Dress Down Day (Charity Begins At Work)

“If you liked school,

You’ll love work”, I’d say,

When the inevitable questions came.

And: “Attempts to alleviate the conditions of the slave,

Ultimately benefit the slave master”,

Barely able to articulate

Why this might be the case,

Or remember what I was quoting,

But imagining it to be devastatingly clever,

So, saying it anyway.

When the first obvious challenge came,

I’d ask, “How much does this company make?

Why not just choose a charity and give generously?”

And then triumphantly swagger away.

And then, I’d say,

“Then there’s the putrid, pitiful idea

That I should pay

To dress my own way”, I’d say

As if it’s a privilege to do that

For one day.”

And if I couldn’t think of what to say myself

– Not Bloody Likely –

I’d quote: “Charity is the fastest way to accumulate wealth.”

Of the first one to take me to task, I’d ask:

“Do we really need to be told how to dress?

Apparently, Yes – except for this one day,

When we pretend to care about AIDS

Or whatever.

When we’re only guilt-tripped into it,

When there’s a trade-off

And for this show of caring

For our fellow humans,

We get to dress up like adults

For one day.

And, presumably, from a quick scan of the room,

Being an adult is optional.”

I had it all planned in my head

I would wield my opinions like a mighty sword;

I would be righteously angry, well read.

And then I’d spend late morning

In the after-glow of the chastised bafflement

On the faces of co-workers.

And that would see me through

At least until lunchtime, when I

Would stride across the office, and out into the world

In my three-piece suit.

And I don’t mind,

Because I am well-developed

In the part of the brain

Which is trained to distinguish

Between what is important

(AIDS)

And what is, after all

Some trifling bullshit.

(Dress Down Day)

And I am still young enough

To remember school,

And “What you wearing on non-uniform day?”

And thinking how silly girls were

To care so much about clothes

And then thinking I could make a stand,

Stand out and be different,

(As was my fervent wish)

But only with clothes

Only with clothes.

And how I could fit in,

(As was my fervent wish,)

How I could do all this, and be liked,

And fit in.

But only with clothes.

I’d probably be invited to parties then

And there’d be girls there,

That would entice me and scare me

But, oh no, wait a fucking minute –

I’m not in school anymore

And that would be what’s known in stand-up comedy

As a call-back

To my earlier references to school.

(“And that’s one of the many things that makes me

Better than you.

Others include:

My taste and erudition, my wide reading

And the fact that I’ve rocked up

On Dress Down Day

Dressed much smarter

Than I would

On any other day.”

Because I’m so fucking cool.)

I had it all planned,

Exactly what I’d say

And then I sat there,

In my three-piece suit

And I made my point

And I didn’t save

Anyone with AIDS

And nobody asked me anything.

And I didn’t say anything

To anyone

All day.