Too Poor to Make America Great

Hey everyone, I’m glad to be back…

Sorry to be incommunicado for a while, but I had gotten too poor to talk to anyone. Just after writing my last Donald Trump manifesto about women storming the polling booths, I suddenly found out my site was up for renewal and couldn’t afford the $26 that would take.

No until the end of the month, at least. Hey, it happens. Too many unexpected bills popping up meant having to be really creative with whatever miscellaneous food I happened to find in my pantry… beans and pasta and a bunch of sliced olives might taste good together, right? What if they’re refried beans?

Most the good protein went to my daughter, of course, so I ended up eating enough crappy carbs to turn me mean. The kind of mean where my inner cavewoman is getting concerned about my lackadaisical hunting efforts and decided she needs to help by blasting out my aggression meter.

You’d think that kind of primal hunger would slap me in the face and sharpen my wits, but it only made watching some Facebook friends posting about “making America great again” that much harder to take.

Still, I think the most shocking part of my current situation is the fact that I’m NOT schilling for Donald Trump. I mean, I’m white and struggling to get by, so shouldn’t I be blaming all my problems on black people and Mexicans by now?

That could be fun… I’d get to feel super smug about being born a certain color, despite not having any choice in the matter, then indulge in all kinds of magical thinking about how if I can just wave my flag hard enough, they’ll build a super-wall against Mexico and let sadistic cops go unchecked, so I can finally be as rich as my paleness would indicate.

They’ll start by lowering my taxes, which is awesome except I don’t actually pay many taxes and wouldn’t be much richer if they gave ’em back. Plus, I’d still have a daughter to care for and the GOP gives zero shits about helping moms find reasonable options, even if it would keep many off the dole.

Hmm, yeah… the more I think about it, the more I realize maybe black people and Mexicans haven’t been the ones keeping me down.

Take my former job at the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation, for example. It was packed with a bunch of Alpha Old Guard dudes. The kind who would always set their brownies and cookies by my desk because they assumed I was a secretary.

And even though I crunched a bunch of numbers for weekly crime reports, the guys mostly expected me to type stuff up. Fine, except for when they lost a worker several rungs up the ladder and I started doing his job in addition to mine. Seven months later, they declared me the best interviewer for his job right before cutting it because “why pay for work they could get for free?”

But that was nothing compared to the day I walked out of my boss’s office to hear a bunch of snickering. I didn’t understand all the giggling until a super-Christian coworker explained how when I reached over to grab my purse, they guys thought it looked like I was blowing the boss… he thought it was hilarious.

Hurt and humiliated, I tried to understand how an honors student with a college degree who tried to do everything right could still feel so cheap. I’d busted my ass for seven months working well above my pay grade, only to walk through a sea of beefy-armed meatheads sniggering about picturing me on my knees. Do I go to HR, or would that chuck my prospects in the toilet?

And no illegal immigrants or black people were involved. It was an issue of stereotypes, devaluation, psychological warfare, and an economic caste system designed to keep power at the top…

So, I don’t plan on fighting made-up boogeymen when I take this to the polls tomorrow. I plan to put on my highest heels, smear on some blood-red lipstick, take my daughter by the hand, and mark the box that counts.

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