Human traffic

by RAF KATIGBAK

Lately I’ve been thinking that I really need to buy someone. Not like a slave or anything. Well okay, maybe like a slave but not like, an ethnic slave, I’m no racist. I don’t see colour. When I say “I don’t see colour” I actually mean it, not in the two-faced way some politically correct types say it, but then hold their purses a little closer when a group of black kids get on the bus, or how some bleeding heart liberals say that they believe in freedom of speech but when you show up to their dinner party covered in blood, smelling like booze and eggs with a shirt that says “Pussy Patrol” screaming, “Where the bitches at?!” they rudely ask you to leave.

No, when I say colour blind, I mean I’m actually colour blind. Luckily I discovered dark clothes early on in my education, right around the time I was voted “Most likely to dress like a gay Easter egg on acid” in my yearbook.

As I was saying, I’m no racist—it doesn’t matter where my manservant comes from. They could be Scottish, Sri Lankan, Japanese…… they could be Born Jamericans for all I care. All that matters is that they do my bidding. But my bidding wouldn’t include demeaning things like dressing up like a pony and prancing around town with me on their back all day. First off, I wouldn’t know where to get a human/human saddle and secondly, I’m a busy guy and have no time to be riding a slave around all day. No, my little helper would just do normal everyday household stuff like taking out the trash and cleaning out the giant human litter box I’ve recently converted my bathroom into (saves water, trust me).

In terms of discipline, I don’t think I would be a harsh master. I wouldn’t make them lick my boots clean or make them watch CBC’s The Hour, for instance. As in any kind of leadership role, you have to rule with an iron fist. But I’d wrap that iron fist in a velvet glove. But then I’d cover that glove in broken glass. But then I’d dip that glass in milk chocolate and delicious chunks of caramel (which would then be laced with poison). On second thought, I wouldn’t do that, that’s shitty. I’d make the slave do it.

It’s not like the idea of owning a slave is that appealing to me: I’m not some power tripping asshole. I’d be a very progressive slave owner. I’d want someone eco-conscious, so that they’d realize the few table scraps and old coffee grinds they eat everyday is saving on waste and actually helping the environment. See? Progressive! Their life would be so good that they would want to stay in that crawlspace beneath my stairs even if I didn’t keep them locked in there for 13-hour stretches. And when I would release them to prepare the pâté de foie gras for my cat, they wouldn’t be tempted to sneak a bite, not out of fear of rapprochement, but just because they know how temperamental Mr. Snuggles can get.

We would also have fun. We could go to the park and play Frisbee and we could stay up late and watch scary movies while they removed the crud from my toes. Technically, it wouldn’t be slavery, because they’d enjoy their life so much, they would stay on their own free will. They’d realize the electric fence and their tamper-proof, perimeter-sensitive explosive neck brace is only there as a symbol of our closeness and lifelong bond.

But how much does a someone cost? What’s the going rate on a human being these days? It’s not like there’s a category on eBay (trust me, I looked) and nothing pops up locally in Craigslist. The closest I’ve come to an estimate is a site my friend Sally pointed me to, humanforsale.com, where you fill in a questionnaire and it tells you your net worth. Obviously I did it, tweaked a few answers to bump up my score a bit (oh, by the way, if anyone from that site contacts you, please confirm that I’m a 6’5” super-athletic white neurosurgeon) and got a pretty sweet rating. My final net worth? 2.57-million. Ch-ching!

Well, yes and no. While it’s nice to know that I’m basically a millionaire (or that I would fetch a handsome price if I was abducted), obviously that kind of money puts a damper on my whole slavery plan. Plus there’s the whole thing about it being morally appalling. So forget it. I’ve just come to my senses and have decided to do things the old-fashioned way. If anyone wants to help work on plans for an army of slave robots, hit me up.

Riff-Raff@sympatico.ca