You Die If You Work

My name is Max. Maximilian Cesar.

I’m 31 years old, and I live in Irvine, California.

I have the perfect life.

Every day around 11:30, maybe noon if I’m feeling extra sleepy, I get up, scroll through my socials for a half hour or so, and then seize the day.
First, I take a long, hot shower. Then, I start pumping some Judas Priest while I prepare my morning feast.

I start by brewing myself up a little cup-o-Joe. I have Mom buy the good stuff. Costa Rican sun-dried Arabica, with hints of chocolate and sweet cream. I use a burr grinder to finely grind the beans — perfectly consistently and evenly. I heat the water to the perfect temperature of 205 degrees. And of course, I only use filtered water. Coffee is 80% water. You can taste the difference. With my espresso prepared, I pour my milk into the steam pitcher to complete my morning cappuccino.

I fry myself a couple sunny side-up eggs in clarified butter. I mix in some fresh tomatoes and garlic from the garden. Then I drain the grease. Cool the pan completely to zero. Reheat it. Then, add thick sliced bacon at low heat.

I take my meal and chill on the backyard deck in the afternoon sun, listening to a podcast about Japanese samurai. Slowly sipping at my cappuccino. Playing fetch with the dog. Making plans for another perfect day.

I noodle around on my guitar for a little while, going up and down the scales. I learn a little bit of a song before losing my concentration. When the coffee has worn off and the food coma has set in, I take a break and watch some anime. It’s a lighthearted comedy about four high school girls who struggle to socialize in the strict conformist society of Japan. In this episode, Megami Nisemono gets her first job, but she’s nervous about interacting with customers. After a couple episodes, I’m ready to sink my teeth into the real meat of the day.

This week, that would be learning some Japanese. I want to see if I can teach myself to understand anime without any subtitles. I study my Anki deck, then do a little listening practice using YouTube videos. I set myself the goal of getting to N5 by the end of the summer. So far, I have made pretty good progress, I think. I know all the katakana and hiragana by heart, and a few hundred kanji.

By around 4:30, I wonder where all the time has gone. Mom will be home soon. I had better make myself some dinner before then. I still have so much to do today. I’ll have to make it snappy. I heat myself up some ramen and throw in some boiled vegetables as I listen to the second half of my podcast.

After dinner, I’m supposed to study some more. But I’m really into my podcast so instead I listen to the rest of the series while I work on my cathedral in Minecraft. I stay up all night. I finish a giant stained glass wall. It’s pixel art in the shape of a divine creeper surrounded by Enderman angels. I finally crash at 5am.

– –

I wake up the next morning and start another perfect day. After my shower, I scroll through Twitter with one hand as I take a leak.

I lift the toilet seat lid. One eye is already closed as I scroll through Twitter. I watch a video of another smash-and-grab looting. This time they hit a Target in Long Beach and stole $500,000 worth of jewelry.

My finger slips. My phone slams against the edge of the bowl, and the screen shatters. It flips and falls into the water with a plop. I fish it out of the urine with my bare hands.

– –

I put it on rice for a few hours, but it still won’t recover. It’s bricked.

I’m staring at it on the table in disbelief. My phone is gone. I feel like I’m staring at the lifeless body of a loved one…my spouse, my child, my closest friend…

In one flick of a switch, my perfect day...my perfect life…my precious, fragile treasure, has spiraled away and disappeared.

Time stands still for a few minutes.

I had so many plans for today. I was going to start the next season of the podcast. I was going to finish learning that song on the guitar. I was going to study for the JLPT. Now, I am powerless. Powerless without my phone.

Just a second ago, I was thinking about the bacon I was about to fry. There were three more pieces left in the package. I was going to try the new coffee from Brazil that came from Amazon last night. All interrupted by this cruel twist of fate.

Dread begins to seep into my perfect world. I go back to bed to cool down a little. Pull down the blackout curtains. Pull the covers over my head. Try to go back to sleep and take my mind off of my troubles. But, sleep won’t come. All I can think about is making my life perfect again.
“Maybe it’s time I got a job,” I think “How long can I really sustain this lifestyle?” So far, it had been five years. Five years of freedom...

I remember life before that. Waking up at 6 am. Shoving a pop tart down my throat. The disgusting Folgers coffee in the break room. Driving one hour in traffic, barely conscious. What if I had had an accident? It had almost happened once. I was still half-asleep, and I was changing lanes when a car jumped out from behind my blind spot. I looked over my left shoulder and saw it at the last second. It was aimed right at my head. Imagine how pathetic of a death that would be. Dying in traffic. I think I would rather die in a literal prison cell. I remember renting my own apartment. I remember paying thousands of dollars a month for it. That glorified storage container with a bed and a fridge, that held my meager possessions while I toiled away at work. I remember worrying about money more than I do now in spite of making 90 thousand dollars more a year. No money, no time, and worst of all, no rest.

I snap myself out of it. “No. Remember: if you work, you die. If you work, you die. If you work, you die...” I don’t need a job, I need money. I’m an intelligent adult. I’m perfectly capable of finding a way to get my hands on it without resorting to a job.

I make a few hundred dollars each month from disability. I told a psychologist I had anxiety and depression, and the check had come in the mail ever since. When I was a kid, my parents taught me about the value of “hard work.” Maybe that was true in the old days. In my day, having a good story was much more profitable. They call it “marketing yourself.”

The disability money isn’t enough for a new phone, but maybe I can find one on Craigslist. The one I had flushed was an old relic. Rich kids all over Orange and Los Angeles counties receive and discard the newest gadgets every quarter from their parents. Sure enough, I found a phone two generations newer than mine that a 14-year-old was throwing away. It was quite cheap. But, it was all the way in Long Beach. Two hours away by bus. Well, that was just fine. I hadn’t been out of the house in a few months. It might be nice to go on a little day trip.

– –

I used to drive an old, rusty Japanese shitbox from the 90s. It was dented and duct taped and the electronics were always going haywire. I nicknamed it “The Veteran” because it was so full of scratches and scars. But it always ran. I didn’t have a job, so I couldn’t maintain it. When it broke down I sold it for 300 dollars. Now I took the bus.

The bus is dirty and slightly uncomfortable, but so is everything else about poverty. I had long ago grown an immunity to that variety of poison. Sometimes the bus came early, sometimes it came late. But it always ran, just like The Veteran. The Orange County bus isn’t so bad. There isn’t a crowd, so I can take a seat by the window, chill, and listen to some music. There are even some Asian kids from UCI with their backpacks and masks. I’m in civilized territory.

I transfer to the Long Beach bus. I put on my hoodie, some sunglasses, and a mask. I try to cover my exposed flesh from the hazardous environment I’m about to step into. It also serves to make me invisible. At home, I could live in my own private palace. In public, I have to live in someone else’s world. The world of the collective. In this world, invisibility was paramount. It is the best way to avoid trouble while achieving whatever goal has forced me out of my peaceful solitude.

This bus is a more typical public transportation experience, outside of the civilization of Orange County. I have to stand for an hour and 15 minutes, clinging onto a metal pole like a monkey swinging from a branch. I’m sandwiched between two fat, Mexican señoras cracking each other up in Spanish. The smell of weed hangs in the air. A layer of sunflower seed shells, candy, soft drink cups, crumbled-up hot chips, and plastic packaging has deposited itself in the bus’s nooks and crannies. In one corner of the bus, there is the token guy in a beanie with a giant metallic pot leaf, sunglasses covered in rhinestones, one bright blue sneaker, and one bright red sneaker. He’s blasting trap music from a speaker, rapping to it loudly. In the other corner is the obligatory guy half-passed-out in the window seat, springing to life now and then to suckle from a bottle in a paper bag. At some point, a fight breaks out. Luckily one of the combatants dis-boards after the bus driver threatens to call the cops. About a 20 minutes later, we arrive at my stop in front of a Target.

