It's tough being part of the proletariat. You work hard for not much money, and you have do things you don't want to do to make ends meet. At my peak membership I was waking up at 5:30 am to be at work by 6:30. Those were what I refer to as the "dark days." The lost days, so to speak, when I was trying my best to fit into society and make something good of myself. After work, I'd go to my university, where I'd nap in the student union in between classes just to get by.
When my college days were over I found any old job to pay the rent. The one job perk I had was a week's paid vacation, but I never had enough money to go anywhere far. The cruelty of it was I'd see advertisements in magazines and billboards of tropical paradises with beautiful women sunning themselves in bikinis. They'd have a drink in their hand and a pair of sunglasses on their face. It seemed like at every turn there was a billboard for Cancun, Fiji, Hawaii, or someplace nice like that. Not that I'd want to go to a tourist destination, but still.
That was my life as a proletariat. I was a good soldier. I payed my taxes, which I saw as a fee for residency in the United States. I followed the rules, mostly.
I'm part of the artisan class now, which is like being part of the proletariat, but I set my own hours. Now, I make even less money than I did before.
