”A foolish consistency is the bugbear of small minds” — Ralph Waldo Emerson
A few weeks ago I wrote that I’m not panicking. I take it back.
Now, it’s not just a ruling party at war with itself, it’s the Archbishop Emeritus refusing to vote, a mystery bleeding disease on the loose and the global economy in the toilet.
There it floats, waiting for Adam Smith’s Invisible Hand to pull the chain, taking our own economy with it, like toilet paper left naughtily dangling off the holder into the bowl, rapidly unrolling into the sewer.
Economics. Who knows, really?
I studied some economics at university. There was an induction ceremony. Vangelis played in the background. They handed us each a floppy blue hat covered in embroidered silver stars. A pack of tarot cards. A bag of bones.
Walking around campus, kids from the chemistry and physics departments spat at us, called us names. The vice-chancellor made it law that we each wear a scarlet ”E” on our bosoms.
I see now. We deserved it.
One economist after another is on TV and radio, stuttering over, avoiding at all costs the R-word.
Why can’t they say it?
Can only The Law of Attraction save us from deep, lasting, global — and I’m warning you, I’m going to use the word now — Recession.
We haven’t been manifesting hard enough. Come on. Get visualising. Squint — squinch — squeeze out a growth curve.
That word recession. We don’t want to hear it. Hairlines recede. Gumlines recede. We don’t recede. Not in the 21st century.
How did this happen? As I write this, there’s an Eno ad on TV. It’s as good an explanation as any. It goes:
”Whatever your idea of the good life, live it. Eno: The Good Life, Uninterrupted.”
Here’s the problem with that: if you’ve eaten so much that stomach acid is regurgitating into your oesophagus, the solution is not an antacid tablet. It’s to stop eating more than your stomach can hold.
Gluttony. There’s the thing.
Sensible economists — there are a few, though they dress poorly, don’t comb their hair and don’t work for banks — are pinning the developed world’s financial sorrows on over-consumption. Living beyond our means.
And that’s not just the Americans. That’s those of us living in the Small-Rich-South-Africa trapped inside this vile, smelly, Big-Poor-South-Africa; there’s a show on kids’ TV where 11-year-olds review iPhones and Jaguars. Nuff said.
And now? Traders falling out of Exchange Square like bees smoked out of a hive, wobbling to the nearest pawn shop to see what they can get for their personalised cufflinks.
Serves them right for wearing cuffÂÂlinks. Be grateful for the end of the upswing. If these guys had another year of good times, they’d’ve been wearing gold trim and periwigs.
(If we must enjoy the misfortunes of others, let us enjoy the misfortunes of the overdressed.)
Everybody’s cutting back. Isidingo just killed off Letti. Who’d’ve thought it’d come to this?
You’re wondering if it’s time to head to the bank and withdraw all your cash. You’re asking my advice because of my years of economic training.
Well, I’ve read the tea leaves and the answer is yes. Beat the rush.
In fact, I’ve already got mine. Walked up to the counter and asked for all of it in small, unmarked bills.
I wasn’t sure what ”small, unmarked” bills were exactly, but that’s what they ask for in the movies.
They brought back these tiny rectangles of paper, smaller than any real money, nothing printed on either side.
I said that I’d changed my mind and would prefer real money.
Even then, there wasn’t nearly enough of it to fill the complimentary attaché case, so I stuffed it down my bra instead. (Thank God I hadn’t gone commando.)
Don’t tell, but my entire life savings are now under the pillow-top of my queen-size mattress. Which will be damn convenient if ever I decide to pay for sex but damn inconvenient for anything else.
How long will it last? Three years? Four? Should we be practising eating out of bins? Should we be developÂÂing draft copy for our begging boards? Where does one get a nice piece of corrugated cardboard?
Either that, or keep spending.
After all, it might be the bleeding disease that gets us first.