– –

The rich kid lives a few blocks from my stop. Is he really rich? It doesn’t seem like a very rich neighborhood. Something feels sketchy.
It’s a hot day. I’m sweaty. The sweat has created a stickiness that attracts the bus’s grime to my few patches of exposed flesh. I need to purify myself and find some air conditioning to cool off in for a while. So, I decide to visit the Target.
The Target is clean. It is another pocket of civilization. The schools of blonde 20-something women in sweatpants that wander its broad, white avenues attest to its tranquil security. There are giant advertisements for various things I am not interested in. Summer activities that I will not be participating in, “back to school” sales for children I will not be having, and electronic gadgets I can not afford. I feel neither greed for these possessions, nor envy towards those that have them. I feel as if I am Aladdin in the Cave of Wonders. These treasures are merely a mirage, that will dissolve into sand as soon as I try to grasp them. Lust for them is nothing but bait, that will lead me back into the shackles of work. I am a free man. I have no use for such frivolities.
I do, however, need a phone. I had to print out directions to the address on paper, like a time traveler visiting from two decades ago. Forcing oneself to endure that was mere lunacy. I might as well live in a cabin in the woods like the Unabomber. So while I wait to cool down, I sit in the food court, and unfold my directions.
I’m still hot. I see a little kid with his mom sucking on an ICEE. Finally, I felt slightly envious.
I get a large cup and fill it with cherry. They don’t have any lids.
“Excuse me? Where are the ICEE lids?” I ask the girl behind the counter.
She’s a cute, squat Latina girl. She looks very young. She’s probably still in high school. She has almond-brown eyes, black hair, and a chubby face. She’s so short she can barely reach the register. Her name tag says “Alejandra.”
“Sorry sir, but we don’t have any more. Use a regular lid.”
They’ve been having shortages for over a year now. I try the regular lid. Syrup gushes out of the lid and onto the sides of the cup. It makes everything sticky. The cup, the counter, my hands. I hate it. This is what happened to me last time there was a shortage. I had stopped by after a long day of work. I had waited through eight hours at the office, and another hour of traffic, longing for this meager pleasantry, only to be met with a sticky, humiliating mess. I screamed at the teenager at the register. Demanded to know why they didn’t have any lids. If I was actually paying for this, stopping by after a long hard day of work, I would be furious. One more small humiliation in the daily life of the working man. But I am a free man. So, with aristocratic patience, I am unmoved. I clean it up with some napkins in the water fountain. Then I go to Alejandra to have her ring me up.

“Ok...uh...your total is $5.29.”

“Oh...well you see, Alejandra...it’s my birthday today. Don’t you get one for free on your birthday?”

“I think so...let me see here. Do you have a Target card?”

“Of course.”

She scans the card.

“It says your birthday is July 24.”

“Oh really? Oh...well...that’s wrong. It’s actually today.”

“Well...it’s not showing that.”

“You can’t change it? I don’t have any money...”

“That’s okay, you can just take it.”

“Wow. Thanks so much for your generosity! Can I get a pretzel too?”

“Okay...with the pretzel, your total will be $5.50”

“Do you take EBT?”

“No.”

“Okay...then forget the pretzel.”

When you don’t work, sometimes you have to haggle like this for things. You have to find ingenious ways to feed yourself, like a crafty, wild animal, the kind you read about in children’s stories. A fox. A crow. I love it. I prefer it to the life of a dog. The life of a parakeet. It keeps the mind sharp. It keeps the spirit defiant.

I sit back down and study my printed directions. I take a slurp from the ICEE. It tastes disgusting. They must have changed the artificial flavoring.
Suddenly, there is a ruckus in one of the sparkling white halls. A man in a mask and hoodie is jogging down it with a cart full of merchandise. A red-vested Target employee is chasing after him. “Sir, I can help you at the register! Sir! Sir!” The security alarms blare as he rolls outside. The employee stops at the door. Everyone stares for a while. A few minutes later, the alarms are shut off. The employee shrugs and walks back to their post. Her name tag says “Tina.”

“Cuz they not allowed to arrest them no more,” explains the little kid seated at the food court.

“That’s right! Under the new law, they have to let them go if it’s under $1000 dollars,” I think to myself. “Well, I’m poor. I’m destitute. I’m disabled. I’m less fortunate. Wasn’t this law designed with exactly those like me in mind?” So, I decide to take a look at their merchandise and see if they have anything in my price range.

--

Behind the counter in the center of the electronics department is a kiosk, manned by another red-vested employee. Tattoos peak out from under the vest. He has gauges in his ears and a green septum piercing that resembles the hook of a question mark. He smells like the bus. His name tag says “Todd.”

“Hey Todd. How much is a brand new iPhone?”

“Like...which one?”

“Let’s start with the newest one you got. How much for that?”

“Uh...this one here is an iPhone 15 Pro. It has 248Gb of storage.”

“Right, right. But what’s the price? How much is it?”

“Uh...$1300. Or, I think we have an installment plan for--”

“Too much. Need something cheaper. Have anything refurbished?”

