Thinking about Africa

I work a corporate job which no decent person should work until they are good and thirty as a marketing assistant. Basically what I do is fanaticize about the really sexy landscaper who works outside my window everyday trimming the baby palms and rearranging the wood chips while I do a half-assed job editing consumer reports and capital fund documents, and sometimes transferring agency training documents into free reports. The only perks are that I have my own office, so I’m generally left alone most of the time, in which I have a threesome with YouTube and Facebook. This almost makes up for the fact that I have to wear slacks and heels to work.

So on this particular Tuesday, I’m thinking about making a paper clip chain and hanging myself with it as I flip to page 6 of 150 the capital fund report finding it, if possible, dryer than the pervious one. My supervisor, Susan, walks in. Susan is one of my favorite people in the world. Not only is she a total sweetheart and leaves me to my own devises most of the day from 9-5, but she is more liberal than I am. Plus, she doesn’t care that I draw dinosaurs in the margins of the free reports I’m editing, because no one in the office knows Webster’s Standard American Style Manual as well as I do. So she walks in and starts talking politics, which of course I enjoy. Today, it’s the war, plus a daily dose of Bush-bashing, one of her favorite activities. 20,000 troops are being sent to Iraq for no reason other that Bush doesn’t want to admit he is wrong, and therefore thinks that everyone will forget this if he sends more troops in.

So we’re ranting like two old ladies even though only one of us is actually old, and I start bringing up things that the military should be focusing on instead of Iraq. I bring up many humanitarian efforts, but when I get to the crisis in Nothern Uganda, Susan sports a puzzled look on her face.

I spent the next 15 minutes filling her in on everything, from the Lord’s Resistance Army, to the 50,000 invisible children, to the documentary, to the Global Night Commute, and I looked up to see she was crying. She was so touched by the issue and so ashamed at herself and her country for not acknowledging the issue that she was moved to tears. People make fun of bleeding liberals, but without them the world would be a cold place. The Invisible Children are a huge issue that is sort of a hot button with today’s youth, one of which is sort of popularized. It’s a ‘cool thing” to be into the Invisible Children campaign. Except for Carrie, who is 18 and only works here cause she tried to kill herself and need supervision by her mom, who is an agent in the office next to me. She had heard of it, but didn't give a shit. I could have guessed it.

Anyways, usually people who jump on the train because everyone else is pisses me off (hell, you all saw how mad I got when Regina Spektor started showing music videos on VH1...sell out.) but this is something different. I have talked to people who were acctually full of distain for those people who were just sort of latching on to the whole humanitarian thing. So what? At least the message is getting out somehow, whether or not they are wholly commited, at least they have an idea of what is going on. People over the age of 25 seem to have no clue! So as I watched Susan’s face change as I told her everything I could about the cause, I saw what all of our faces should look like when confronted with a cause so great.

I feel like our hearts have been numbed by news and TV. Just the other day, I was watching CNN, and a story about the tornado in the south came on. What did I do? I changed the channel. It hit me a minute later as I was watching Comedy Central: I didn’t care, it didn’t even affect me! What is wrong with me? I think people, me included, have become disassociated with their own hearts, we hear 1000 Chinese have been killed in a tragic train crash, it’s sad, but we move on and watch the Simpson’s and eat In-N-Out like nothing has happened.

But Susan didn't act like this, she cared, she really, really, cared. She didn't play the part people usually do, shaking thier heads, muttering a "oh, that's too bad..." and retreating back to thier desk to think about lunch. she got on the computor and bought two copies of the documentary, one for me and one for her. Then she ran to Rick, the IT guy who is a divine pain in the ass, to ask if any computors in the office had DVD burning capabilities. Bless her heart, she is going to burn copies for everyone in the office for Valentine's Day, with the words, "Have A Heart" on them. Isn't she great?

Lately I've really been thinking about how to reckon a servant's heart in a self-serving career. I have recently decided on a career goal, a book editor, mainly so when people ask me what I want to do with my english writing major, I won't gape at them like a retarded fish, or have the following conversation:
Them: "So, are you going to be a teacher?"
Me: "No."
Them: "What else are you going to do with your major??"
Me: "Be happy."
Which upon retrospect, is a pretty selfish career. I suppose I can make people happy with books, but still, next to nurses, and psychologists, and teachers, and missionaries whose entire careers is to help people, I feel a strain on my concience.

I've been talking to my oldest friend, Lauren, about this. Lauren as been yo-yoing with majors and careers choices since were 15. We used to love it when the PSAT's rolled around, we would guess what Lauren would put down as a career goal, landscaping, bus driving, chef. Lauren is now thinking about being a missionary doctor, a far cry from all the joking we used to do. I think about this and just feel ashamed that what I'm doing dosn't really help anyone. Lauren, bless her soul, went into a spiel about how my writing makes people happy, blah, blah, blah...

They're not really in high demand for editiors in the jungles of Africa.

So I'm sitting here in an office shivering from the industrial air conditioners, with my bare feet propped up on a filing cabinet, with a styrofoam cup of lukewarm coffee Roxanne in Accounting made especially for me when I was the last to get to the Mr. Coffee machine this morning. I bitch and bitch and bitch about having to wake up at 7 every morning monday through friday for a job that pays far above minimun wage where I don't acctually have to remove my ass from the padded swivel chair once. I compose these documents that do nothing but make people richer. These people are sharks, out for a deal, out to get what is bigger and better, out to conquer the corporate world. They are bustling around in a caffinated frenzy to serve themselves, and all I can think about is Africa. And I feel like a fool.