It was a rainy and cold day in Times Square. I arrived a bit wet at the Thomson Reuters building. As sometimes happens in second-term Obama America, the black guy at the lobby desk gave me a particularly cold reception. The Ferguson riots, in which Reuters dutifully played its role, were still in recent memory. With the media’s deafening racial drumbeat beating in their heads, sometimes black servants would have remarkably resentful or scornful attitudes, either in passive aggression or in some attempt to turn perceived racism around on the perceived racists. As in most NYC buildings, the lobby employees were mostly black.I made my way to the elevator bank. I was already maybe a minute late, far from the 5-15 minutes early one might hope to be.

I saw a gaggle of the chosen ones coming from their lunch. Chipper, well-heeled white males and an Asian girl. I didn’t want to go into the same elevator as these people.


I guessed that they worked as “journalists.” They are the spokespeople for the new world order. By their example, you will know that you are always supposed to be happy and the current regime cannot err. I knew also that I could never join them. I was a smart guy, but with working class values. I may be the last of a breed who could get into a good school based on SAT scores, for the international elite are tightening their grips on the colleges. I had learned that most of these people are born into the families of doctors or other affluent professions. They have a strong incentive to maintain the status quo. And although they subscribe to the tokenism of affirmative action, they have no interest in letting newcomers in.

They are the only ones who benefit from the relentless globalism, and they keep the rest of the country blind. They can afford to live in the only decent areas left in cities even on a Reuters’ salary thanks to parents and connections. The areas that are not hollowed out by redistribution or the hollowing out of local jobs or by cultural attacks, They are celebrated in magazines and media. They can travel and eat out.


Their cheering countenances were particularly false, as I compared them to the months of simple poverty and racial unrest I had recently endured at the behest of their “journalistic” whims and fancies. At this point, I considered leaving.Their elevator left. I gathered my courage and went up with a fatter, older man. He seemed like a decent person, and I asked him to notify the hiring manager I was there.

I was perhaps a few minutes late. The elevator guy let me in the office space. I sat on a small bench. The hiring manager arrived soon, and I could barely collect my things as we walked to a conference room.


The hiring manager was a small, competent-looking person. He could tell I wasn’t saying the right things, as I waffled through the spotty resume of a millennial whose entire career spanned the Obama economic era. He tried to coach me. I knew he expected immediate respect and homage, but naturally I couldn’t offer much of that.

As he told me about Thomson Reuters, he drew a circle to represent the Earth. I had finally entered the lair of the globalists. On the one hand, I imagined the wires that were laid under the ocean, perhaps by the intrepid Germans or British, to connect different countries. But given the petty sight of this man, the inhumanity of the situation, the ongoing destruction of the middle class and family unit, the end goal of these machinations was dread-inducing. If I had known then what I had known now, I may have uttered a prayer to (then-candidate) Donald Trump for the safekeeping of my soul. But I didn’t, and I was encountering the dual spear of the media and international finance alone.


I met with four of my peers, and save for one younger guy and older experienced woman, they all seemed fairly miserable and sheepish.

What followed was a technical test. I asked for a bathroom break and some tea. No water or anything had been offered to me as I arrived from the rain. The hiring manager referred to this as a “bio” break.


In the open-floor office scheme that was popular of late, workers sat blank-faced in front of their computers. Outside it was gray, with the office punctuated by periodic bursts of colored lighting from the advertisements outside in Times Square.I had some tea and relaxed somewhat as I did the test. I may have gotten everything right, but I was looking up formulas and other things on the Internet. He came in and caught me.

As I left, we talked about compensation. He was leaving at the same time, but I avoided taking the same elevator. I was soon notified that I was no longer a candidate for this role.