I searched “atonement” on Google this morning because I’m not 100 percent sure of its meaning. Judging by the first results page of results, it’s a super-pop-star book and movie. On the second search page, I found the Catholic Encyclopedia’s Doctrine of Atonement which defines the meaning as:

“the verb ‘atone’, from the adverbial phrase ‘at one’ (ME. at oon), at first meant to reconcile, or make ‘at one’; from this it came to denote the action by which such reconciliation was effected, e.g. satisfaction for all offense or an injury.”

A little further down I clicked Dictionary.com’s link. They defined it as:

1. satisfaction or reparation for a wrong or injury; amends.
2. (sometimes initial capital letter) Theology. the doctrine concerning the reconciliation of God and humankind, esp. as accomplished through the life, suffering, and death of Christ.
3. Christian Science. the experience of humankind’s unity with God exemplified by Jesus Christ.
4. Archaic. reconciliation; agreement.

Merriam-Webster’ said pretty much the same.

Then, I found Religious Tolerance.org. According to this site many Christian sects believe that God was so pissed at Adam and Eve for eating that sweet, savory, but uber-forbidden apple that the only way he could be appeased was through the Gibsonesque torture of his only son, Jesus Christ. However, the site claims that since the New Testatment doesn’t clearly explain how this works, the sects have been arguing since the second century. I just discovered this today - by accident. I may have been in the deepest of comas during CCD classes, but that Jesus’ life and death bridges the gap between God and the forbidden fruit eaters through atonement sounds very odd.

OK. Now I have a better understanding of how Christians view atonement. But that is not where I was originally headed. I typed “atonement+Yom Kippur”.

The first Google entry led to Judaism 101’s site and a definition of Yom Kippur. Here’s a quote from the Bible highlighted on the Judaism 101 page:

“..In the seventh month, on the tenth day of the month, you shall afflict your souls, and you shall not do any work … For on that day he shall provide atonement for you to cleanse you from all your sins before the L-RD. -Leviticus 16:29-30”

Well, I’m sort of working so I’ve pissed most Jews off and I just insulted the Pope by expressing yawn-filled skepticism about Catholicism. I haven’t eaten since last night because I’m sort of not really doing the fasting thing and I haven’t even begun to confront the thousands of misdeeds I’ve racked up over the past year.

My sins are waiting and I’m running out of time and I’m still unclear on what atonement is. So here’s an explanation copied and pasted from Judaism 101’s page (another sin, that of laziness? – blessed Lordy, I certainly hope not!):

“The name ‘Yom Kippur’ means ‘Day of Atonement, and that pretty much explains what the holiday is. It is a day set aside to “afflict the soul,” to atone for the sins of the past year. In Days of Awe, I mentioned the ‘books’ in which G-d inscribes all of our names. On Yom Kippur, the judgment entered in these books is sealed. This day is, essentially, your last appeal, your last chance to change the judgment, to demonstrate your repentance and make amends.”

I’ve heard that on Yom Kippur, some Jews visit those they’ve wronged to make amends in person. I would need a month and ten grand for travel expenses so that is not an option. Instead, I will focus on apologizing to the ones closest to me - and this means talking to my cats and whispering to my houseplants too. Instead of fasting, I’ll eat a lot less today. Instead of coffee, I’ll drink water. Instead of whirring about in all directions, I’ll sit and think about what I’ve done over the past year.

I think the atonement concept is a solid one. You don’t have to be a person of faith to do it. I think it’s a good idea to make amends with those whose lives you’ve negatively affected on a much more frequent basis. It’s important for me to stop, and think, as opposed to always rushing ahead on my faulty autopilot.

Maybe there should be a national day of atonement. If more people had stopped to think about who they were screwing over in order to buy stuff that has ended up in storage units, this economic meltdown would be confined to the dark fantasy realm of doomsayers and cranks (like me) instead of crossing over to the real world.

