No Respect

I can't get no respect. No respect. These are not my words, but they're my sentiment. The late Rodney Dangerfield and I seem to have something going, something in common. I spend my days loosening up the pretend tie that hangs around my neck like a noose. And while I don't have a funny routine to turn out my particular hell, I can tell you assuredly that I get no respect. No response, no return on investment, no nothing. Some friends say don't take it personally - this is a mad mad world we live in, it's not you. Others say change how you act, change what you believe in, change how you look, change what you find funny, and what you don't. My eyes are popping out of my head in disbelief, like Rodney's. How do you weather this type of disappointment for so long? What is the God damn glitch? My wiring is still there though. I can still get myself to have hope, to believe someone when they tell me that something is going. I believe and I believe and I believe until those same people fade into this horrible Gremlin mass of oblivion, never to resurface again, at least not in the meanwhile. How can I not take it personally? When this keeps happening over and over again, like some bad fine-line crack in an LP's lining. I'm taking in the same shoddy sounds of the needle chafing its snag. I get no respect. No respect.

Okay, I got a little respect yesterday. But only the superficial kind. The kind that comes and goes when you're wearing a nice dress, and you look good in it. People were nice at the stores, on the streets. But still, I know that the dress has to come off at some point, and then I'm just left with my skin, and a phantom phone ring. I get no respect, no real respect. It hasn't been the story of my life, but the crux of the story these last two years. What the f---? How's it going to be tomorrow?

Amazon is selling Rodney Dangerfield's "The Ultimate No Respect Collection" for under thirty dollars. Rodney, are you rolling around in your grave? People are respecting that you get no respect with their dollars and their time. I have to admit that I never cared much for your routine, but yesterday I realized your genius. Yes, I had no respect, no respect, and now I do. Rodney, tell me something, when will I get the respect? Not the fleeting, good-looking dress kind, but the kind that lasts, for my work, and my time, and my mind? I'm loosening up my fake tie as I write this.