Destroying the Capitalist Structure

THE SUMMER OF RAGE
I strolled haplessly into the mouth of McDonald’s. I had never intended for this job to take over my life, for it to be my raison d’être. It was just supposed to be pocket money, experience, a stop-gap until greater ideas came to fruition. It was hard to find work, but fast food was always available, and I’d heard they had promotional opportunities.

They showed me the ropes. The pay was bad, but put in extra effort and you might get commission. It didn’t take much, they said. Speedy work, a friendly exterior, manage to get a decent ratio of SuperSized orders, and massive promotions are yours for the taking.

We used to come in early. They said it was under the instructions of The Management. The higher-ups in our chain, the Leaders, would herd us into a room. New Recruits would stand up and talk about their aspirations. We would all applaud, and say ‘To Ronald’ in unison as a means of a salute. It was just a company motto, they said. It was bewildering. Work hard, they said, and you can become management! You can run your own chain, lay back and watch the money roll in!

Staff grinned inanely around you, shook your hand, welcomed you into ‘The Family’, and you’d spend the rest of the day filling orders.

And we’d work to bleeding fingernails. There were people who’d been on the shop floor for years, always striving to become a Leader, a hype-man; other staff would drop out quickly, disillusioned with the whole mad charade.

I worked at it, though. I found myself buying into it. ‘To Ronald’ drummed into your head, repeating it in the early morning, going to ‘chill out’ sessions after work to show your face, going out for pizza with the staff – but I suppose I didn’t care. I was going broke. I couldn’t afford the heating when I was at home. I’d turned off my fridge, but all it had in it was a half-drank bottle of Pinot Gris. Days when no-one SuperSized, I could barely afford to get to work the next morning. I thought I was playing the odds, I thought they would work in my favour after days of bad luck.

I met a friend there, Greg. He had been a Leader before, but had fallen from grace, and had spent 6 years ‘Doing It For Ronald’. He was becoming disillusioned with the franchise, with his job; he thought his talents would be better employed elsewhere. I thought he was pretty hopeless myself, but I suppose he could’ve sold the Big Issue or something.

After the chill-out session after work, discussing the day’s heroes, a few speeches from the best people, and an overall warm congratulations from The Leaders, Greg took me to one side. “I need to show you something,” he said, mutinously.

I followed him to the security room. It was locked. He unscrewed the bolt and pulled it open.

Inside were dozens of monitors, mainly observing the kitchen area. Different speakers took up different areas, and Greg demonstrated their use by running to the cooker and saying ‘can you hear me?’

I was amazed. We were being spied on!

The blood began to drain from my face. The whole thing began to look like a cult, feel as odd as it did when I first started. I felt brainwashed. Any aspirations I had of becoming The Management died that day.

Greg carefully screwed the bolt back on and closed the door on my previous worldview.
The next day, he was gone. The Leaders wouldn’t talk about it.

I had been toiling for 6 months and had gained an element of respect around the broiler. But now the operation felt sinister. I couldn’t work here; I couldn’t support this manipulative cult. I left the next day and joined a commune.

Two weeks later, I came back with a bunch of hippies. “This organisation is using you to further its own Capitalist agenda,” shouted one dreadlocked one in a dirty t-shirt. A barefooted girl in a see-through dress joined in on the chorus. “You’ve all just been brainwashed into believing in a false reality,” she declared, quite brazenly.

“Shut up,” I told them. “Guys, you’ve got to leave this place. They spy on you. They’ve done something to Greg. It’s all a load of bullshit, saying you’ll ever reach The Management; you’re just going to hang around being a drone or a slimy Leader, perpetuating the same thing all over again. Viva la revolution!”

And the employees rose from their workstations. “Is that true? Are we being spied on?” “Do you do damage to us when we get in your way?”

The most senior Leader rose to his feet. “So you were in cahoots with Greg? I knew you were up to no good. You never accepted Ronald. How dare you damage his name?”

But the staff were mobilised. Armed with spatulas and colanders, they overpowered The Leaders and marched on to McDonald’s headquarters.

The Battle of Oak Brook will probably go down as one of the most important in Human history. A civilian uprising, lead by someone retrospectively believe to be a paranoid schizophrenic, attacked the Mcdonald’s Headquarters in the sleepy suburb of Oak Brook. Two hundred of their employees threw beef burgers at their windows before the manager approached, seeking calm. At that point, he was beaten to death by the swelling mob, armed with makeshift equipment and protected with pots, pans and sieves.
The after-effects of the battle were tremendous. Toyota closed up shop 2 days later, followed swiftly by Microsoft, ExxonMobil, Fortis and BP. Within 1 week, 378 of the Fortune 500 had shut down, and within a month Wall Street was used as a fruit and veg market. Innovation ground to a halt, and humanity began to retreat back to its present, simpler, nomadic form. IPods are now used as spoons.