This was supposed to be McCain’s arena, but he seemed very uncomfortable and anxious - which may be a physical manifestation of his recent slide in the polls. Or, a more sinister force may be at work.

I wrote a piece on Monday about my theory that the financial crisis was turning American and European politicians into zombies. I think the plague has claimed another victim. Originally I believed that the two presidential candidates were temporarily immune as they battled on the campaign trail away from their undead colleagues.

But, much to my dismay, McCain was exhibiting the mannerisms of the zombies from the film “28 Days” - which, I am firmly convinced is the zombie strain that is affecting European politicians. The Wall Street Crisis is wreaking havoc on McCain’s poll numbers. With less than a month to go before the election, he needs to act without thinking. He is crying out for the liberation provided by the crude but effective genetic autopilot that guides zombies through their day.

Obama seems to be resisting the zombie virus at the moment. His ability to turn complete sentences into coherent thoughts offers some measure of comfort. Although, the campaign is not over, and the young senator from Illinois may yet join the growing ranks of undead politicians.

But, on a more serious note, I feel that neither candidate adequately addressed the economic crisis raging across the globe. For your benefit, I have compiled a few quotes with corresponding links from both left of center and right of center publications concerning the outcome of last night’s debate. Please leave a comment or make a selection on the poll located on the home page.

From the The New York Times:

“There were no obvious dramatic breakthrough moments by Mr. McCain; indeed, although the two men pummeled back and forth, it was Mr. Obama who more consistently drew sharp contrasts between the voting records and campaign promises of the two.”

From The Washington Times:

“The rocky economy has boosted Democrat Sen. Barack Obama in the polls, but last night, he offered no new proposals. Instead, he said the current economic crisis was the ‘final verdict on the failed economic policies of the last eight years’ that President Bush pursued and were ’supported by Senator McCain.’”

From the New York Post:

“Some points Obama responded to, some he let go. Thing is, he knows all he has to do is to appear a plausible president. Even if he loses the debates on points - which he probably has in both - he still wins politically if he doesn’t take any catastrophic blows or make any discrediting gaffes.”

And finally, the Daily News:

“Most important for Obama, he went a long way to establishing his commander in chief credentials through impressive answers to national security questions on Pakistan and Afghanistan. Coming as polls show more people view him favorably as a leader, the debate should add to Obama’s lead in the key swing states.”

Please leave a comment or make a selection on the poll on the home page

Credit Card companies send sneaky mail

A large beige envelope sent from a P.O. box somewhere in Richmond, Virginia came in the mail - how mysterious! The bland-looking package hadn’t any screaming signals that it was junk/solicitation mail, so eventually it landed on the kitchen table.

That was last week. Today, it was time to clear the table off because it will be used this evening as an examination platform for a visiting vet coming from Manhattan to check up on our two fat furry cats.

So, I decided to screen the mail heap again. The first two envelopes were bills. Unfortunately, I couldn’t ignore those. The third was a cancellation notice from Foreign Affairs - only a first warning; it could be tossed. The fourth was the plain, but slightly intriguing envelope from Richmond. I felt like Charlie Bucket searching for the Golden Ticket (OK, that’s a bit of a stretch). I opened it carefully, and to my horror, two giant, red “0%” signs stared me in the face (I could actually hear Nelson Muntz from the Simpsons chortling a very loud “Ha-Ha”).

I felt more than slightly stupid. I pride myself on my ability to screen junk mail. This was a slap in my face. Not only that, but it was from Capital One, the giant credit card issuer that I criticized last month. I have to give them credit - no pun intended - they’re getting clever at disguising their odious solicitations.

In the mood for a little more pain, I read the fine print on the back page, you know, just for fun. This is where you can easily discover how Capital One and its ilk make their dough. Late charges, if you pay 3 or more days after the due date, starting at $15 are levied for balances up to $100, reaching $39 if your balance exceeds $250. They also charge equally exorbitant fees for exceeding your credit limit, AND if you are late twice within a year, they can bump up the interest rate they charge you.

