A protest of my very own

I envy the Occupy protesters. I don’t necessarily agree with the Occupy protesters — and I don’t necessarily disagree with them, either. No, like Johnny Cash, I choose to walk the line, though my line doesn’t involve any cocaine, amphetamines, barbiturates or rock music.
I envy the protesters’ strength of conviction. They Believe (with a capital B) that they are In The Right. They have Faith and Confidence that they will Make a Difference. The only strength of conviction I ever saw was the strength with which the judge pounded the gavel when the jury found me guilty.
Just kidding — I have beliefs. I believe in the doctrine of A Glass of Red Wine on Friday Nights. I have faith in the Power of Humor and I am confident that somewhere, out there, the perfect Chinese dumpling is being lovingly crafted, and will be set aside just for me.
Oh, yeah, and I believe in my kids and love and all that stuff, too.
Despite all of my firmly held beliefs, I have been positively green with envy. Not only do the Occupy protesters have strength of conviction, but they have jobs and families and lives that enable them to go camping for months on end. I want to do that. I want to quit my daily grind, stop taking care of my kids and practice some good, ol’ fashioned civil disobedience instead.
So this weekend, I started a movement of my own.
Taking a cue from the whole Occupy thing, I started a protest called Occupy My Couch. We were protesting getting off the couch. And you know what? We made some serious gains, effected some real change. My daughters and I made some popcorn, sat down on the couch and didn’t get up, all day. When my wife came by, to tell us to get off our lazy butts and go do something constructive, I told her we were protesting, and that she would have to remove us by force.
I started chanting, “Hell, no, we won’t go,” and then changed it to “heck” when my wife shot me meaningful glance number 3 — watch your language.
“You’re weird,” she said.
Flush from my first success, I decided to expand the protest. I live in Weston (don’t hold it against me), which, as you know, is one of the wealthier towns in the state. with all the stock brokers and hedge fund managers around, I realized that I, unlike the protesters in New York,  was in the minority. I am, after all, possibly the poorest person in town.
So, I put my chair down at the side of the semi-private road on which I live, I held up my sign — it read “I am the 1%.”
A few folks drove by and wondered, I think, if the market had recovered enough to sell their homes. But I wasn’t deterred by their contemptuous looks, as they drove by in gas-guzzling SUVs, probably heading to a meeting of the New World Order.
After a few hours, my wife brought me a turkey sandwich. It had far too much pepper, and I made a Youtube video of me eating it, but it didn’t go viral.
Eventually, the protest was broken up. Not by police in riot gear or 1920s union-busting gangs with baseball bats and fedoras, but by the simple fact of nature. I went inside and attempted to start a protest called “Occupy My Bathroom,” and it went pretty well until someone else knocked on the door.
Reach Jordan Fenster by email at jfenster@nhregister.com. Follow him on Twitter at Twitter.com/JordanFenster.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: