The Squeaky Wheels

I was in the supermarket the other day buying some milk, eggs, bread, and other essentials my wife outlined on the scrap of paper I held in my hand, when I realized I’d drawn the short straw, and was pushing a cart with a squeaky wheel. All it took was one. The three other wheels were smooth, with no squeaks, squeals, or hiccups, but that one squeaky wheel was enough of an irritant to compel me to go and switch it out for one that made no noise.

It has long been established that the squeaky wheel gets the grease. Seeing as this was a proven truth time and again, some have taken it upon themselves to make a career out of squeaking. Even when those applying the grease are busy doing something else, the squeaking gets progressively louder until they inevitably stop what they are doing, and do what the squeakers know they will do given enough squeaking.

It’s getting absurd.  The squeaking is getting so loud it’s bordering on unbearable, and there is no sign in sight that it will dissipate or quiet. It’s not just one out of four wheels anymore, but more like three out of four wheels squeaking merrily away, while those whose dignity, nature, or convictions keep them from doing likewise are doing all they can just to keep their heads above water, put some food on the table, and keep a roof over their family’s head without prolonged, protracted, and endless dependency on some shadowy entity that is more than happy to keep them shackled in the dungeon of mediocrity.

Those old enough have seen this scenario play out before in other nations on other continents, and those not yet old enough need only crack open a history book to see the end result of all that those behind the scenes have been actively doing in this nation.

I am, by nature, not given to conspiracies, or conspiracy theories, but what is happening is no longer in the realm of conspiracy, but readily visible and palpable for anyone willing to look.

What the squeaky wheels don’t seem to understand is that eventually those applying the grease run out of it, or get so sick of the repetitive motion of applying it, that they just throw their hands up in frustration and simply give up.

With love in Christ,
Michael Boldea Jr.