(tick tock) ten-hour job
buying my futon and my
(tick tock) ikea clock

Meet Jack. Jack is a yuppie. He gets up at 7.30 in the morning, to the morning show playlist of a ubiquitous radio station with a 6-tone jingle, or the alarm clock in his Ericsson mobile phone, set to sleep for 10 minutes. Jack is a civil servant, or investment banker, or strategy consultant, or marketing manager, or other young professional in a shirt and tie and neatly- pressed trousers. With pleats. It's hard to tell because everyone looks the same in the morning. But the pleats cut a sharp, unmistakable profile in the blur, coarse-grained morning.

Watch Jack run. To Jack, time is digital. It doesn't sweep, it jumps from digit to digit. Jack jumps out of bed and into the shower. Into his pleats, and then just enough time to grab a Starbuck's on the way to the office. His espresso machine sits in his kitchen, dry and neglected. Down the subway, up the subway, onto the bus, into the train, say "hi!" to the pretty girl who stops by the same news stand, "maybe one day I'll stop and ask her name." His espresso machine never made it out of the box. Run, Jack's watch. Jack runs to catch up with his watch.

Run Jack run. Jack doesn't mind his job too much. Or he forgot that he did. He just wishes he didn't have to get up so early in the morning, or work so late at night. He mentioned once to a friend that he wished he didn't have to run all the time, but "let's be practical," both agreed. Jack makes money - a respectable sum, enough for him not to worry too much about it. He no longer has to buy from the economy section in the supermarket, like he did when he was in college. But it's not all about money. Money is a means to an end for Jack. He can now make a healthy donation to the WHO, the WWF and Greenpeace every month. But the money doesn't make him believe in what they do. "They do good work, don't they?" Most of all, he's financially and psychologically independent. It came with the job, like it said in the ad.

Run run run. Fortunately, Jack has friends who he can run with. Ikea, Honda, Hugo Boss, BMW, Charles Schwab, Apple (think different) - a multinational host of buddies who pledge support to him and his lifestyle in fine, matte-finished catalogues and translucent iMac colours. Before we jump to conclusions, Jack hasn't sold out - he just has taste. "Selling out" is an 80's phrase. Today, it's "buying in". He's buying into a whole new lifestyle. Like buying into the dot.com company his firm is helping the investment house down the road to cut a deal with. It's hard to accuse Jack of abandoning his ideals. They might have just changed. Jack genuinely enjoys the work he does, the friends he has, the things he buys. He has new responsibilities, new aims and new relationships. And he knows that if he doesn't spend the money, it'll get spent anyway.

But time runs by and Jack is wondering where it's all going. Did he wake up this morning?