We, With Nothing to Lose

 Like many people, I recently took a short vacation from the news. I wasn’t crying, at least not all the time. I simply needed a break after a long and tumultuous fight.  I was writing in my journal, listening to music, enjoying nature, and doing art. I entertained the notion of extending the vacation for the next four years, but I knew my curiosity and desire to connect with the world would overwhelm me. It was time to go back.

I opened my laptop. In the search bar I typed resistance to Trump.  

The initial results at the top of the page baffled me. “The resistance is not coming to save you” proclaimed one headline, “the resistance is flaccid” asserted another. And, finally, “the resistance is dead”

“Wow”, I thought, “the resistance was pronounced dead almost as fast as America elected a demented, sociopathic liar to serve in the highest office of the land."

I decided this couldn’t possibly be true.  I scrolled further down in search of something more satisfying.   I read through one article on the new Democrat resistance strategy; It was called “playing nice”.  I read another that explained how the editor of Scientific American dared to call Trump voters nasty names. Then, she apologized and resigned. I was incredulous.

“Haven’t you people learned anything from this election cycle?” I hollered, as the effects of ten days of relaxation medicine quickly dissipated. “If you say something offensive and cruel, double down. Apologies are for the weak. Niceness is for losers.”

I was unraveling. I needed a remedy fast: something tried and true that never fails to soothe me. Trump is unhinged I typed. I found a few articles, but the results were two weeks old. I slammed my laptop shut.

“Strap in, America” I thought, “Now everyone is just riding the Trump express train to hell.”

 I sat for a while drumming my fingers on the table. The doom curtain descended like it was the end of the show. Then, a meek but reassuring thought peaked out from underneath it.

The thought went something like this: maybe the resistance is only dead for the rich and powerful: the corporate media and liberal aristocrats who benefit from the status quo. It’s possible that the resistance is not dead for those of us at the bottom: those of us with nothing to lose. After all, not every broke person voted for a fascist menace just to save a few bucks. In fact, there are quite a few of us who didn't. We can run a resistance.

I whipped out some scrap paper and started to plan.  What seemed nice is that the corporate elites, too busy using their tongues to lick jackboots, couldn’t tell me how to go about it. I felt I had permission to be radical. Let’s build the resistance by being ourselves, I wrote. It seemed like a good starting point. 

Let me explain. In my frequent encounters with Trumpers during the weeks leading up to the election, I heard many excuses for why he was the man. But here is something I heard often: Harris is phony. Trump is real.  What came out of his mouth seemed to matter less than his willingness to say it.

But, you see, we can do that, too. If it’s not what we say, but how we say it, then let’s say the things that we truly believe. Let’s say them forcefully. Let’s say them crassly, even. We’re the mommy party, folks, let’s embrace it. A mommy can be bold and indelicate. A mommy is not always polite.

Look, we tried to be like the republicans, and we lost. We tried to show them how macho we are, and they saw right through it. We adopted their issues: guns, law and order, the border, the price of bacon. We did trot out a few of our favorite topics this election cycle, but the republicans overwhelmingly set the agenda.

So, let’s use this opportunity to launch the resistance around our core values: compassion, human health and the environment. Our planet is in deep trouble. Climate change is not being addressed. Nature is disappearing. Cancer rates are soaring. Plastics are filling up the oceans. We are poisoning ourselves. Our death care system is a mess. Anxiety, depression and loneliness are afflicting our youth.  We are selfish and disconnected from our communities. Corporate greed is rife. The rich are getting richer, and the poor are getting poorer.

Harris called us the “party of the future”, but she only had it half right. We are the party of one possible future: a sustainable future with nature, health, and compassion at its core. A future where selfishness and greed are not the organizing principles of our society. Call the republicans out for what they are: a party that wants to keep destroying our life support system and our communities to make a few people disgustingly rich.

But our current leaders, I’m sorry to say, are not going to get us there. First, they are benefiting from the status quo. They have no incentive to change it.  Second, even if we keep them, they will only join the resistance if they feel their power dwindling. Only we can make them change.

We, with nothing to lose.  

Extra! Extra! Eating Out is Now a Privilege to be Enjoyed by Rich People Only!

 That’s it, it’s official, eating at a restaurant is now a privilege to be enjoyed exclusively by the rich. Since my last meal out at a pub style restaurant cost more than seventy-five dollars for dreary, mediocre food, I have nixed the habit of going out to eat from my standard routine. Goodbye, going out to eat.

It’s a shame for at least two reasons. First, I tip well and never complain, so the restaurant industry will miss my patronage. Second, I’m a terrible cook, and I regard cooking as a chore. Maybe it means I’m spoiled rotten, but I enjoyed the occasional break.

It is important to note that restaurants are not raising prices to absurd levels because they must, they are doing it because they can. Though I’m not an economist (because if I were I’d be able to afford eating-out still), the record profits of the industry seem to support this point.  If restaurants are merely raising prices because of “food and labor costs”, why the increase in profits? It can’t be entirely due to industry growth. It seems to me that a large chunk of my seventy-five-dollar meal went into the pockets of wealthy people. Call me greedy, but I’m not fond of giving hand-outs to the rich.   

This record increase in profits has been lauded as a good thing, since it so generously created working-class jobs. However, these reports say nothing about quality of life. What about all the working-class people who enjoyed going out to eat occasionally and can no longer?  Furthermore, restaurant employees are now servants to the aristocracy. That seems un-American to me.

