Excercises in Dignity

Note: This entry is the product of a lengthy debate. I understand the inaccuracies of this entry - as modern glass eyes are prosthetic shells fitted over implants. So suspend that disbelief momentarily.

This entry is, by no means, meants to belittle or mock of those with ocular prosthetics. This is the product of communal discourse. Dead Prez defend some of their questionable lyrics by stating that they're articulating the voice of a community, and that is how I am prefacing this entry. Except the community voices I'm articulating (and the very communities I'm involved in) might be very... crass. And I'm legitimately interested in the answer to the following question:

What are the market rates on your dignity?

An office-working acquaintance of mine has a manager with a glass eye. His boss isn’t shy or sensitive about it; in fact, he regularly references his glass eye (‘by my glass eye, that's a strong coffee’), probably to deflect the awkwardness that stems from having one particular standout feature. And it truly is a standout feature: whenever speaking directly to this man, it’s difficult to maintain eye contact or focus on anything else – the glass eye is so omnipresent that any efforts to ignore it become even more noticeable than simply acknowledging its glassy presence.

Now, imagine that this man is your manager, and I am your co-worker. We have never openly discussed our manager’s glass eye, but there is an unspoken understanding that it is at the centre of office discourse. It is perhaps the most silently debated and widely interpreted artifact in our office; you often consider its weight, density, and place of origin.

Our supervisor removes his glass eye occasionally; when it’s cold outside, the glass eye’s temperature drops significantly quicker than your body’s temperature. As you can imagine, this would cause significant discomfort in one’s eye socket; the flesh encasement surrounding your eyeball, typically, is not a region that is well-suited to the cold (and your boss is aware of this, as he does, after all, possess another eye). As it stands, his glass eye is perched carelessly on his mousepad, and he has gone to the bathroom; as we’re passing by, having returned from a lunch break, it begins to roll off the table. Being a responsible, caring co-worker, you’re not interested in seeing the glass eye shatter on the floor, nor are you looking forward to confronting your manager’s vacant eye socket for the remainder of the day.

You are sharp-reflexed; you catch the glass sphere as it tumbles from the edge of the table. You are now holding, between your thumb and index finger, your manager’s glass eye.

You are on the tail-end of a rent paycheque; credit card bills are mounting; and telemarketers have somehow obtained your cell phone number. I am the recent benefactor of a sizable inheritance – an inheritance large enough that I have recently submitted my two weeks’ notice; I am leaving the office for good. I have always been cruel and mean-spirited, and this inheritance has only exacerbated this problem – in fact, my sense of entitlement and self-worth has skyrocketed in recent weeks.

Most of our co-workers are still out for lunch or fixated on their computer screens; how much money would I have to pay you to lick the glass eye?