Barb Inc. (or My life as a corporation)

My first affair with a corporation began last year when I saw the summer edition of Smithsonian Magazine publish the winners of their 1st annual photo contest.  Ever since I have been eagerly awaiting the Smithsonian to call me up and tell me I'm one of their finalists in their 2nd annual photo contest (to be published in the summer of 2005).  "All finalists will be notified by March 31st," their website says.  "Do not contact us requesting information on the status of your submissions,". 

I contemplate contacting them to request information on the status of my submissions.

But I don't.  I have a long standing rule against calling anyone who doesn't call me.  Nonetheless, I have been eagerly awaiting the following message on my home answering machine: "Congratulations Ms. Howe.  This is Smithsonian Magazine.  We are calling to congratulate you on Your Brilliant Photograph of a dead animal carcass being chopped in half by a machete.  We are sure readers of Smithsonian Magazine -now part of National Geographic Incorporated -will feel the warm glow of nationalism overcome them when they gaze upon your photo amongst the red, white and blue Americana shots of Veteran's Day parades in small towns, backlit farming equipment in golden fields and smiling pets and children racing each other in a backyard game of t-ball..."   

No such message comes.  Months go by.  Smithsonian Magazine doesn't call me.  I knew I shouldn't have acted too interested.  I couldn't help it.  They were being all flirty like that talking about a thousand dollars for first place and a trip for two to Alaska for the grand prize.  I fell hook line and sinker and submitted four photos well before the required deadline of December 31st.

"Only one submission per category" the rules said. 

"What if I submit a photo in the wrong category" I asked. 

"If we deem that a photo has been submitted in the wrong category, we will reassign it to its appropriate category".

"What if I already have a photo in that category and you reassign another of my photos to that same category and then I have more than only one submission per category?" I asked.

No response.

We are not really on speaking terms now -Smithsonian and I.  I should've known we were not each other's type.  You know how it goes.  They're a corporation and I'm just a girl with a camera and a blog.  We don't speak the same language.

I do this all the time.  Fall for the wrong type.  No amount of rejection deters me.  I have a big mouth.  I mean, it's huge.  It stretches from here to Wyoming.  You'd think with a mouth this big, I'd incorporate myself.  I'd sell tickets for people to get in and hear myself speak.  Standing room only.  Discount rates for the upper molars.  Subscription deals if you attend three or more performances.  I'd set up an Administration to administer myself.  The Administration would sign all outgoing correspondence with "Barb Inc. Admin."  When nonincorporated individuals write me to say they liked what I say, I'll ignore them to show how I've moved up in the world and how little I need to hear what they have to say, even if it's nice.  I'm beyond nice.  Nice is for wussy human beings.  I'm incorporated. 

People who knew me back before I incorporated will write to apply for jobs being ushers inside my mouth or ask questions about the chemistry of my saliva.  I will issue a general briefing that individual correspondence cannot be answered due to heavy volume.  Only one or two people actually write with these questions and applications but I don't write back anyway.  Then they'd know I'd made up that part about the heavy volume.

Being incorporated means fewer dating options since humans still outnumber corporations but your chances of getting paired up are significantly higher.  Sooner or later another institution will buy you out, then your stocks options will go up.  I heard about a friend of a friend who once went out with Wal-Mart.  She said they outsourced her to China where she produced prestamped email letterhead already signed with "Wal-Mart Admin." on the bottom.  They'd buy 500 cartons of the letterhead a day for the Administration department of every Wal-Mart in every city in every country all over the world.  She's so busy she doesn't even know that Wal-Mart's been cheating on her with a sleazy little upstart from Southern California.

Maybe I'd avoid all that by refusing to date other corporations.  I'd run a contest -for humans only- to see who can eat the most Twizzlers or something.  And the winner could be my partner for life.  We'll merge and buy out Wal-Mart and become the biggest corporation on the planet.  We'll never write or call anybody back even other corporations.  The Smithsonian will call to say we've won their photo contest.  We won't write back. 

We're incorporated.

Comments

[jen]

lol... awesome post...

[WhineyLimey]

Yes, witty. :)

[Cincysundevil]

I'd love to hear about one dates a corporation. Only IBM or G.E. now have a shot! That leaves the locally owned businesses out of the loop! .. lol