A Capitalist Loom
“No!” shouted Ginny the Supervisor. “You will use the colors we give you and none other!”
“But,” said I, “I think a little goldenrod really brings out the blue of the blues and the red of the reds.”
“You were not hired for your opinion!” shouted Ginny. “You were hired for your ability to follow the pattern.”
“But I have a degree in colors,” I said. I frowned. I let my eyes well up.
“I have five degrees in colors,” Ginny shouted-scoffed. “I am a super doctor of colors. You think very highly of your goldenrod, but you are a child in colors compared to me.” She smacked the high edge of the loom once, twice. “I will let your insolence go this time, but never forget, never, that there are 500 million other people out there with a degree in colors, and at least a fourth of them will put blue and red where I tell them to.” Ginny grimaced threat. “Without commentary or complaint.”
Ginny swanned away, her perfect puce suit swaying firmly with each firm step. I let out a deep tears-in-my-eyes sigh. And put the blue on the red and the red on the blue.
“That’ll show her,” I said, my lower lip trembling.
