lousy wages and microscopic raises, and that we all have to eat shit in order to live.
Now, with the future more uncertain than ever, I’ve asked myself what’s the point if you’re miserable?
My friends have advised me it’s a bad career move to quit, and coworkers have called to ask if I’m okay because a person would have to be crazy to do what they dream of doing every day.
I don’t have a wife or kids to drag down with me, and I’m privileged enough that I don’t have to find another corporate job.
I could squeak by as a janitor or security guard, and I’d be more than happy to do so. The Brooklyn Aquarium is looking for security guards, and I also love it there.
My favorites were two beluga whales, their foreheads always pulsing with empathy. They’re no longer alive, but there are plenty of other creatures to keep me company.
What has mankind done for anyone except for a few wealthy bastards? We have more salves for our misery than in the past, but most of us live lives that never truly feel like our own, and in the meantime, we’re destroying the planet and decimating other animals at an alarming rate.
The only humans who aren’t complicit (yet) are young children, and we’re screwing them over, too.
And we keep going to war to defend this destructive way of life that most of us hate.
Individually, most of us don’t deserve to die, but collectively, as a species, we probably do.