The novel Lord of Light by Roger Zelazny is one of my all-time favorite books. In fact, if it weren’t for Watchmen, it would probably be my absolute favorite (though I can’t say that I would want to live in a world without Watchmen, so it’s rather a moot point).
For those who haven’t read it – which is pretty much all of you – the basic concept is as follows:
A group of humans travel across interstellar distances to colonize another world.
The world is a rather hostile place, with several nasty indigenous creatures that roughly correspond to demons and spirits from human mythology – in fact, many of the creatures deliberately take on these forms, which they have pulled from the minds of the intruding humans – so in order to properly settle the world, the colonists cultivate superhuman attributes and develop advanced technologies to aid them. After years of warfare, the world is soon properly subjugated and the real work of colonization – namely having kids and lots of them – gets underway.
Among the advanced technologies the colonists possess are the ability to artificially grow cloned bodies and a technique that allows them to transfer consciousness from one body to another. Barring any accidents that might prevent someone from being transferred into a healthy new body prior to the death of the old one, this “reincarnation” technology effectively allows for immortality.
As new generations are born and the original colonists further develop their superhuman attributes the question of who gets to take advantage of this technology becomes a divisive one. The majority of the colonists believe that it should not be shared with their descendants, the common rabble who are spreading out across the world and living at subsistence levels. A vocal minority hews to a more egalitarian ideal and feels that the technology should be shared with everyone equally.
This division leads one of the First, as the original colonists are known, to take his leave of his fellows and settle off in distant lands. This person is named Sam, and was one of the greatest heroes of the wars against the natives, his ability to manipulate electromagnetic fields serving as a perfect weapon against the disembodied sentient energy beings known as the Rakasha.
Eventually, after living to a ripe old age, Sam decides it’s time to pick out a new body, and makes his way back to the Celestial City, the home of the First.
Along the way, Sam learns that things have gotten even worse than they had been when he left. The First are no longer merely content to lord over their children as simple human masters, they have designated themselves as gods, patterning themselves after the Hindu pantheon. Further, they have devices that allow them to read human memories and they use these readings to judge anyone seeking to be reincarnated, evaluating their Karma to determine what sort of new body – if any – said supplicant will receive.
Like any commodity, Karma, Sam learns, can be bought, as is evidenced by the devices he refers to as “Pray-o-Mats” located at the front of the temples erected in honor of the “gods.” Supplicants are able to purchase tokens, which, when deposited into the Pray-o-Mats can help to ameliorate their Karmic burden.
Intrigued by this, Sam gets in line and begins asking one of the pilgrims questions about the workings of the Pray-o-Mat. Eventually, frustrated by the questions of this ignorant savage, the pilgrim turns to Sam and says, “Perhaps ‘twere better that you make prayer in the old way and give the donation directly into the hands of the priests.”
I apologize for the wordiness of my little recap, but I needed to give you the context before mentioning that this particular scene came to mind today when I was at the grocery store in line at the self-checkout behind someone who couldn’t figure out how to ring up the produce he was buying.
To be fair, I can’t really blame him for opting to use the self-checkout, given how packed the place was, but honestly, it probably would have been faster for him – and everyone behind him – if he’d just gotten into the regular line and did it the old-fashioned way.
Given that Thanksgiving is coming, I expected the store to be busier than usual, but I wasn’t prepared for how packed it was at noon on a Monday.
Of course, the question of “Don’t these people have jobs they should be at?” was answered by the fact that it appeared that there was an AARP convention going on in the store.
It was like someone had planted old people seeds in rows like corn, particularly given that they all seemed to be rooted to the spot, turning the place into some sort of septuagenarian obstacle course.
I just don’t understand why people who are actively shrinking feel the need to take up as much space as possible, with their carts turned sideways in the middle of an aisle while standing there unmoving, as if they were all Lot’s wife and had just turned to look back on the wicked city and been stricken by the wrath of God.
It really shouldn’t take that long to pick out which can of tomato soup you’re going to buy, and if you’d turn up your hearing aid you might hear the young whippersnapper saying, “Excuse me” as he tries to maneuver around your Geritol-laden cart.
(Do they even make Geritol anymore?)
I understand that you’re old (and American) and that this gives you a sense of entitlement, but I have to say that, now that medical science and modern hygienic practices have pretty effectively wiped out things like cholera and small pox, making it to an advanced age isn’t quite the accomplishment it once was.
Maybe you fought in a war and think that gives you special permission to be completely inconsiderate. Well, I appreciate your efforts to defend freedom, and make the world a better place for future generations, and I hope you had a nice Veterans Day, but you might consider doing something to protect the freedom of future generations to get access to the cheese in the dairy aisle.
At the very least, I would ask that you actually acknowledge the fact that you’re in the way. I mean, everyone is in someone’s way sometimes, but even if you’re not particularly nimble, you can try to keep that to a minimum and recognize that other people – particularly the ones who are politely saying “Excuse me” – have just as much right to buy eggs as you do, and there’s no need for you to willfully block their access to them.
And the fact is that I wouldn’t be quite so bothered by this lack of consideration if old people weren’t constantly complaining about how rude and impolite younger people are. During one of the dozen or so times in the course of a day that you ask, “Whatever happened to common courtesy?” I want you to remember what the answer to that question is: you did. You happened to it.
Consider the fact that the young man ahead of me who failed to master the art of buying produce turned to me and everyone else in line and apologized for causing a delay.
That’s considerably more courtesy than I got from the old lady who jammed her bony shoulder into my back as she pushed her way past me while I was loading my groceries onto the belt.
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