“We all feed on the poor.” — ?
The poor and the middle-class are on the frontlines of a war, compelled to work essential low paying jobs against a worldwide plague. We rely on these people; the grocers and truck drivers that bring us our precious sustenance, the postal workers and package carriers allowing us to feel as if we are one click away from normalcy and gratification, the septic and garbage handlers, too, without whom we would all be in dire straights. We wander in and out of our beloved supermarkets, grieving our own plight, worried that we might get too close to someone, or touch an infected something. These essential employee’s, on the other hand, cannot leave. They must stay, despite the instinct to flee and free themselves from the probability of contamination. Many of them working on minimum wage, they stare down the barrel of the proverbial gun that every new encounter brings. They are countless in their efforts, consistently wiping down every inch of space between each customer, each ticking bomb. They clean behind us like a fussy mother after a child, for the benefit of humanity, and leave their homes uncertain whether they will be required to quarantine from their loved ones upon their return. When it is over, we will sing the praises of those who have died, make a holiday for those who had to work through the crisis, and erect monuments of leaders that we feel had made the right decisions to save us from ourselves. It will be a bright new day, like so many that have passed without notice. For a while, we may even look up at the sky and find wonder in its splendour. Perhaps our world never will be the same. Maybe this is exactly what it needed.
