A Day in the Life of the 99%
6:30AM: An Angry Awakening
The sun rose over Wall Street as it had every morning before. Its soft light spread across our tents, filtered by the thick air of righteous indignation. There was, however, growing concern that waning anger and the thin walls of the tents would be insufficient to sustain us in the steadily approaching winter. But it was no matter. Our commitment to egalitarian democracy was steadfast and wouldn’t waver.
8:30AM: Reflections on a Night of Progress
We’d spent most of the previous evening deliberating about the most populist way to arrange the tents. We debated, took a straw poll, realized we didn’t have a counting system, and moved on. Our ever-present problem of waste management persisted; we searched for bathrooms and got kicked out of McDonalds before returning to the egalitarian tent debate. We heard from the steel drummers and pirate factions until we finally decided that everyone had gone to sleep. Thus, the tents fell where they may. I had hoped we’d end up to the far left of the stock exchange, but the reality was that no one was sure where we stood at any given moment.
10:30AM: Picking up our Parent’s Batons
Why were we here? This was the question the generation before us asked, searching in vain for the elusive answer. But it was no matter. Stand we did, some to the right, some to the left, and some in the best position to get some protesting ass, because we’d been dreaming of this moment our whole lives. We could not care less what we stood for; it was only important that we stood at all. That’s what we’re supposed to do. We were raised in the shadow of our Vietnam hell-raising parents, but now this, this was our time. Our parents wanted to end a senseless war, and we, we want…well, it doesn’t matter what we want, just that we demand it. Our parents marched on Washington and stood on the mall together in the face of incredible injustices, just as we stand on Wall Street today. They had a slogan of common ideology, demanding peace, but we have one better. Our umbrella classification gives us power and identity, which no one can dispute either ideologically or mathematically. They are the 1%, and for that reason alone we despise them—top income earners, corporate investors, or peanut-allergy sufferers. Until they join with the majority or we all become part of the 1%, we will keep our Birkenstock-clad feet planted where they are.
2:47PM: Let our Voices be Heard
We shouted our numerous demands up to their elitist skyscraper offices; we refused to use their capitalist, corporate, made-in-China microphones and instead used each other, amplifying our voices one for another. And they shouted back: we can’t understand you. Sure, consonant clarity took a hard hit as our numbers grew, but the symbolism of our human microphone was too strong and too cult-like to stop. So we kept shouting again and again, until they feigned understanding. But I don’t know what we’re yelling about.
8:30PM: The Widening Divide
But how could they ever understand us? They force us to fill our time with protests, while they, in their life of luxury, spend their days successfully searching for and retaining jobs. How could they understand our struggles? They were them, and we were us. The emptiness behind their eyes brimmed with corporate greed, but as I looked to my left and right (though mostly my left), I saw myself. The flannel shirts, the unwashed hair, the questionable smell emanating from our collective presence—I was them, and they were me. I felt so much a part of the whole. As I looked into the crowd I could see the truth: we were the 99%.