No One to Tell James T. Barrett

ISBN:

Published: October 15th 2013

ebook

570 pages


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No One to Tell  by  James T. Barrett

No One to Tell by James T. Barrett
October 15th 2013 | ebook | PDF, EPUB, FB2, DjVu, AUDIO, mp3, ZIP | 570 pages | ISBN: | 3.62 Mb

Perhaps It’s Not Too Late.Or Is It? Or, Do You Care?No One to Tell is creative non-fiction, a chronological collection of events recapturing an era we may lament, have forgotten, or never knew: The 70s, when life was good, when we enjoyed the work weMorePerhaps It’s Not Too Late.Or Is It? Or, Do You Care?No One to Tell is creative non-fiction, a chronological collection of events recapturing an era we may lament, have forgotten, or never knew: The 70s, when life was good, when we enjoyed the work we did.

When five o’clock meant the day was done, time to party, not answering your phone in stalled traffic because your thirty-something boss hasn’t finished impressing you or himself.It also speaks to our insidious regression into the new millennium.Business in the 70s was all about handshakes, cocktail lunches, and making money.

After hours was all about living, enjoying life, being who we were. Women complementing men, men complementing women.In the 80s women still dressed as women, acted as women, making a man’s job of being a man much easier. We opened doors and pulled out chairs. Romance was a skillset. Undressing a woman, making her feel sensual and feminine was a matter of pride and expertise.Then with the 90s came the antithesis of evolution. Fax machines were now an old technology, laptops and emails the new requisites.

We learned to talk on phones while driving, to dress-down on Fridays, to see each other as equals. As much the woman’s fault as the man’s. With equality came irreversible regression. Fewer chairs were pulled out, fewer doors opened.The 00s brought more technology, much of it turning adults into children. New hand-held devices in essence stealing our freedom. Car phones were ancient, the work ethic transmuting to 24/7.

Cinq à sept no longer meant Happy Hour- it meant working until seven to appease a boss fearful of not appeasing his. Casual Friday became Dockers and washed out polos every day, invasive emails and texting surreptitiously altering our mindsets. We were suddenly androgynous, men and women indifferent to one another beyond the ephemeral carnal need: a function devoid of romance.

Gulping fast food was more efficient than fine meals, caps and tee-shirts in restaurants the new vogue. Glamour was lost, separate conversations for all to hear or thumbing banal messages more important than holding hands and seductive whispers.Now, in the 10s, gentleman is an archaic term, a rarity to gawk at. Ladies, the few who exist, must certainly lament the passing of a bygone era. Gender distinction usurped by gender assimilation. Open a door for a woman, she’s as likely to give you the finger as thank you. Pull out her chair, she’s more likely to believe that’s where you’re sitting.Those of us who lived 70s failed miserably in preserving a better time, failed miserably to remember what today’s less fortunate will never know.Or, perhaps it’s not too late.Or is it?

Or, do you care?



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