What if the job they had to do was wait on you in restaurant?

There is a Goddess of Refills. Pray to her.

Vivat!

More to come soon

So they set out codify the Universe. Each leaf must meet certain parameters for its plant’s species. Each pickle slice on a hamburger must be at least this width, this height, this diameter. Each hair on your head had to be within an eight of an inch of the specifications established — contractually — with your hairdresser.

The ministers hired inspectors. The inspectors hired assistants. The assistants badgered trees, pickle factories, salons. The environmentalists, the cucumber growers, the hair-dye manufacturers hired lawyers to protect them from the assistants, from the inspectors, from the ministers, from the other lawyers.

So, people remain protected from improperly formed leaves, from overly large dills that threaten to overwhelm the other flavors of the comprise a cheeseburger, from lopsided bangs.

It has been a smashing success, the ministers ask themselves and you. Hasn’t it?

But what the residents of the City? Those who were severely inconvenienced at having such a meeting thrust upon them? They returned to a life as usual.

Now, there were no forced vacation days, or just plain days off without pay. Now, they need not worry about their children who had no school. Now, they need not worry about security checkpoints, traffic delays, fear.

And what did they fear? The unknown. When such world leaders had met in bigger cities, in capitals more used to high security measures, there had been riots, arsons, police brutality, protester destruction of property, injuries, death.

The seers, Tarot readers, Rune casters, Astrologers all came up with variations on the theme of “Tempest in a Teapot,” but nobody in the City listened. For Fear can sometimes be a kindly god, who whispers in your ear, “Stay at home, forget the world, keep close to your loved ones.”

So they did. So they did.

And today, they went on with life as usual. Or, almost usual. In the back of everyone’s mind was the question: “Why did we spend so much money to hire soldiers from all over the known world to line our streets for one man to march down the street carrying a sign that read ‘Down with Mayonnaise/Up with Hot Sauce!’”

[Edit: Check out Ali's "The Group of 20 and the Mythology of the Market"]

Gently, his father asked him, “So, did you have a good time?”

“Yeah.” Sulk, slam, sling.

“Then why are you upset?”

Sling, sulk, slam. “Dunno.”

Fearing for the safety of the good china, the father put his hand on the shoulder of the lad and said, “Let’s take five minutes.”

Through the ruins of streamers and the debris of salsa platters, they sat down on the couch.

“Son, what is a party?”

“A celebration?”

“Yes, but it is also a state-of-mind.”

Fearing his father was about to pine for his college days, the son said, “That sounds like something from a movie.”

“It probably is. Okay… let’s say that there are three kinds of parties. We’ll call them first, second and third.”

With a sinking feeling, the not-yet-man-not-still-boy felt a session of father-son bonding about to happen. The idea of slinging soap suds began to grow in appeal. But, his old man was rarin’ to wax philosophic.

“The first party is ‘we’ as in you, your mother, your sisters and me. The second party is ‘you’ as in the people we invite. The third party is ‘them’ or the one’s whom we did not invite. We throw a party for you so we can celebrate not having to be with them.”

“Who’s them?”

“The kids at school who just don’t get you. The bosses you have that don’t get their jobs or yours. People who want to harass instead of enlighten, those sorts of people.”

“So we throw a party to forget about them?”

“Kind of. A party is a sacred space in time in which we come together to prove to ourselves and to others that we can experience joy, and take pleasure in the company of our friends no matter what they think or do.”

“Sacred space?”

“Yes, celebrations can honor the living, the dead, the Gods, anyone that we cherish near or far. It is our duty, Son, to show hospitality. So your mom and I spend our money to buy all of this food and wine for us for you for them. In return, our family and friends will do the same thing… at a wedding, or a shower. So, it is important that we treat this experience as life-affirming and holy.”

“Which includes cleaning up afterwards?”

“Indeed, all tools of ritual must be cleaned and put away. Even one as unlikely as a casserole dish or a champagne flute.”

“So, we can finish cleaning up now?”

“No you can. Mom had too many Brandy Alexanders with my sister and my mother. I should go check on her. Remember, be careful with the china. Good night, son.”

The sage needs the City to teach his pupils. The hermit needs the City so he can eschew it and all that it entails.

The farmer and the trapper need it for its markets and its wares. The sailor needs its port. The merchant needs its roads.

The court needs its palace; the commoner needs its walls.

But all of these needs are not congruous: how can each make the City better?