Maximos Harmoneus lived on the slopes of Mount Olympus where he spent his days contentedly making humus which he sold to the people in the village below at a handsome profit.
One day, there was a loud knocking at the door. It was his childhood friend, Protesteus.
"Ah, Protesteus. Where's my gift?"
"Well, no matter. Come in."
"I have come to occupy you, Maximos."
"Occupy me? What does that mean, to 'occupy' me?"
"I do not exactly know, but I know that I must do it."
"But why, Protesteus? Why must you occupy me?"
"Because my goats give no milk and I cannot afford to repay the loans I needed to buy them. It's all your fault."
"But, Protesteus, I told you that there would be no milk. They are all male goats. Males do not give milk. The fault, I am sorry to tell you my dear friend, is yours and yours alone. And don't blame your stars either."
"Do not be impertinent, Maximos Harmoneus. And what of the decaying roads and bridges? Are they also my fault? How are they to be repaired?"
"With taxes, Protesteus, as always. The workers work, get paid, and then pay taxes out of their wages."
"Maximos, this is Greece. The workers do not work."
"Then why are they called 'workers'?"
"No one knows."
"You mean that I, with my humus, am the only worker in all of Greece who works? And that is the reason I must be occupied? Speak of Greek Tragedies..."
And so it came to pass that Maximos Harmoneus was occupied, saw the error of his ways and began producing humus like nobody's business. Soon there was enough to 'spread around' so that there was plenty for everyone in Greece to have his fill. The rich, as we know, can do that if they really want to.