Antiteesi osa 1 - Corporate man
Tämän päivän jutussa kynään tarttuu valkoista hohtavassa kattohuoneistossa leukaansa peilaava ja kasaria sadistisesti kuunteleva Corporate man eli suomeksi veronmaksaja. Pääsin viettämään hänen kanssaan muutamat päivät rokuliviikollani, ja yllätyksekseni hän lupautui avaamaan mielenmaisemaansa kohtaamisestamme. Kysymykseeni kielivalinnasta hän vastasi kahdella sanalla: efficiency ja margin. Ilmaisunsa runsaudessa tämä ratkaisuja orkestroiva finanssimaailman musta ritari ei kuitenkaan säästele marginaaleja. Hänen ajatuksissaan tiedostomaton itseinho värittää hänen maailmaansa leikkisän itseironian sävyjä, jotka hänelle tyypillisesti rauhoittavat hänet statuksellisen ylemmyydentunteen höyhenille.
Seuraavaksi: Corporate man.
A glimpse of Monday evening
As we arrive to our ranch in our glorious SUV with a brand-new dual-clutch transmission and a 360-degree parking camera, we are greeted by a man who resembles a bum and who we collectively refuse to recognize as any of our acquaintances. As he sits on the stairs, we confront him and witness that he is an exhausted traveler mangled by the desolate wildernesses of Finland. I quickly deduce that I make significantly more money than him, which pleases me greatly, so I proceed to high-five myself.
He is severely sunburnt. Rugged. Maybe added up a few pounds since we last met? Can’t say for sure. To much of my disgust, he’s not even wearing a mechanical watch. However, as soon as he opens his mouth and starts screeching, we get an audible confirmation that it’s him. The person we dearly love and hate, the person who has taken us through a countless number of emotional and logical rollercoasters. He’s Walker.
We hug reluctantly. He rolls a cigarette, lights it and runs his smutchy fingers through his sunwashed blonde hair. He smokes West which I find repulsive – I prefer Camel.
“Let’s go on a little trek to the woods”, he says. I laugh maniacally, then take a deep breath, check my phone for any notifications, then look at Walker again and realize that he is serious. After a brief hesitation, we say yes.
Walker and I go way back. Despite being unemployed and dressing like a hobo, he’s one of the few interesting persons I know, and we regularly have fierce debates about a multitude of pressing issues. While we disagree on a lot of things (such as some economic doctrines and the ultimate fate of the universe), at times, we find sympathetic conformity in our views, for example, how the unifying aspects and driving forces of the human spirit have been under systematic degradation since the Moon landings. However, those moments usually emerge through the synergy of thermal and chemical stimulation, namely sauna and illegal substances such as Koskenkorva.
We pack our bags and start heading outside, but almost immediately our confident advancement is halted by Walker. “No shorts! Long pants are a must! And get rid of those stupid Crocs!”
I can feel the collective worry about what kind of a Barkley Marathon might be ahead of us, but no one expresses it out loud. The chilling fact that Crocs are an unsuitable piece of equipment for this trek draws horror images in one’s mind of what kind of an ordeal we might be up against. I immediately start longing for the comfort of my custom-made Stuart Weitzmans.
As we get our gear in order, we quickly forget all the worries and as we leave the ranch, we decide to take a shortcut. We utilize all of the 160 horses of our shiny, alpine white SUV and drive a short but harsh special stage to a nearby pond. After a couple of precise Scandinavian flicks, rigorous clutch slipping and admiration of my driving skills, we arrive to the pond and head out to the woods. As we depart, I offend a horsefly with my flamboyant existence, resulting in immediate target acquisition.
Fuck.
The horsefly has lockdown. The maddening, perpetual, binaural buzzing has started.
I slowly delve deeper into my thoughts. I think about the stock market and why it keeps going up, the next day’s boring meetings, the elusive art of masturbating in the woods, the status of my Rolex order, then the stock market again and only after that I regain composure of my thoughts and start living in the moment again (in which Walker does not believe in).
