(dystopian) literary connections

"Whether (Winston) went on with the diary, or whether he did not go on with it, made no difference. The Thought Police would get him just the same. He had committed--would still have committed, even if he had never set pen to paper--the essential crime that contained all others in itself. Thoughtcrime, they called it. Thoughtcrime was not a thing that could be concealed forever."

-George Orwell, Nineteen Eighty-Four (1949)

"This is the age of the common man, they tell us--a title which any man may claim to the extent of such distinction as he has managed not to achieve. He will rise to a rank of nobility by means of the effort he has failed to make, he will be honored for such virtue as he has not displayed, and he will be paid for the goods which he did not produce. But we--we, who must atone for the guilt of ability--we will work to support him as he orders, with his pleasure as our only reward. Since we have the most to contribute, we will have the least to say. Since we have the better capacity to think, we will not be permitted a thought of our own. We will work under directives and controls, issued by those who are incapable of working."

-Ayn Rand, Atlas Shrugged (1957)

"The year was 2081, and everybody was finally equal. They weren’t only equal before God and the law. They were equal every which way. Nobody was smarter than anybody else. Nobody was better looking than anybody else. Nobody was stronger or quicker than anybody else. All this equality was due to the 211th, 212th, and 213th Amendments to the Constitution, and to the unceasing vigilance of agents of the United States Handicapper General."

--and--

"Hazel had a perfectly average intelligence, which meant she couldn’t think about anything except in short bursts. And George, while his intelligence was way above normal, had a little mental handicap radio in his ear. He was required by law to wear it at all times. It was tuned to a government transmitter. Every twenty seconds or so, the transmitter would send out some sharp noise to keep people like George from taking unfair advantage of their brains."

-Kurt Vonnegut, "Harrison Bergeron" (1961)

Meek and obedient you follow the leader
Down well trodden corridors into the valley of steel.
What a surprise!
A look of terminal shock in your eyes.
Now things are really what they seem.
No, this is not a bad dream.

-Pink Floyd, "Sheep" (1977)
...

like, give me your money and stuff

I’ve mastered the art of coat checking.

"Pish posh," you say, "there's nothing to master! Chuck a numbered tag at 'em, snatch their garment. Hang the damn thing on a damn rack. How hard can it be?"

Well, you’ve obviously never worked a coat check where the employees are expressly disallowed the luxury of a tip jar. In such cases, one must devise new methods if he doesn't want to leave empty-handed.

Let’s rewind to a rainy day sample sale at Hermes, the Parisian fashion company. Two women and I were assigned coat check for the event, which proved a logistical disaster since some 1200 overly made-up blue hairs bum rushed the doors before lunch. Three employees in a claustrophobic coat check can’t possibly address a situation like that with any semblance of efficiency, ‘specially since these cowesses unloaded coat, handbag (I learned that “purse” ain’t the preferred nomenclature in these circles) and umbrella.

The Hermes people forebade tip jars, meaning we banked standard wage while waiting hand and foot on spoiled multi-millionaires. (To give you an idea of the spending habits of Hermes clientele, the average receipt total was $7K-$8K.)

Needless to say, I was livid.

Three hours into our first day, I stormed into the office of the woman responsible for our hiring and demanded that she request two additional temps--and additional storage racks--before tomorrow’s sale. “Listen,” I snapped, “you didn’t even provide enough hangers! We’ve run out of room for the handbags or purses or whatever the hell you call ‘em. Women are hollering at us for losing umbrella covers, gloves, etc., but what’re we supposed to do? We lack basic shelving. You’ve screwed us by running an understaffed event. On top of it all, no tips! Can we please set up a jar?” “No,” she said, anxious to get back to her $16 brie-and-veggie panini. “My apologies. It’s my superiors…”

So we hatched a plan. One of the girls pulled a dollar bill from her purse (er, handbag), folded it in threes. “Look,” she said, "carry one in your palm at all times. Make sure the bill protrudes over your index finger by a good inch. By the power of suggestion, we’ll make our tips anyway.”

Sure enough, our little stunt worked. We cashed.

Fast-forward to the present week:

Coat check on the Upper West. This time, I’m alone. No jar allowed. I employ the dollar-in-the-palm trick, which produ...

Screw it! I decide to shuck the rules and institute a tip jar. To protect myself, I place the jar (a transparent, plastic tub somewhat akin to tupperware) on the desk just inside the coatroom door, where it can be plainly seen by my patrons but discarded at a moment’s notice if any of the Bad Guys approach.

In a brilliant display of shameless author-dropping, I also place my copy of Ayn Rand’s Atlas Shrugged face-up on that same desk, inches away from the jar. Seeing as I happen to be at the N-Y Historical Society on this particular evening, I figure more than a few of these educated cats might note my chosen reading material and strike up a conversation about it. Sure enough, they do. This leads to more tips. One fella discusses Rand with me for a good 2-3 minutes and asks--with narrowed eyes--if I’m an Objectivist ("I am not," I reply, "though I don't demonize her philosophy as much as some of my friends") before tucking a fiver in my palm.

Another trick (well, not a trick, but a critical rule of thumb):

When receiving a tip, always, ALWAYS acknowledge it verbally with a gracious thank you, and then make a show of placing it in the jar with grand panache so those waiting in line can see what you’ve just been given. When a Joe observes the fella in front of him proffering a tip, 90-100% of the time you’ll receive the same from him.

That’s how I make the big bucks, baby! Keep these swell suggestions in mind if you ever lose your real, big-people job and find yourself behind a desk with a bunch of hangers.
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