There's this meme going around Facebook right now. I like to say it to my customers at a certain retail establishment that employs me and pretend I made it up. I do it even though they probably saw it on their iPhones right before they got to my cash register, because it makes me sound super witty and because I desperately need something to say after nine hours of working overnight on Black Friday.
"Only in America do we have a day devoted entirely to giving thanks for what we have...and then go out the next day and trample people to buy even more stuff." I'll chuckle as I say it, like a cultured middle-aged single woman who thinks everything is a shame and eats chocolate for dinner sometimes because she believes in the little things. Sometimes I'll substitute "materialistic kitsch" for "stuff," but only when that middle-ager in me starts to get bold. (Which is always.)
But holy HELL is that ever true.
Never in my years have I been out in public on a Black Friday. I feel absurd even capitalizing it, like it's some Renowned and Revered Religious Holiday that I need to Respect. In fact, in light of my great alliteration just now, I think I'm going to rename it Ridiculous Friday. I don't know, there's irony in there somewhere, somebody do something with that.
I was scheduled at my particular place of employment (which I will not name because I am afraid of getting sued even though I have nothing particularly terrible to say about them and in fact I quite like them for what they are) from 11:45pm on Thanksgiving to 8:45 this morning. I was obviously late getting there, because somehow I can never be early or even on time to anything, no matter what time I leave. That said, my lateness was largely influenced by the traffic from the crazies who needed to get to Sears to buy a blender for 2 dollars less. "To heck with all you silly goldurn drivers looking for things to buy at 11:45 on Thanksgiving!" I yelled many a time, shaking my fist. Except what I actually said was much more colorful and involved gesticulations other than fist-shaking.
By the time I got there, the line to get in extended all the way down the strip mall to the booze warehouse. (It is actually called Total Wine, but it might as well be called Booze Warehouse.) People were STOKED. I mean, stoked. Stoked to go in there and buy some jeans for $15 instead of our regular $19.50. As soon as we opened at midnight, the line to the cash register started. Customers were waiting two hours on average to get to a register, and we up at the registers were busting our butts like never before. Somehow I got stuck taking security sensors off pants for five hours straight, but I was still butt-busting! I have many a cut on my finger to prove it, and someone somewhere will be proudly sporting my blood on their 8 long stonewashed jeans that they fought an old woman with diabetes and heart problems to buy.
In no particular order, here are the things that happened last night during my nine-hour shift that disturbed me.
a) I ate a taco at 4am and was stone sober. Best taco of my life.
b) A woman was yelling at her 3 and 4 year old children to stop crying so she could buy boots in peace. At 3:30am. GET A BABYSITTER.
c) Right around the time I embarked on a major project to refold all of the shirts ever, someone farted. It was like a crop duster swooped down and showered me with sulfuric Agent Orange-style dog fart. And everyone's body heat trapped it in my little 4-square-foot area. Needless to say, I did not finish my project. Mostly because the scent hovered so long that after a half hour I thought I might find an unpleasant pile of something under the peach-colored Perfect V-necks.
d) A 6-ish-year old girl was crammed into a cart that we have that are designed to hold babies and toddlers. She had vomit in her lap and her grandmother, who she was with, had covered it up with a jacket. At one point, the girl got up to run to the bathroom and throw up again, spraying vom everywhere, and her grandmother said - I kid you not - "Get me a plastic bag. She can throw up in that - I still have shopping to do."
Guys, I am thankful for many things. I am thankful for my intact hearing, so that as I lie in my bed at 6:30pm, trying in vain to get some sleep before my shift starts, I might count the barks of the neighbor's dog. (64/min.) I am thankful for the -$6.32 in my bank account, because at least we ate something this morning. I am thankful that I am presently home safe, sitting in my bathtub, writing a blog post/wishing I were Tina Fey, and I am thankful that there are cookies involved. And lord knows, I am thankful as all get out that I have a job.
BUT BITCHES IS CRAZY.
I did not learn anything new on this, the most sunny of Revered Renowned Ridiculous Fridays. I did not learn that retail is not for me, because I knew that already. I did not learn that people will do anything to get ahead, because I knew that too. And I certainly did not learn in the past 24 hours that bitches is crazy.
I guess I did learn that I don't really care what people say they're thankful for on their Facebook statuses, except maybe for witty things from my closest friends, such as "I am thankful for my therapist."
But now imma tell you what I'm thankful for, and I don't just mean my ability to count down the number of dog barks, because what that really is is a countdown to my breaking point where I go next door in my bathrobe and undies and punch somebody.
I am thankful for my voice teacher Michelle, who restores my creative faith in myself when I have none.
I am thankful for my education at Amherst College, and that I made it through relatively unscathed.
I am thankful for my dog and my kitten, who allow me to dress them up in wedding garb and are fantastic, empathic individuals that know how to comfort Mommy.
I am thankful that I have a job, and that so far I have been levelheaded enough to maintain it.
I am thankful for the sun, which always comes again. Especially in Vegas. HA!
I am thankful for my time with my grandmother; that she taught me all she did, and that she continues to teach me in death. And I am thankful that she loved me.
I am thankful for my iPhone, which automatically saved for me a voicemail from my grandmother from last July, and allows me to listen to her voice whenever I need to.
