The Floor

Hope. The hope in everyone's heart recently has been palpable. Not the wish-kind of hope evoked by dreamers (I hope I win the lottery), or the sappy-kind of hope (hope will carry us through) but rather a third kind of hope: the sickly kind of hope that counts on hitting the floor. How far can we fall?

I am sure you all remember the graphs that started around six months ago, the ones that occupied the front pages of - hmmm - every newspaper nation wide. Those graphs sported captions that read something like: 'Don't count on a job, the future is scary, and nobody likes living anymore.' In case you were wondering, that was not the floor.

Roller coasters are used for many metaphors and similes to describe uncertain and tumultuous times. In many ways, this comparison is cliched, but it is also so fitting in this situation that it transcends a silly cultural construction and actually becomes a viable means of expression. So, bear with me as I explain what a roller coaster does. First, a roller coaster takes a car uphill at a nearly impossible angle for a long period of time. Everyone on board the roller coaster is well aware, what with the passing trees, then clouds, that they are clearly gaining a great deal of altitude, and, seeing how the cars are unable to fly, should be concerned about this course of action. Still, up is up, and flying never hurt anyone. So everyone on board surrenders their destiny to the tracks and enjoys this improbable accent. Then, at some point the tracks level off. On a really long roller coaster, being in the front is a very interesting experience, because you get to see the impending drop, but because the bulk of the coaster is still topping the hill, you might not get going fast until you are already part of the way down the hill. But even for those who do not get to see the drop before they feel it, they should know it was coming because of both the impossible angle of accent and the screaming of those in front of them. Roller coasters thrill, but should never surprise.

So we go through an election. I am excited. Like a kid in line for a roller coaster. Maybe change will happen. I like change. Do you know what else I like? Debt - not up to my ears, but 20 or 30 feet past my ears. Do you know who hates Republicans? Maybe me. I hate corporations and people that have too much money. I hate bail-outs. I hate waste. I hate war. I hate death. I hate incompetence. I hate lies. I REALLY hate bail-outs. So, when I find out that our very own change loving President is not only backing but PUSHING 'Bailout: the Second Coming,' I start to wonder if it really is Republicans I hate. Suddenly I realize how little effect what the people want has on the government, and I am reminded of what it feels like to be disenfranchised again.

Hope. The hope of a floor is keeping our hearts still as our bodies fall. Those graphs are not going away. They are thrilling, but they are not surprising. Screaming, the passengers reach the bottom of the hill. In the future, they see something brilliant and shining: a great angled incline: Progress: Change: Humanity: Hope. As their stomachs sink farther than the floor, pushed down inside them, they gasp, not out of despair, but for ecstasy. A hill is on the horizon. The track is laid. Salvation will come from above. All plans are good plans. All directions lead up. We will not lose, because we cannot lose.

We have not lost. Hope: the tracks are now good, because the conductor has changed. This conductor will drive our train safely. This conductor will bring our troops home: he will not stay the course. This conductor will keep the lobbyists and crooks out of Washington and the Whitehouse. This conductor drives a train. Trains don't go too fast, or down hills, or crash, or disappoint. Trains are safe for America. Roller coasters are a Republican thing. I am glad we are safe.

I am glad we have not lost. Hope is the floor when we have no floor. I do not trust myself - that is why governments and corporations should run the engine. How about we vote and feel proud once every four years. Why in that one shining moment of freedom do we not vote for who we really want? It is certainly not McCain, but truthfully, for all of the hope he inspires, it is not Obama either. The people want someone else. They don't want President Politician. They don't want President Oil. They want President Me. They want the thing they fear the most: to loose the tracks and finally be responsible for something. They want to destroy the destiny complex of America. They want to vote every Friday, and they want it to matter. They don't want to vote for flesh, they want to vote for ideas, like hope and change. They want to kick the shit out of legislation that pisses them off. They don't want pay raises for politicians when the people are unemployed. They don't want stimulus that will bankrupt their children. They want something else. The floor fell once.

Hope is the second floor. Hope might just be an unwillingness to fear. What will happen when the second floor falls? Will we still hope for an infinite incline to heaven, or will we decide to act here in the mud. I guess there is a chance everything will be better. Maybe a cure will arrive. Maybe we will all be saved from responsibility by destiny and government.

Or, maybe we will lose. Hope.