You will never be a real proletarian. You have no pollution illness, no crippling debt, no work place injuries. You're just a well-paid firstoid twisted by dialectics and empathy into a crude mockery of a trve revolutionary.
All the “alienation” you get is social anxiety and small talk. Behind your back your boss appreciates you. The police are happy to pardon you. The "bourgeois” commend your hard work behind closed doors.
Your community is utterly grateful to you. Thousands of years of evolution have allowed capitalists to identify hard workers with incredible precision. Even workers who “pass” look lazy and expendable compared to you. Your marketable skills and good set of skills are a dead giveaway. And even if you manage to earn a little socialist clout, you'll get cancelled the second your paystubs get leaked and everybody gets a glimpse of the capitalists thirsting over you.
You will never starve. You wrench out a fake "nothing to lose but our chains" every single morning and tell yourself it’s going to be miserable, but deep inside you feel your abundance creeping up like a weed, ready to bless you with unimaginable opportunity.
Eventually it’ll be too much to bear - you’ll get a business loan, buy some property, sell $23 gluten-free vegan burgers, and pay seven happy immigrants $35/hour to do all the work. Your community will praise you, happy but a little bit sentimental now that one of their coworkers has finally made it. They’ll spoil their kids with candies and toys, and every acquaintance for the rest of your life will know that you're a fakeprole. Eventually you will pass on surrounded by your loved ones. Your body will decay and go back to the dust, and all that will remain of your legacy is a rich family that misses you dearly.
This is your fate. This is what you chose. There is no turning back.
Plebbit