The good news is that they are required to inform the public they prey upon that it is possible to stop receiving all “prescreened” credit offers by calling 1-888-5-OPT-OUT.

The really scary thing about this is that anyone with my Social Security Number could fill out these “No Hassle” application online or over the phone and start charging my life away immediately.

It really is unbelievable, despite all the problems stemming from excessive levels of consumer debt, these companies still chug along, trying to hand out thousands of dollars in credit at the click of a mouse!

Recently, I was in the cavernous Home Depot on 23rd Street to buy some clay pots for some of my houseplants, (The little Ace Hardware store on 14th sold out of the size pots I wanted, so I had no choice but to head up to 23rd.)

They had pots of all shapes, sizes and prices. I grabbed my booty and headed upstairs to pay.

That’s when I exited this world and entered the mega-store parallel universe in the Twilight Zone.

Standing on line I waited with about twenty demoralized shoppers, like refugees from some extra pointless and destructive conflict. Ahead of me I saw at least fifteen registers, only two of which were manned.

There certainly were enough employees to man them. I counted at least six standing in groups of two chatting away like it was a high school cafeteria. I noticed one employee busy stuffing plastic bags underneath the empty register counters. (When she was done, she thumbed through the pages of Church Supper Magazine - I kid you not, this magazine does exist.)

As the line grew and my patience withered to barely recognizable levels, an aspiring assistant to the assistant manager materialized to ask “if anyone might be paying with a credit card today.”

“You’ve got to be kidding!” I growled.

It was $10 worth of clay pots, and my last stop of the day. I just wanted outta-there, but I’ve got credit card spending rules. I do not charge cups of coffee, sticks of gum or three f**cking clay pots. Fortunately, a cash-accepting register opened up two minutes after the “Credit cards only” announcement and three minutes before my brains would have exploded.

This speaks to the mind-numbing managerial style practiced by companies like Home Depot and Wal-Mart. Their stores contain thousands of items scattered across acres of poorly marked aisles that end up bewildering customers while providing ample hiding places for poorly trained and demoralized employees.

I think that it is the top down, highly centralized structure of these insanely large companies that causes such dismal experiences for both customers and employees alike. The stores are designed to be the same so that they are easier and cheaper to plant from one coast to the other. It also seems that a sad and dysfunctional relationship exists between the customer, the store and the employees. The customers can, if they have the patience, find everything they need at the lowest prices – supposedly - so they put up with the dismal service. For the employees, what is the difference where they work? All of these companies suck royally and they need the job.

I think that the few bucks that might be saved is insufficient compensation for the stripping of one’s dignity. But, that is just my opinion.

“What do they want with me?” I wondered as I floated up toward the massive dome. As I looked down, the vast sales floor receded beneath me. The customers and my coworkers blended together, like an indistinguishable collection insects. When I looked up, I could see the screaming eagles painted on the ceiling, among swirls of red, white and blue preparing to swallow me whole.

I was actually bending lower as this mechanical contraption carried me closer to the top, when, suddenly the ceiling opened just wide enough to let me in.

In front of me there was a large glass door adorned only with the letters ˜MHV”. There was no handle or door knob, just a smooth surface. Behind the glass I could faintly see the outline of what appeared to be a man. Then, the door quickly and silently slid open. It moved so fast that it seemed to have vanished altogether.

I was now facing a very tall, well groomed man. He was thin, but had very broad shoulders.   He was wearing a newly-pressed designer suit, one this store definitely didn’t carry.   With one hand he made a motion for me to come forward.  “Come in, Wilma. We’ve been expecting you” he said to me, as his razor-thin lips curled up to reveal an impressive collection of polished, white teeth.

