Wiston Papers

Outsourcing the U.S.A.

“Why so glum, chum?” waitress Beverly greeted John as he sat down for our weekly coffee klatsch.

“I’ve given up on America,” John grunted.  

“Good luck with this chat today,” Beverly shook her head as she poured my coffee and walked away.

“John, you’re really down.  What’s wrong?” I was concerned.

“Our country can’t do anything right,” he complained.  “We don’t make anything here anymore.  We import products and outsource jobs.”

“Well, there is a lot of that,” I conceded.

“All our oil comes from the Middle East,” John grumbled.

“Not all of it.  President Obama in the debate last week said that U.S. production increased...”

“We don’t make cars.  They’re all Japanese.

“Wait a minute.  Mr. Obama bailed out the American auto industry,” I protested.

“We don’t build computers here anymore.  They’re manufactured in China.  Along with our clothing and toys.”

“Hm...you’re right about that,” I conceded as I warmed my hands on my cup.

“Germany sends us medical equipment and industrial supplies.”

“And pretty good beer, too,” I admitted.

“Our beauty products come from France, Russia dumps her fertilizers and pesticides on us, we get wine from Italy,  and we even buy vegetables from Spain.  I mean, the U.S. is an agricultural nation and we buy our food and drink from abroad?” John raised his voice.  "What's with that?"

“John, I think you’re overlooking some of our strengths,” I began to illustrate.

“Nope.   Look at the entertainment industry.  Everyone in our movies and TV shows comes from Britain, Canada, and Australia.  They hide their accents and steal our acting jobs.”

“OK.  I’ll grant that there are quite a few...”
"America used to win the Nobel Prize for science and medicine every year, but now we have to share it with the French, British, and Japanese," John quickly took another swallow of his Arabica. "
       "Well, Mr. Obama says he wants to hire more math and science teachers, so perhaps..."

“We’ve even turned over our American pastime to foreigners!”

“What are you talking about?” I asked in shock.

“Baseball is what I’m talking about,” John clarified.  “It’s no longer the Boys of October.  It’s the Chicos de otoño....all the players are from Latin America.  We even have to sing the National Anthem in Spanish.  And with more guys from Japan every year...” John paused to breathe, shake his head and gulp his coffee.  "Well, it'll be  Sayonara to motherhood, baseball and apple pie...and the apples come from Chile."

“I think you’ve exaggerating way too much.”

“Oh, it’s all right. I’m resigned to it.  It’s probably time to give up on the  National Football League, too,” he shook his head. “Did you see Sunday’s football game between the Baltimore Ravens and Kansas City Chiefs?”

“Well, I saw the first few minutes,” I confessed.

“Then you saw the whole game. It was pathetic.  “The players and coaches should have been arrested for impersonating football teams,” John lamented.

“The 9-6 score didn’t indicated much action,” I confessed.

“It was a metaphor for America’s incompetence and failure to compete.  We should outsource the NFL just like everything, too,” John suggested.

“Whoa, how can you possibly outsource football?”

“Simple.  You see all those coaches wearing headsets with microphones?”

“Uh...yeah...”

“They send their offensive and defensive signals to the players who have earphones in their helmets,” John illustrated.

“I know that, but your point is?’

“Those help centers U.S. business contracted in India and Singapore could call better games than the Ravens and Chiefs.”

“Whoa, surely you're not suggesting that we outsource NFL coaching to India?”

“Yup.  We fire the coaches on the sidelines.  The players just listen to instructions on their helmet headsets phoned in from overseas,” John began to brighten. “Offensive plans from India and defensive plays from the Philippines.”

“Unbelievable,” as my jaw dropped.
"Heck just one person could sit in front of 10 TV monitors in Manilla  tuned to different football games and phone in plays for several teams as once."  
"But...but..."

“Actually, you guys finally came up with a great plan,” Beverly noted as she made one more coffee round and dropped off our bill.

“Why, thanks, Beverly,” John smiled.

“Yes.  I can outsource you two to India, collect your payment and tips by  direct bank deposit from Banglahore, and not even serve coffee.  I’m loving it already.”

Steve Coon

October 10, 2012