Yet, brain muscle remains.
“I earned this”, says the wage slave. “I earned the claim to stitch these wounds.”
The salaryman’s glassy eye reflects towards him through the hand mirror. His doctor by evening and boss by day. The salaryman’s privileged perplexity is transparent. In all four decades of linear drudgery, absent promotion or bonuses, his expendable tool had never once expressed a desire for cosmetic surgery.
The wage slave does not share the same equity. He can scarcely afford to pay reconstructive expenses. Cosmetic appeal was in equal…