Fifteen Minutes: Endpaper: Fight the Power

You can buy identical gray ribbed Gap sweaters in Cambridge and Los Angeles.

Out of cash? No problem, see that green and blue glow up ahead? Its a one-every-25 yards Bank Boston ATM.

The Man is everywhere.

I'm not a socialist, a communist or an anti-capitalist. I took Ec 10; I know all about the noble virtues of supply-side economics.

But I have a theory too. Someone wants to conquer the world, and knowing that war and nuclear armament make for a messy take over, theyve decided to be more subversive, more sneaky. A trojan horse attack if you will. Who is this villain?

The Man.

Starbucks, Bank Boston, The Gap, Microsoft, Abercrombie and Fitch, AT&T, Victoria's Secret, Bertucci's Pizza Kitchen and all those others who have moved into every mall and mainstreet of America.

So what? you say. They're just big companies.

No, they are not just big. They are the Man, and the Man is unwieldy, massive corporations who have invaded America from within and come to dominate the market with their one-style-fits-all versions of stores, restaurants and technology.

While The Man has been busy working for our money, we all have started wearing khakis and eating in subtly trendy, balsa wood trimmed restaurants that are lit by tiny orbs of track lighting.

My sympathies go out to all you men. It is a pity that the title of your oh-so-admirable gender also embodies the power hungry, cash-driven, character-squashing force who works daily to singularize our world.

I was trying to explain my theory about the Man to a friend while we were in search of chocolate chip canolis in the North End.

We found a little bakery at the end of a dark street, with distinctly non-track lighting that sent warm orange pools of light out into the night.

The bells on the door jangled loudly as the door slammed behind us. A glass case heaping with cookies, pastries and pies stood in front of the balding clerk.

This place is distinctly not the Man, I explained to my friend as the clerk wrapped up our canolis. This. . . Is real. She seemed to absorb this bit of instruction and then said, "So because this place is dirty," eyeing the bakery's dusty floor, "it's not the Man."

Ahh, the uninitiated.

The Man is crafty, the Man is slick, but there are always signals when you're dealing with the Man. Here's a fool-proof guide for spotting him in your every day interactions.

1) The Man has many offices, stores and restaurants. He would never want to be in just one place. So if it's got multi-city holdings and dozens of branches, it's the Man.

2) The Man likes to dress well. Seemingly stylish, he sports the latest colors and fashions. He's hip, but not unique.

3) The Man never answers his phone. If you want to ask him a question, you must follow his circuitous automated phone menu for at least 20 minutes, after which you can talk to an operator who will say that you have reached the wrong department. Your problem/question is the business of Cindy in the Dispatch Department, and Cindy is only available on the Third Monday after Lent, from 9 a.m. Pacific Standard Time to 12 a.m. Eastern Standard Time.

Arghghghgh.

But do not despair.

It's possible to fight the Man. You don't have to succumb to the Goliath-like force that seeps into your consciousness every time you emerge from underneath the covers.

When Bank Boston took an extra $16.42 out of my checking account last month, I saw this as a chance to take a big poke at the Man. I tried to reach Cindy in the Dispatch Department, but since it's only November and Lent is in March, I thought it might be best to head over to the actual bank of Bank Boston. Armed with my receipts and bank statements from the last year (one who fights the Man must always have the necessary documents in hand to prove she is correct), I plunked myself down in front of a balsa wood desk and explained to a trendily dressed associate why Bank Boston had made a mistake. After several sets of sieges where it looked like there could be a stalemate, I got my money back. I fought The Man and won.

But the Man is crafty. Even me, a long-time proponent of anti-Man doctrine, can succumb to the wily charm of The Man. Around Halloween an old friend from high school managed to get me into Starbucks, the very den of The Man. And as I paid for my coffee, I saw it. A cute little teddy bear, all dressed up for Halloween in a black velvet skeleton costume. His acrylic eyes, his fuzzy synthetic fur--it was all too much. I forked over the cash and brought the bear home. What easier way for the Man to gain access to my home, than through the commissioned agent Mr. Bear?

For every battle won, one is lost.

And don't think for a minute that were safe here in Harvard's ivory tower. The statue of John Harvard is the earthly incarnation of the Man. How else can we explain why so many people make the journey to touch his foot and have their pictures taken with him? They have been seduced. . . By the Man.

Joyce K. McIntyre, is a sophomore concentrator in History & Literature. She lives in Kirkland house. Joyce is currently interested in finding a publisher for her 400-page manuscript, "The Warren Report & Washinton's Lies."