Scenarios of things past that could only lead to things to come. Or. How I learned to see the future–of where my beloved & missed #Americant would go.
Scenario 1.
So. Like. It’s ca. 1984. I’m navigating my way around Washington DC trying to find an office building where I have a job interview. Remember, dear worst-reader, it was a time before mobile apps. And so. I run into two problems above and beyond my orientation (or is it navigation) ability. First. I made the mistake of asking an old man in rotted clothes if he could tell me where my street was. The man, obviously a homeless man run waaaaay down on his luck, didn’t feel like entertaining my question. Right in the middle of the sidewalk he started freaking out and calling me names. While yelling f-this and f-that and who the f do I think I am he even lunged towards me with his shopping cart and waved one of his many bags in the air as though it were a flail. I quickly ran down the wrong street to get away from him, which brings me to the second issue. As I turned a corner a jewellery store owner peered his head out of his front door and started yelling at me for disturbing the peace. He asked about how stupid I was and then added that they have to clean up every morning from the bums and why do people like me have to make things worse cause he knows the guy who just yelled at me and that he would probably take another shit in front his door, etc., etc. And then he added as I was just getting out of (his) ear-sight, why don’t they round up the bastards and put them out of their misery along with all you yuppie $hits!
Scenario 2.
It would have been the late 70s. My misconstrued parents dragged me to a party. Of course, my sister was older than me which meant she could stay home alone. I obviously wasn’t in the best mood being dragged along to an adult stupid party. While there, I watched the adults get $hit-faced out of their minds while stuffing themselves with some fancy-pants catered dinner of chicken in cream sauce that I remember smelled the same as the stuff my mother was drinking (probably gin). Of course, I was forced by my drunk parents to finish my plate after which I could go into the hosts bedroom to be alone and watch a movie on their cable TV. When I asked my mother why I couldn’t have just stayed home to do that she smirked and threatened to slap me for being a smart-a$$. Oh well. Long story short, eh dear worst-reader. After watching at least two movies and noticing that it was getting pretty late, I stepped outside to see what the adults were doing. They were all still partying as though the world was coming to an end, their noise having disturbed my movie night more than thrice. But here’s the catcher. Obviously the adults had been playing some sort of betting game and when I entered the living room the bets were being paid. Remember, dear worst-reader. This was the 1970s USA. There are a few things always present at gatherings that were supposed to give off an air of pseudo-sophistication in certain middle-class environments in 70s. In the name of expediency I’ll only inform you, dear worst-reader, of the things the males brought along to such social gatherings. The first is a polyester neck tie the size of a pillow. The second is facial hair in the form of sideburns or a moustache. Of the males who lost their bets in the game, the were required to trim their moustaches in the form of the old fashioned toothbrush, i.e. the Hitler moustache. Why adults of the 70s thought this was funny I’ll never know.
Scenario 3.
Last but not least for today’s worst-post, dear worst-reader. This scenario will be a short one. While growing up in rural and suburban-hell of wannabe WASP-ville galore, I can’t count how many Jew smirks and innuendo and conspiracies I’ve heard over the years. And now that we have a congresswoman who believes that lasers in space are run by Jews…
Just when you think the direction a country takes couldn’t get more obvious, one of the two major political parties throws a shindig and can’t even hide the prejudices of a once defeated ideology. Or. I suppose. If you must. You could think that maybe, just maybe, all the white supremacists of the #Americant Republican Party just really, kinda, dig the symbols of Norse mythology.
Or maybe not.
Rant on.
-T
worstwriter 