“Well...this Android is one of our cheaper phones. It’s gonna be $999 or, if you prefer--”

“Perfect. One last question. Where’s your hardware section? Like power tools? Hammers?”

“Uh… I think you make a right, and it’s gonna be right up against the wall over there.”

“Thanks so much. Be right back for the phone.”

“Well, we can check you out here, actually...”

“No, that’s okay. I’ll just be a second.”

– –

I return with an electric screwdriver. I make eye contact with Todd. He smiles as I approach.

“Ready to check out?”

“Yah,” I say, studying the display case. Ah, I see. That’s the one that should release the back panel. “Where was that phone again? The refurbished one?” Todd points.

“Thank you.”

I start unscrewing the panel with a loud “whirrr!”

Todd stares at me. He doesn’t know quite how to react.

“Bro.” Todd finally says.

One of the screws is gone. It falls to the floor with a “tink.” There’s two more to go. The alarm starts sounding. A white light above my head starts strobing on and off to the beat of the alarm.

Oops. I forgot to put my mask back on. I cover my face with my hoodie and my mask. I’m invisible again.

Just in time. A few customers have started to gather around with their phones. Invisibility is an ancient and invaluable weapon in public. Like the camouflage of a wild animal stalking its prey. Todd starts to film too.

“Yo. This fool crazy. He really unscrewin’ this whole bitch.” Todd narrates.

Tink!

A security guard approaches me.

“Sir. I’m gonna have to ask you to come with me.”

He’s acting real tough. A creature arching its back. But, his disguise does not fool me. He is no predator. I ignore him and focus on my task.

“Sir, I’m gonna call the police.” Threatens the security guard. I look up at him for a moment. He’s pretty short. About 5’6”. He looks like a gym bro. Probably juices. He’s got a bunch of gaudy tattoos covering his right arm.

The supervisor is the next to arrive at the scene.

“Don’t you dare call the cops, Carl. Remember what happened last time. Susan says if you keep doing that, we’re gonna get sued.”

“Yo. Don’t be a hero. Don’t be a hero” Says Todd to his phone.

“I know goddamn well what Susan said. That’s only for items that aren’t behind glass! Don’t tell me how to do my job! Kid, you’re real stupid. You better come with me, or the cops are gonna beat your ass.”

“Don’t threaten him! You crazy? You’re gonna get us sued, Carl!”

“Yo chill, Carl. Forget it. Forget it.”

“Why the f-f...frick are you yellin’ at me and not the kid stealin’ our shit?!”

Tink! Crash!

The panel falls onto the floor of the sparkling white floor.

Todd, Carl, the supervisor, the anonymous phones. They’re all staring at me. They probably all expect me to grab an armful of merchandise. Instead, I locate the $999 refurbished Android, and casually put it in my pants pocket. Then, I turn around and casually walk away.

“That’s it kid! You f-f…fricked up! You fricked up bad!” Carl yells behind me. He starts dialing the cops.

“Carl, forget it. They didn’t respond last time, when those guys stole $500,000 worth of jewelry. The cops aren’t showing up for a phone that was about to go on clearance.”

I pass by Tina on my way out the door. She doesn’t even bother. Her eyes just glaze over. I wave. She waves back. The alarm switches off.

“Have a nice day, sir.”

– –

Since I didn’t have to go all the way to the Craigslist house, I get home early. All of the content on my phone had been backed up on my computer, so I don’t end up losing a thing! If anything, it was like I just received a free upgrade. Well worth my precious time.

This is how man was born to feel, before the invention of work. He was made to go out into the wild, and return with the bounty of a successful hunt. Sometimes he caught nothing, true. Sometimes he didn’t come back alive. But freedom is worth the risk. It’s worth the risk to be alive.

Every day, we spend a little more of our time, which can never be replenished. What do we spend it on? Is it worth it? We die every day. Death picks at our flesh one molecule at a time. And any day, Death might grow impatient. He may be hiding in the shadows, ready to pounce when we least expect him. At the right hand of Death, is Work. Poking little holes in the hourglass. Stealing an extra handful of our flesh from under the table and putting it onto Death’s plate when no one is looking. But I see him! I catch him red-handed! I won’t let him do it! I want to live!

With my new and improved phone, I pick up where I left off. I unwrap three pieces of bacon and put them in the pan. With a new sense of accomplishment, I decide to take the day off from studying Japanese. Instead, I will relax and take a much-deserved break. After all, I earned it.