This is writing in a style that would best suit a philosophy or sociology site, I guess, being about the localised outsourcing of work. If you have the patience to stomach it, do read on.

That seems to be the way of the world, doesn't it? After all, people and their need for power are two components of the current social demography that are inseparable. However, considering the current need for ascendancy over limited resources, (and this is worldwide), people are brought up with visions of greatness, of power, of money, of fame, as their ultimate dreams, starkly in contrast with the way the older generations have lived.

Indeed, the whole concept of religion was a set of guidelines as to how to live a satisfied life, contrasting sharply with the current concept of happiness today, which has to do solely with the achievement of goals, self-determined and reassessed with time.

Now, this might seem like the ranting of a fanatic, or that of a culturally obsessed individual concerned with the current decline of religious fervor all over the globe, but that's not what this is all about. It is a simple realization by an overworked person who finds that others have the capability to take anyone for granted in their quest for abovementioned honours.

That there are two sets of people who contribute to making any kind of event a success, one, the people who lay down the rules, assign the work and tell everyone not to maintain any bourgeois feelings, as this is a group effort. They then proceed to sit back, and well, try to either gain ascendancy over the others in their class, or should anything go wrong, engage in blaming the worker. Which brings us to class two, the people who are told to work, work, work. And, like fools, they do, because, it is not the whip or even the pink slip that bothers them anymore, but the simple knowledge that nobody can do it better than them. So the slog away, alone, uncared for, unremembered, unless, of course, someone wants to blame them. For nobody would want to visit them unless it was some matter of work. These people, the volunteers, get none of the credit for their ideas, their efforts, and their perseverance that those up top, who oversee their activities, get.

Now, once in a while, there comes a person who gets disgusted with his lot, his eyes being more open than the rest, and goes to the other faction, inevitably possessing qualities from both the classes. Shalt he not be the most efficient as he need not outsource his work, or is he but another Hank Rearden, doomed to serve his own kind in a wholly vicious cycle of a life taken for granted?

The writings of a pessimist #1.