Soy Fields Forever

Glycine max or the soybean is an edible legume native to East Asia. Soybean seeds are encased in a hairy pod about three to eight centimeters in length. Each pod contains two to four seeds five to eleven millimeters in diameter. Soybeans are cultivated for their oil and meal: their meal provides a cheap source of protein for livestock and processed foods. The USDA estimates that the Global Soybean Production 2016/2017 will be 336.62 million metric tons.

You are what you eat. We have become sentient soy masses. I see it in the faces of men and women my age: an amorphous, androgynous physiognomy betraying seething passive-aggressiveness. Their placid demeanors mask hideous inner monstrosities that I can only assume look somewhat like the blob monster from Akira made of texturized soy protein. Election season was misery. I lost all my friends in college. Though I rarely discuss politics with people outside of my immediate family, they somehow found me out. I was an imposter.

The soy mass is easy to control. He follows directions, he doesn’t ask questions. He is ideal for the type of compartmentalized labor ubiquitous today. I can’t say Kaczynski didn’t warn us. Nobody would listen. However, the soy mass is able to find work and even move up to management. You won’t be so lucky. Interviewers can sniff out people who aren’t team players, people who aren’t SELF-STARTERS.

Upon graduating college and failing to secure employment, you will move back in with your parents and enter a stage of your life I’ve dubbed Interview Hell. Your only human connection will be your parents and the interviewers you speak with two to three times per week. All of your friends either don’t speak with you anymore or have moved out of your hometown and are living fulfilling lives in the major U.S. cities. You will rapidly exhaust the RPG dialogue tree with your parents and have the same conversations over and over. Their growing disappointment with you will soon become apparent as you start sinking back into that endless ocean of electronic entertainment.

What is a man to do? Nobody ever told you a damn thing about being a man. Outside of some failed attempts by your father to get you interested in sports, no doubt interspersed with lectures on how it’s important to “be nice to girls”, you haven’t a clue. You are stuck in Interview Hell, and until you make that Dantean voyage out of the Inferno and into the Purgatory of our post-industrial society, you will remain. Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.

Without employment, without money, you are stuck in your rotting hometown. Twenty odd years have gone by and all that remain are ghosts. Your elementary school evokes memories of better days. Days spent with your friends who have all since passed into the nostalgic halls of memory. The places you remember remain but are eerily devoid of life. Above all, you just really miss everyone.

The first things to go are your social skills. Prolonged isolation does this to you. When you only have interviewers to talk to for months on end, you soon forget what it’s like to have a genuine conversation. You’ll end up listening more than speaking and your words will come out in a jumbled mess. Your solitude won’t make you more productive either. You’ll spend your time in between interviews playing old computer games and watching movies you’ve already seen.

Phone screens lead to in-person interviews where they find out you’re not a soy mass and reject you. Americans smile too much. Maybe it’s all the sunlight. I’ve always perceived smiling as insincere. Guys only smile when they’re about to stab you in the back. Politicians and salesmen smile all the time. America is a country of politicians and salesmen.

I can’t help but feel like a caged animal doing party tricks during interviews. The entire interview process is absurd. You can’t get to know someone in thirty minutes, let alone thirty years. The same old questions are asked and I give the same old responses. Tell me about a challenge you’ve overcome. I kind of want to die but I got out of bed this morning. What do you do in your free time? Post jokes about bitch Asian girlfriends and Mark Zuckerberg on Twitter. Where do you see yourself in five years? Dead in a Hollywood swimming pool.

The last interview I went to the girl told me her company was all about having fun. I almost walked out. Your multi-million dollar tech company is not about fun, it’s about gradually sucking the life out of small business owners so your founder can fuck kids in the Philippines. They promptly sent me my rejection the next day.

We must beg and grovel like dogs for the remaining scraps on the desiccated carcass of the American economy. What automation won’t replace will be taken by the billions of huddled masses yearning to breathe free. The middle class isn’t shrinking: there is no middle class. By the end of the decade the last remaining source of income will be selling our organs to Silicon Valley startups.

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