WIth President Trump in office, we hear so much about the term “globalization” these days. With a successful businessman at the nation’s helm, the word might be more about a global marketplace. Maybe, but I think it represents how we’re all interconnected by the smallest and oddest of ways. It explains how we’re separated by mere degrees with Kevin Bacon nowhere in sight,
In order to define my version of globalization, (as odd as this might sound) we have to start with the death of Princess Diana,. We’ll mark the 20th anniversary of her death this coming August. Where as the time gone?
Anyway, Diana was a very British woman. Her gentlemen friend at the time was a wealthy Egyptian playboy. They crashed in a French tunnel while riding in a German car powered by a Dutch engine.
It was driven by a Belgian man who was supposedly drunk and had spent an evening slamming back (among other things) 12-year old Scotch.
Their car was being closely followed by mostly Italian Paparazzi riding on Japanese motorcycles.
Once Diana arrived at the hospital, she was treated by many doctors—one was American trained who used numerous medicines which of course, had their origins in the flora and fauna of the Brazilian rain forest.
This post has been prepped and edited by me, a Texan of Polish descent. I used a computer which utilizes Taiwanese micro chips and processors and more than likely, the monitor is Korean-made.
Furthermore, my PC was probably assembled by Bangladeshi workers at a plant in Singapore, then transported by Indian lorry-drivers, who were then no doubt hijacked by Indonesians. They in turn, struck a deal with Sicilian Mafiosos who transported the cyber contraband to Senegal where it was handled and unloaded by Latvian dockworkers who did so under the supervision of an Armenian boss who sang Innuit whaling songs as he checked inventory.
It–my computer–eventually made it to the U.S, probably via a Malaysian trawler, then was unloaded at a harbor somewhere in Northern California by Russian stevedores. The computers were then driven en mass to Central Texas by a Midwestern Teamster named Sven who’s wife is a Yap Islander named Matunga.
The computers were then offloaded by undocumented Peruvian workers at my friendly neighborhood “Computer Shack” which is owned by a Croatian conglomerate. This particular location is managed by a guy who was born in Romania, who owns two African Gray parrots, one Burmese python and he loves Greek food. So much so, that he regularly dines at a little dive called “Takis Take Out” where all the food is made and served by Bolivian political refugees. They recently catered a bon voyage party for a Cypryot family the night before they left for their vacation in Portugal. The head cater waiter has grandparents from Malta. His girlfriend is from Jersey, but currently living in New Zealand for a Swiss bank.
Lastly, I was dating a Mexican gentleman at the time this was composed and as I typed, I was drinking a Canadian beer. The shirt I wore was given to me by an Israeli friend who defied the odds and married a lovely Palestinian woman who worked in Guyana, where she bought the shirt for her husband to give to me, It read, “Save the Galapagos Turtles” and sewn by an 11-year-old seamstress of indigenous extraction who toiled in a Panamanian sweat shop for a few weeks back in 2009.
And THAT my friends, is the true definition of GLOBALIZATION!!!