The record profits also say something else: either there are so many rich people around that this is enough to prop up the restaurant industry, or people are suckers. If the former is the case, then I guess a good portion of America, despite the claims of some, is doing great. If the latter is the case, then the wide-spread passivity seems disappointing. Aren’t Americans rugged individualists who don’t get taken advantage of?  Of course it could be a bit of both, but either way our willingness to participate in this blatant price-gouging is simply enabling bad behavior. A little tough love might do the trick!

Meanwhile, back at the homestead, this citizen will be pulling up the proverbial bootstraps. For example, on nights when I used to go out, I’ll just refuse to cook. Instead, I’ll eat a can of beans. Or perhaps I’ll find a nice stone, put it in a pot, and invite my neighbors to bring a vegetable. We’ll make stone soup.

 

A Silly Rhyme

Create your own signs. 
Don't listen to silly rhymes
Commit your own crimes. 

Three Snarky Poems

 

People have become corporations.
We must have a brand, a clever name, a logo
a mug, a pen, a polo.  
I made a sign for earth day.
All the words were crooked.
“People have become corporations,” it read
But no one understood it.

The Last Frontier
A pretty actress must play the ugly role,
Some baggy clothes and glasses and, naturally, she’s droll.
It’s quite okay for ugly girls to get harassed by men.
Everyone is so impressed when they deign to flirt with them.
Later in the movie the ugly girl will win.
And we all learn that beauty only goes as deep as skin.
But, brace yourself for the surprise, it turns out all along,
All she needed was some contacts, a smile and a thong.

Too Many Signs
The radical environmentalists talked reciprocity
Post positive they were
On contemplative ecology.
Meanwhile, out on the sidewalk, the temperature is jumping
All is fried with pesticide and the oil wells keep pumping,
Bill Nye still wears his bow tie and he tells us what’s in store
We shake our heads this way or that, then go off to do our chores.
They’re building a new gas station down the street, I saw.
They’ll have to move the lot two feet, to comply with the wetland law.
It’s mid-June, the flowers bloom, but nothing much stops by, 
The Mosquito Squad is cited, for putting up too many signs. 

Christmas 2022

Instead of a poem last year, I wrote a song. 

Careful What You Ask For

 Yesterday, I was asked to sign a petition to eliminate the Massachusetts subminimum wage.  Since I am a New Hampshire resident, I did not sign, but as similar efforts are sweeping the country, it is just a matter of time before the movement comes here. My reaction? The road to hell is paved with good intentions.

My arguments come from experience. In the 1980’s, I was a low-skilled high school dropout living alone. Serving was the best opportunity I could find. It was instant cash and, typically, at least one free meal. I did not always make good money, but the overall result skewed towards a livable income. My paycheck? I never opened the envelope.

In the 1990s, I went to college. Pell-grants paid for my tuition and waiting tables paid for everything else. It was perfect. I had time to study while still covering my expenses. In addition, it was flexible. During finals week I worked less, during the summers I worked more.

For ten years after I graduated, no matter what I was doing, I had a serving job, too. It provided instant income. I did not have to wait two weeks or, increasingly, a whole month for a paycheck. Speaking of paychecks, I was still throwing the one from the restaurant away.       

Just last year, when my income was not meeting my expenses, I applied for several server positions. As it turned out I did not need to return, but it was nice to know I could.  

Over the span of thirty years, I worked in many kinds of restaurants, from greasy spoons to exclusive culinary destinations, from casual chains to mom and pops. I met people who were serving for all sorts of reasons. Some were “moonlighting”, some were transients, and some were professionals. Some were high-school students working their first job, and some were recent immigrants navigating their way in a new culture. Some were single parents, and some were bored empty nesters. There was not one demographic that neatly described the population, but we all had one thing in common: we loved the cash and ignored our paychecks. Our grumpier bosses told us the only reason we had jobs was because of the subminimum wage. It seemed like a win-win.  

Enter the well-meaning to save the day, and away we go, down the road to hell.

The first stop?  The eccentric road-side diner. Since the restaurant industry runs on small margins and it takes years to become profitable, the tipped wage is a major factor making entry plausible for the independent operator. Eliminating it, I fear, will be a tremendous barrier for these types of businesses. The big chains, however, will be just fine.

That brings us to the second stop on the road to hell.  Big chains are already responding to systemic change by exacting more control over the servers’ income. In addition, I am sure there will be plenty of loopholes and workarounds to take advantage of, and, ultimately, the server will be worse off.  But the simplest way around paying a person a higher wage? Automation.

Every step of the serving process, except maybe bringing the food, can be easily automated. For an establishment with the resources, all that is required is an incentive, like increased labor costs, and there you have it: an obedient machine that doesn’t need a wage. Server Unit 345 also comes with added benefits. It will not sneak off for cigarettes, require breaks, wear inappropriate attire, call in sick, bicker or complain.  I know we expect restaurant owners to be enlightened and employ people for the greater good, but most are practical. They will ride this trend directly to automation. Server jobs will still exist, but they will be much harder to find.     

Last stop on our road to hell is the dead, downtown pub.  Dining out is already becoming the purview of the wealthy. If labor costs increase, employers will pass those costs onto customers. The individual server may be getting paid more, but what of all the working-class would be diners? We’ll be stuck at home eating beans out of a can.

I support efforts to help working people, like unionization and the living wage. I also think labor, overall, should be valued more in society.  However, instead of focusing on a system that is not really broken, let’s promote ideas that might result in real benefits, like the Basic Minimum Income.  Now there is an exit ramp I can get on.