Once again, it is Sunday… or at least the wee hours of Monday. And as I lay here, contemplating the weekend and all of its hilarity, all of its debauchery and all of the shame and robust lies most of us have lived and left scattered all over town these past two days, the one story from which I can’t seem to stop attributing synonymity after witnessing this weekend, I have included below. Not much funny to be found in gas chambers or brainwashed societies, but hey, even Jackie has to be on the “for serious” tip every once in awhile… hence the title of today’s entry.
It was the announcement that would come over the loudspeaker, ever so often, breaking up the dance-enticing house music at Auschwitz to let the Sonderkommando, the special detail of the camp, know it was that time again… time to shepherd the condemned prisoners into their gas chambers, and drag their bodies back out again.
People typically volunteered for this position – it was a noble thing, the Sonderkommando, and the house music – good music – that surrounded it, most certainly had something to do with this group’s notoriety. Most men clamored to be a part of this elite group – even fought, really, for a shot at this different life. Once a member, your dwellings were more impressive, foods richer, drink more potent, and clothing more luxurious. That was the story, anyways. On the surface, they didn’t have to give up much to move up within the Auschwitz social class structure. And the items they plundered from those they were killing did all the more to increase their quality of life.
Yet as quickly as they joined, they were subsequently gassed themselves, with the first duty of their successors being to dispose of their remains. This cycle continued for a time, and to most historians was quite a phenomenon. But one thing was for sure. Whatever lie these men chose to believe was potent, real and powerful, and while it was the lie that held the possibility of life for a few short hours or days longer, it was also the lie that subsequently led to each of these men's deaths - as they, themselves, led their acquaintences, friends and even family to their own.
And whether your Sonderkommando leads you to hugging your favorite porcelain god, a trip to Park & 75 to purchase Plan B where Thelma knows you by name & suggests you buy two to save a trip (but out of pride you never do, and next weekend always wish you had), or simply an awkward trip to Potbelly during the Sunday post-church rush in your clothes from the night before, I guess the lie we have all chosen to believe is truly no different from the ones these men did… that the announcement that repeatedly reverberates within each of our lives is one that is good, one worth blindly following. And that same announcement we hear and see every day is the one that has turned us all into dancing puppets who live a life that consistently floods the bank accounts of our local Hitlers – and much to their pleasure, no matter what choices we make or what happens to us in the future, there is most certainly another Sonderkommando waiting in the wings to take our place, usher us to our deaths, and dispose of our remains.
And now that I have officially depressed you all at the beginning of your week – go knock ‘em dead – and make some $$$. I heard table service is increasing by $50/bottle at our local favorite hotspot. So, get to crackin’ – we have some corpses to carry next weekend.