Then I realize that it’s the putrid taste of the Starbucks coffee that woke me up from my thoughts. It’s nothing like the stuff they serve in the airports. I think about shorting Starbucks stock, but then quench the impulse to do so, as it is very important to diligently hold on to your investment plan. I see myself as an intelligent investor.
We return to the pond using an equally hard, if not harder, route back. Along the way, I see piles of moose excrement and think how they look like the majority of Finnish confectionery. Exhausted, we take a swim in the pond. I wash my body using a birch extract cleaning solution and for my face, I use a sensitive cleaning gel that minimizes skin irritation. I then wash my hair with a traditional and very fine Finnish shampoo and finally, I leave an intensively moisturizing conditioner in my hair for 5 minutes. I give Walker the chance to use my beauty product portfolio, but he refuses.
All it comes down to is this: I feel like shit but look great.
Best regards,
Corporate Man
Seuraavaksi: Corporate man.
A glimpse of Monday evening
As we arrive to our ranch in our glorious SUV with a brand-new dual-clutch transmission and a 360-degree parking camera, we are greeted by a man who resembles a bum and who we collectively refuse to recognize as any of our acquaintances. As he sits on the stairs, we confront him and witness that he is an exhausted traveler mangled by the desolate wildernesses of Finland. I quickly deduce that I make significantly more money than him, which pleases me greatly, so I proceed to high-five myself.
He is severely sunburnt. Rugged. Maybe added up a few pounds since we last met? Can’t say for sure. To much of my disgust, he’s not even wearing a mechanical watch. However, as soon as he opens his mouth and starts screeching, we get an audible confirmation that it’s him. The person we dearly love and hate, the person who has taken us through a countless number of emotional and logical rollercoasters. He’s Walker.
We hug reluctantly. He rolls a cigarette, lights it and runs his smutchy fingers through his sunwashed blonde hair. He smokes West which I find repulsive – I prefer Camel.
“Let’s go on a little trek to the woods”, he says. I laugh maniacally, then take a deep breath, check my phone for any notifications, then look at Walker again and realize that he is serious. After a brief hesitation, we say yes.
Walker and I go way back. Despite being unemployed and dressing like a hobo, he’s one of the few interesting persons I know, and we regularly have fierce debates about a multitude of pressing issues. While we disagree on a lot of things (such as some economic doctrines and the ultimate fate of the universe), at times, we find sympathetic conformity in our views, for example, how the unifying aspects and driving forces of the human spirit have been under systematic degradation since the Moon landings. However, those moments usually emerge through the synergy of thermal and chemical stimulation, namely sauna and illegal substances such as Koskenkorva.
We pack our bags and start heading outside, but almost immediately our confident advancement is halted by Walker. “No shorts! Long pants are a must! And get rid of those stupid Crocs!”
I can feel the collective worry about what kind of a Barkley Marathon might be ahead of us, but no one expresses it out loud. The chilling fact that Crocs are an unsuitable piece of equipment for this trek draws horror images in one’s mind of what kind of an ordeal we might be up against. I immediately start longing for the comfort of my custom-made Stuart Weitzmans.
As we get our gear in order, we quickly forget all the worries and as we leave the ranch, we decide to take a shortcut. We utilize all of the 160 horses of our shiny, alpine white SUV and drive a short but harsh special stage to a nearby pond. After a couple of precise Scandinavian flicks, rigorous clutch slipping and admiration of my driving skills, we arrive to the pond and head out to the woods. As we depart, I offend a horsefly with my flamboyant existence, resulting in immediate target acquisition.
Fuck.
The horsefly has lockdown. The maddening, perpetual, binaural buzzing has started.
We advance to our point of entry by choosing a lonesome road that has accumulated a lot of hay and weeds throughout the years due to inactivity. The road reminds me of my childhood years in Lapland where the neighborhood was littered with such roads, ultimately leading to deserted shacks that house glorious relics from the past.
As we rendezvous at our strategic point of entry to the woods and step in, the environment quickly turns into a soft and squishy bog full of branches and sticks that scratch your feet if you were not smart enough to bring ankle socks. As we progress further, the path turns into rocky soil that’s not only slippery, but also has a fair share of nature’s own booby traps in the form of rock cavities, covered in moss, effectively disguising it as good-to-step-on ground. I hear occasional screams from fellow travelers behind as the rock cavities nearly devour their slender legs.
