A Matter of Trust

Hello, my dear readers. I'm sorry I stayed away for so long, but life throws us hurdles with unbridled passion and so I am left jumping, moment to moment, day to day. But, today is a good day. By this, I mean the young ones are at school and the infant sleeps. Let us expound of theory, of philosophy, of theology. Or, we could just talk about how fucked up the world has gotten. Surely I haven't the time to list each way; every pimple of society in the broad span of an infant's nap. We shall narrow it. Today, I bring you the idea of trust. Millions and millions of consumers world wide exhibit trust of their lives to foreign and domestic producers. What do I mean by this? I would like to take you, dear reader, through my average day of trust. One day, and how many people, companies, countries and entities I allow to dangle my life from their product making marionette strings. I allow myself a shallow night's sleep and awake to the sounds of Zombie Baby growling from his crib. Simply put, in the ten or so steps to his baby cage I have already risked my life in the short jaunt across the room. See, I have no idea who built my house back in 1871. Granted, I put more faith in the builders of the 19th century than those of this 21st, but still.... How long until that floor board gives out? Has that nail rusted from the leak in 1978? Did the tornado of 2011 do unseen damage? As I pull him from his sleep station I sigh in relief that he made it through the night. This is a constant worry of mine. Life is fragile, you know. So I traverse more man built house containing flaw to our kitchen, down 15 stairs that I trust my life to 17 or 18 times a day, and into the arena of HOLY SHIT. Gas stoves, electrical appliances next to water sources. A Pitt Bull. Demon cat. All these dangers. And I haven't mentioned the biggest yet. The jar on the counter. The jar of baby formula. The product I allow Zombie Baby to ingest up to 8 times a day. The jar of formula. The bottle manufacturer. The nipple manufacturer. And the folks that sell sterile water. 4 little items mean the difference of life and death to Zombie Baby. Who made them? How many people touched these products before they got to our home? How many trucks, boats, trains, and planes have they traveled on? How old are they? What cancer causing agents are the canisters made of? And how many impurities are in the cream colored powder, itself? I have just spent the first 9 minutes of my day putting the life of Zombie Baby into the hands of people who don't care about him. Migrant workers. The sick. People who may want him dead because he's white, or atheist, or new, or just based on the geographical location of his birth. People who don't care who dies as long as they make a buck. Let's move on. I take a shower as Zombie baby naps in the crib manufactured by who only knows with whatever material they produce. I chemically enhance my hair, trusting the manufacturers of Pantene to my being clean. The makers of Tone to my skin. The people of my township and their bungling of the water supply. Lotion, make-up, Gillete razors, and the guys that assembled my poofy scrubber. The people who thread the bath towels. The painters of my vanity mirror. The panty liner people. All this trust in one 15 minute process. A shower. A basic human necessity- to be clean- comes down to about 5000 different chemicals and 5000 different people to achieve. We move to my own breakfast. Who made my coffee? Who mixed the French vanilla creamer? How was the damn mug made and with what? Did my dishwasher make matters worse with its toxic cleaners? The box of dish detergent itself says "harmful if swallowed" but I'm spraying all of my eating ware with it? Trusting the "rinse cycle" to remove every ounce of possible harm? One hour of my day has produced this many risks thus far. And it's not even 9 a.m. Let's take a drive, shall we? Let's put Zombie Baby in a car seat that has already been in at least one accident at the manufacturer's plant. We'll trust Chevy, a good ol' American company that outsources their entire product line to a cheaper, more profit making country, with that already purposefully damaged car seat housing my future in it, and drive 12 miles to the nearest Wal-Mart. 12 miles. And 12,000 opportunities to die. Semi-trucks with 18 tires ready to shred. Deer. Bear. Dogs. All very real threats. The little Mitsubishi whose driver just HAS to get to work on time. Even though he hates his job, he's willing to die for it, and he's willing to kill me and Zombie Baby to get there punctually. The state workers who paved the road and didn't think anybody would notice that gaping hole in the left lane. Who cares who hits it and blows out a tire, a tie rod, a CV joint and crashes their car? They don't. They got paid, that's all that matters. We're going to grocery shop and buy food that was brought to the store by who knows who from who knows where. And we're buying it with the sole intention of ingesting it. Produce, we're told is so good for us, that contains more chemicals to make it LOOK good, than to actually BE good. Sprayed with man-made toxins to kill the bugs. To make the apples redder. To make the peas greener. To make it only seem appealing. Like the woman with large, fake, silicone breasts and 8 pounds of make up who looks great, but has herpes. Manufacturers have clearly played on our need for visual appeal, as opposed to the need to actually live and be healthy. And we've let them do this. Medications: enough said. We have bought a week's worth of risk, and now must travel the same semi-truck tire shredding, Mitsubishi weaving, bridge failing, pothole filled high-way back to the flawed, rusty, rotting home in our built by the lowest bidder Chevy truck. It's not even noon at this point and I have have risked my entire family's lives 10,000 times. I haven't even gone on to mention the variables; Comets, satellites, tornadoes, cell phones, pollution, bacteria, random car with failed brakes who has just smashed into my front door, fire, flood, or snow storm. The chemicals I clean my house with. Our clothing. The very Earth beneath our feet. Some things I can't control. Some things I can. Some things the authorities have taken away the choice to be able to. The entire purpose of this article was awareness. Be aware of how much trust you put into "them" every. single. day. And if you decide you want to bungee jump- remember; every bite of processed meat you take offers more risk to your life than the rubber band around your ankles. Carpe Diem, my friend.