Do Not Pass Go

"My card..."“If you will excuse me, I REALLY have to hurry.”

There was a small crowd gathered in front of the Serbian parliament this afternoon and I had to elbow and head-butt my way through the few but stalwart people blocking my path.

“There is not much time,” I protested. “I have to get them to look at my DRAFT CONSTITUTION!”

Silence fell. Suddenly I was the cynosure of all eyes. “Constitution,” the word of the day, cut through the opposition like a hot knife through kajmak. Hands suddenly appeared out of nowhere, all reaching to grab the fresh draft of the constitution from my under my white knuckles. Inside the parliament building, the powers that be were wrangling and bickering over the watered-down-something-for-everyone-but-nothing-for-Toma draft that appeared on the verge of being agreed. The advent of a possible alternative raised hopes and eyebrows across the windswept square.

When it became apparent that neither I nor the crowd were about to give ground, a small voice was heard from the rear of the throng. “What does it say?” inquired the voice.

My moment having arrived, I opened the brown envelope and unwrapped the rectangular box which I had been guarding so carefully.

“My proposal,” I orated, “is a simple one. This constitution was already been written many years ago and is still used all around the world. This draft brings order to chaos.”

I knelt and placed the rectangular box on the ground before me. The circle of onlookers closed in tight. I removed the lid of the box and extracted a cardboard square, folded in half and opened it. I removed a small metal race-car, top hat, thimble, dog, and a flatiron, purse, lantern, and shoe. Finally, from the bottom of the box I removed a document with large bold faced letters bearing an unmistakable inscription:

                              The Rules of Monopoly 

I stood up straight again was preparing to read (a few of the onlookers had dived in to scoop up a few handfuls of play money). Clearing my throat, I looked around and saw, to my surprise, that the crowd had listlessly turned away and was heading back to the parliament building entrance.

“Hang on!” I cried. “Will no one listen to my idea? Why shouldn’t the rules of this game apply to the country? Are we not all being bought and sold every day by a handful of extremely rich players? Are not the properties of the country being traded, merged, and bankrupted by a group of nine or ten people?”

The small voice, which had been heard before, was the only one remaining. It belonged to a little boy who picked up the metal dog and was now making assorted barking sounds. His father, in a dark tuxedo, white moustache, and shining top hat approached me and handed me his card.

 Taking the boy by the hand and turning away to join the others, he uttered only four words to me in answer to the sudden disinterest shown by the heretofore excited spectators.  

“Been there,” he sighed. “Done that.”