As I stare into a thin, web-like crack in one of the trees, I think to myself that if I were to disappear into that crack, say somehow miniaturize and slip into it, the odds are good that no one would notice I was gone. Expect for the horsefly who’s buzzing has now become unbearable. I refuse to complain and continue to mindlessly follow Walker into the darkening woods, like he was some kind of a prophet.
However, all the hardships are quickly redeemed by the sheer burst of joy that results from witnessing the landscape ahead of us as we climb up the last few rocks onto the small cliff. I have no patience for revelations, for new beginnings, for events that take place beyond the realm of my immediate vision. This is it. This is real.
On top of that, Walker surprises us with a pocket stove, coffee pot and a small bag of stale Starbucks coffee. I’m startled with disgust, but very quickly accept that it is the best we can get in these circumstances.
While the Starbucks coffee is being brewed and the same horsefly continues tormenting me and making me question my sanity, we collectively admire the direct view to Hanhilampi (quite literally, goose pond), only obstructed by a few trees that have pounded their way through the rocks. How the hell do they thrive in this environment? I quickly stop thinking about nature and instead, I mechanically examine BMW's new state of the art four-wheel drive system in my mind.
As we rendezvous at our strategic point of entry to the woods and step in, the environment quickly turns into a soft and squishy bog full of branches and sticks that scratch your feet if you were not smart enough to bring ankle socks. As we progress further, the path turns into rocky soil that’s not only slippery, but also has a fair share of nature’s own booby traps in the form of rock cavities, covered in moss, effectively disguising it as good-to-step-on ground. I hear occasional screams from fellow travelers behind as the rock cavities nearly devour their slender legs.
As I stare into a thin, web-like crack in one of the trees, I think to myself that if I were to disappear into that crack, say somehow miniaturize and slip into it, the odds are good that no one would notice I was gone. Expect for the horsefly who’s buzzing has now become unbearable. I refuse to complain and continue to mindlessly follow Walker into the darkening woods, like he was some kind of a prophet.
However, all the hardships are quickly redeemed by the sheer burst of joy that results from witnessing the landscape ahead of us as we climb up the last few rocks onto the small cliff. I have no patience for revelations, for new beginnings, for events that take place beyond the realm of my immediate vision. This is it. This is real.
On top of that, Walker surprises us with a pocket stove, coffee pot and a small bag of stale Starbucks coffee. I’m startled with disgust, but very quickly accept that it is the best we can get in these circumstances.
While the Starbucks coffee is being brewed and the same horsefly continues tormenting me and making me question my sanity, we collectively admire the direct view to Hanhilampi (quite literally, goose pond), only obstructed by a few trees that have pounded their way through the rocks. How the hell do they thrive in this environment? I quickly stop thinking about nature and instead, I mechanically examine BMW's new state of the art four-wheel drive system in my mind.
I slowly delve deeper into my thoughts. I think about the stock market and why it keeps going up, the next day’s boring meetings, the elusive art of masturbating in the woods, the status of my Rolex order, then the stock market again and only after that I regain composure of my thoughts and start living in the moment again (in which Walker does not believe in).
Then I realize that it’s the putrid taste of the Starbucks coffee that woke me up from my thoughts. It’s nothing like the stuff they serve in the airports. I think about shorting Starbucks stock, but then quench the impulse to do so, as it is very important to diligently hold on to your investment plan. I see myself as an intelligent investor.
We return to the pond using an equally hard, if not harder, route back. Along the way, I see piles of moose excrement and think how they look like the majority of Finnish confectionery. Exhausted, we take a swim in the pond. I wash my body using a birch extract cleaning solution and for my face, I use a sensitive cleaning gel that minimizes skin irritation. I then wash my hair with a traditional and very fine Finnish shampoo and finally, I leave an intensively moisturizing conditioner in my hair for 5 minutes. I give Walker the chance to use my beauty product portfolio, but he refuses.
All it comes down to is this: I feel like shit but look great.
Best regards,
Corporate Man
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