He moved to one side with amazing speed and grace. I felt his smooth, plastic-like hand pressing gently on my back as I crossed into his office. He then floated effortlessly across the room and gently placed himself in a large, black leather chair.   His intense blue eyes were trained on me as I stood nervously at the other end of the room.

“Who are you, and why have you called me up here?” I asked in an uncertain voice.

“My name is Mr. Firstly, Wilma, and I am the face of Management for Higher Values” he said with a smile. “And we are concerned with the behavioral score indicated by your G.O.D. box reading.”

He then proceeded to eat his lunch, with thin wooden sticks. His plate was small and square. It was dotted with a few brightly colored chunks that looked more like pieces from a child’s play set than food. But they were sitting on little pillows of rice, so I guess they were edible. He worked like a skilled surgeon, delicately picking up each piece, as if erring would set off a penalty buzzer, just like in the game, ˜Operation’.

“Are you hungry Wilma?” he asked to my surprise.

“What are you eating, Mr. Firstly?” I was truly clueless as to what those colorful lumps were.

“It’s sushi. Haven’t you had sushi before?” he inquired with a slightly puzzled expression.

“No, I don’t even know what ˜sushi’ is,” I confessed.

“It’s just raw fish served on a bed of rice,” he casually explained as he dunked a piece into a small bowl of brown sauce. “Would you like to try a piece?”

My stomach began to turn at his offer, but I didn’t want to offend him. “I guess so, Mr. Firstly, but could I use a fork instead of those sticks?” I didn’t want drop any food on his spotless floor.

His eyes widened, as part of an overall expression of disapproval at my request for such an ordinary utensil. He then reached into a drawer and handed me a fork. By moving his hands away from the plate he seemed to be signaling that what is his, is now mine. He must have noticed my confused look, because he motioned to a red piece. “Try the tuna, everyone likes tuna.”

“Don’t they have sushi in Serverville?” he asked, already knowing what the answer was.

“Well, judging by your reaction, maybe it’s just as well that they don’t,” he then put his head down to concentrate on the last two pieces. I used this opportunity to wipe my face with my hands, making sure that there wouldn’t be any brown liquid showing.

I now felt confident enough to ask, ”But, Mr. Firstly, what does my G.O.D. box reading have to do with anything? I’ve been here for almost ten years without so much as one sick day, and my direct-sector manager rates my work in the top five percent,” I said as I tried to defend myself - against what, I really didn’t know.

“Yes, that’s all well and good, I’m familiar with your work record, Wilma. But you see, this goes much deeper than in-store, on-the-job performance,” he said, his manicured hands now forming a  pyramid, supporting a face that held the potential for displaying disappointment on a grand scale. “Wilma, we are all engaged in a grand effort, one that is larger than any one of us as individuals.   Each one of us has to contribute as much as humanly possible in order to ensure our continued prosperity and overall well-being.”

Now he was really starting to lose me. I got up early every day, I put on my greeter’s mask and worked, at minimum, twelve hours a day. And that’s fifty-one, six-day weeks a year. What else did this man want me to do?

Mr. Firstly started to rise from his leather throne, stretching out his long arms, his eyes now fixed on something in the ceiling that was invisible to me. He turned his palms upward, and said “You are not doing your part, you are not sacrificing enough. Everyone below this office contributes to the greater good. There is not one person, customer or employee, hustling and bustling away down there, who has a score so far in the red as yours. Not one person!” he declared.

I had to take a step back from him; I felt so pathetic and weak in front of him. He seemed consumed by an anger I just didn’t understand. “What do you want me to do? I don’t understand, Mr. Firstly.”

“This is not about your performance at Tall Bart’s.This, Wilma, concerns your conduct as a member of our great nation. It is our job to ensure that you receive the message. If you continue down this wayward path, you will most certainly lose your position!” His eyes again trained on me in a most uncomfortable way.

I could feel sweat forming pools inside my mask. I had to take it off or I would pass out. “Can I please take this off?” I asked, meekly pointing at my face.

