Have you ever noticed how odd some people are? I don’t mean chaps who have a funny gait, such as several mems here about the club, men who thump their legs before attempting to stand to get the circulation going. No, I mean the types who expect something with a sense of entitlement, without really earning it.
I have always believed that certain of our species who do nothing per annum should be given a bill at the end of each year for the number of times they have flushed, taken breaths, yawned into our faces and shouted at others: “user fees” for those who have not helped humanity in any perceptible manner. Into this collectivity totters the subgroup known as the “Woe Is Me” brigade, those who believe they are owed a jolly good life just for being alive and complain vociferously. They carry huge chips on their shoulders, always ready at a moment’s notice to flare up in a storm of shouted indignation because of course quiet debate would be the ruin of them. These people should have a special place in hell reserved for them. This army of selfish moaners consists largely of those who have completed some sort of degree and stand in the street waiting impatiently for assumed employment.
Also certain pockets who have decades of old grievances encouraged by the zeitgeist of our times that prevent them and future generations from ever having a 9-to-5 job. Add to that the enormous pensions that hove into sight after a very short 25 years of pretend work in the public service area. The noise and headlines coming from this each and every day really is the plague of our young millennium. We are as a society paralyzed into inaction. No subject or request is too silly to discount and everything is a test of civil liberties no matter the source, time involved or expense. Our country sits in wait for the men and women who will shake off these chains of political correctness and stride forward into the future, unafraid of becoming the target of slurs such as “anti-women” or “crypto-Nazi” and the ever reliable “racist.” All very sad.
Whenever I think of this fever of loathsome epithets, I am reminded of a Vietnamese family during the time of the so-called Boat People in the late 1970s and early ’80s, people who arrived in this country literally in their underwear. The family in question was sponsored, given a few dollars and clothed by a local church. We neighbours did a “whip-round” to pay for an apartment consisting of one bedroom for two adults and three young children. They were incredibly grateful but none spoke English. In one year they had opened a restaurant, moved into the flat above it and their children stood first in their respective school classes. Every member of their family worked at the restaurant if they were not doing homework or taking English lessons. In three years they had bought the building containing the restaurant and flat. In 10 years they had bought the strip mall surrounding the building they already owned. All the children graduated from university and are a credit to their parents and their adopted country.
Now I am not saying we should all appear at the harbour in moist undergarments, sitting in ramshackle boats, to be good citizens, but I wonder how well we would do under those circumstances and not speaking the lingo: likely sitting at the soup kitchen complaining about the rotten government and that we never got a fair chance. Life is not fair and the government cannot be held responsible for everything, nor should it be. It makes no sense. Rise up and let us rid ourselves of our fears. Work honestly and hard, please.
Copyright 2014 Major’s Corner
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