Conformity, is it comforting?

I was looking at the little "key" card I use to grant entrance to the office.  It tracks my moves, allows entry and exit - without it, I am not recognized as a citizen of my employer's world.  This little plastic card that clips to my pants pocket holds such power - it is entrusted to keep out the unwanted or unauthorized.   Miraculous little device yet quietly devilish forcing us to conform to standards and track our moves.  

There once was a time when I threw that card to the ground (really the top drawer of my desk), stepped over it and said - "no way, man!  I'll just buzz the receptionist when I want entry."   But that gets old, and after awhile the receptionist grows tired of the interruptions - there is leaving to go to other parts of the building for meetings, to meet with co-workers, go out to lunch, come back from lunch, numerous bathroom trips - even more numerous if  you drink as much water and tea as I do.   Eventually, I became tired of the dirty looks and the snail's pace in which she lifted her hand from the mouse that is navigating the game of solitaire, to move it 6" to buzz me in.  Exhausting, I know.   So, I gave in.  I conformed.  Here's my ode to that little white menace of a card.  

 

Keyless Entry

By Stephanie

I have denounced you and all that you stand for, yet I am a slave to your power.

Without you, I am alone, on the other side of the glass with only fingerprints to mark my existence, mindlessly gazing upon myself and buzzing the receptionist to grant my entrance.  

You came into my life and appeared harmless, ghostly and as thin as a credit card. Soon I would learn you are more dangerous than fluctuating APR’s and hidden fees, because you know my every move.  When I enter, when I leave, I can’t ever be alone in the building without your menacing swagger, you hang around my neck or are shackled to my hip like a deranged chastity belt intended to keep me from giving birth to new ideas.   

Your intention was never limited to simply allowing access to the building. I knew you couldn’t be trusted from the first day I clipped you to my three piece pant suit and waved you over the sensor to activate my ID.  Even when not in use you revel in your authority, threatening a revolt against the residents of my handbag - eyeglasses, makeup, checkbook, perfumed body spray; nothing is safe from your silent chiding, your presence is as chilling as the shrill tone you exclaim when stimulated.

To come to this level of dominance you must have disclosed corporate espionage or used your electromagnetic charisma to wipe their minds.  For when I predicted your plastic conquests, they all laughed at me from behind their piles of spreadsheets, glued to their 9-5 destinies.

Now gone are the days of 10:30 arrivals, shoe shopping at lunch, discussing boys with the girls around the water cooler, and forget about getting a jump on the weekend, you have re-programmed my mode with your cold little heart that stands guard and rules the passage between occupation and reality.