He stared blankly at me for a moment, as if slightly confused by the question. “Well, if you must,” he responded, after a moment of contemplation.

I breathed a sigh of relief once my head was exposed to the cool, dry air of his office. I wiped the sweat from my eyes, and when I refocused I could see him examining me as if I were some sort of unfamiliar specimen.

“Wilma, we are trying to save you from your errant ways, don’t you see that?   You need to change your habits right away. You are proving to be a drain on society, and we will not tolerate this type of behavior. This is not a warning, it is a call to action. It is up to you to demonstrate your worth. What good is there in creating products and fine media content if it is not rewarded by an appreciative public?”

“If you don’t mind my asking, who do you work for, Mr. Firstly?” I inquired as delicately as possible.

“In a way, I work for you. Nothing is more important than prosperity, Wilma. My job is to ensure that it is never threatened, by anyone or anything. The ˜Good Old Democracy” box reading is one of the best ways we have to ensure that everyone is pulling their weight,” he said with conviction. “Would you mind putting your mask back on - it really is against regulations to work in retail without one.”

“I think I understand, Mr. Firstly,” I said as I struggled to readjust my greeter’s mask.

“It’s good that you do, Wilma. For your sake, I hope that we never meet again.” He then sat down in his chair. He looked so comfortable, so satisfied.

I was relieved to see the glass door when I turned around to leave. As I descended to the sales floor, my coworkers and the shoppers looked less and less like insects. I started to feel a little better as the day wore on. I knew what I had to do in order to right my wrongs.

Later on that evening I splurged on a night of pay-tv and passed out in my new sweater.

1. It seemed as if a large security breach occurred at a nearby mental
institution, as there were many people wearing pajama-like outfits, some
appeared to be clad in robes, and many feet were comforted by slippers.
It seems that the Post Office, like the casino and the supermarket, does
not abide by even the most liberal of dress codes.

2. Several customers were ill-prepared for the task that brought them
to the Post Office in the first place. They were frantically filling out forms
at the service counter that are supposed to be completed before entering the
set of velvet ropes. One women was actually taping her package together
at the service window, and there was a man examining documents before
placing them in his crumpled and stained envelop. Clearly, these are duties
that should have been handled at home, or the institution depending on the
customer.

3. There was the 80 decibel hum from the fluorescent lights- for added
pleasure. This was an exceptionally nice touch, especially when added to
the fact I spent twenty minutes on line. This could have amplified the un-
acceptable behavior, but surely could not have been the cause of it.

4. There was a man who spent ten minutes getting his special package
just right- at the service window of course. Maybe he was sending his wisdom
teeth to the tooth fairy’s mother. This would be a package that demands that
extra bit of attention.

5. Then there was the line itself- the horrible beast derived from Satan’s
darkest thoughts. Given my natural tendency to avoid all physical contact
with strangers, I decided to create a comfortable margin of floor space between
myself and the person in front of me. This backfired. The woman behind me
was a victim of the law of the line. This law is quite rigid, and is obeyed sub-
consciously by most humans when they are waiting on any type of line- for
free hamburgers, spankings, executions- it really doesn’t matter. Since there
were twenty people on line, the law dictates that it will be forty feet long.
And my decision to give the person ahead of me an extra foot meant that the
woman behind me could offer me no room at all. My bad, she was subject to
a natural law, where I, foolishly, exercised my free will.

6. When I reached the window, I found the woman behind the service
counter to be courteous and helpful. The opposite of the popular stereotype
that was most likely started by some of the disorganized and dysfunctional
people found on line at the Post Office.

Conclusion: If you have the misfortune of experiencing a visit to the Post
Office this holiday season, remember that it is most likely the people on line,
your fellow citizens, who are making you wait. Oh, and for the select few
who have just crawled out of bed, or escaped from the institution, no need to
worry, you will blend right in…

Greg Strid