I am thankful for my friends, my second family. I am thankful that we have a tradition of "Second Thanksgiving" and that it continues on. I am thankful for all these people who love me, and I am so, so lucky to have the support of. And I am thankful that all these people are brilliant individuals who constantly help me to grow.
I am thankful for my father, with whom I argue about 70% of our time conversing. I am thankful that he loves me and that I love him, regardless. I am thankful for the sacrifices he makes to support me, and that he has become the man he is, despite the hardships, and I am so, so grateful to have him.
I am thankful for my mother and her incessant strength. (Even though she heartily reminded me of some paperwork I need to deal with literally 5 minutes after my RRRRFriday shift ended this morning and I basically never want to hear about it ever again.) I am thankful for her health and I am thankful that she is a fighter, because she has made me who I am, and without her rock solid intellect and heart, I probably would not be alive today.
And I am thankful for the man who is going to be my husband. I am thankful that this morning when I got home from work and realized I was miserable, he cleared out of the bedroom and let me take over and nap and watch Netflix alone. I am thankful that he cares enough to know me, to buy me kittens, to bring me juice, to not touch me when I'm annoyed, to let me have the first shower even when he is super crusty. I am thankful that he is my best friend, that the world is so much less lonely and so much safer with him, that I can cook him dinner and he loves it even when it's tuna fish, that he evens me out, that he makes me a better person. And I am so, so thankful that I'm gonna marry his fucking face off on June 27, 2014.
The word thankful is starting to look weird.
Last one: I am thankful that so far in my life, this has been the only Black Friday that I've been in public. Legit. Bitches is crazy and this is stupid, and it is absolutely not, as one customer put it, "super cool" that in America we have this. It is dumb. Black Friday is dumb. And some poor guy died in a hit and run out here last night. I am never working in retail on Black Friday again, and I will immediately get out of it when I find another job, because I DON'T CARE ABOUT YOUR SEQUINED BOOTS, AMERICA. I DON'T CARE. AND NEITHER DO YOUR VOMITING CHILDREN.
Kisses.
Friday, November 23, 2012
Tuesday, November 6, 2012
Election '12 Almost Made Me Believe In God Again
This lovely election night, it is a breezy 65 degrees in Nevada. The stars are out, my laundry is sorted, and I made my own chicken nuggets from scratch.
And Barack Obama is President again.
I woke up this morning at 6:30am, ridiculously eager to get going. Last time this happened, I was a senior at Amherst, voting in NJ by absentee ballot. My previous post will tell you all about how wonderful it was, how magical that the first election I could ever vote in yielded a Black President. (Note the capitalization.)
Today, I danced around in the kitchen in my "I SUPPORT LOVE" t-shirt while my Romney-voting fiance ate oatmeal (gross) and took his sweet-ass time getting ready. Walking into the high school, I sang loudly, "Get up, stand up, stand up for your rights!" while Paul pretended not to know me. Inside, I joked around with the volunteers, high-fived an old dude, and got not one, but two stickers saying, "I voted today in Clark County, Nevada!" Today, I voted for Barack Obama and for the Henderson libraries, and I am damned proud of doing so.
There is something about voting that makes a person feel worthwhile. Something about doing your part, exercising not only your civic duty but your civil rights. And something so, so glorious about speaking your mind and having it be heard. I have never cared so much about a presidential election. (This was way better than last time.)
A couple days ago, Paul and I almost came to blows over this election. By the end of our dispute, I think we both were crying. He finally explained to me why he felt the need to vote Romney. And I still didn't understand. There's a quote that's been going around by Doug Wright:
“I wish my moderate Republican friends would simply be honest. They all say they’re voting for Romney because of his economic policies (tenuous and ill-formed as they are), and that they disagree with him on gay rights. Fine. Then look me in the eye, speak with a level clear voice, and say, 'My taxes and take-home pay mean more than your fundamental civil rights, the sanctity of your marriage, your right to visit an ailing spouse in the hospital, your dignity as a citizen of this country, your healthcare, your right to inherit, the mental welfare and emotional well-being of your youth, and your very personhood.' It’s like voting for George Wallace during the Civil Rights movements, and apologizing for his racism. You’re still complicit. You’re still perpetuating anti-gay legislation and cultural homophobia. You don’t get to walk away clean, because you say you 'disagree' with your candidate on these issues.”
That's it for me. I simply do not understand how anyone can prioritize the economy over the civil rights of anybody, ever. Paul kept saying that it was unfair, that it's not that black and white. But the thing is, it is that black and white. Oppression is oppression. And it terrified me that I could be with someone who didn't think so. And what was worse was when I turned on the TV today, finally, to see how the East Coast was doing, and the electoral college was all about Romney.
If there's something glorious about voting, there's something utterly nerve-wracking about the possibility of one's heart and body - one's entire human existence - in the hands of a man who doesn't care. In a flash, I envisioned myself crying on the couch in my underwear, bemoaning the loss of my civil rights and gnawing helplessly on chicken nuggets while my dog loyally sat watching over her heartbroken mistress.
And now I am crying [tears of joy] on the couch in my underwear, helplessly gnawing on chicken nuggets and trying to balance the feeling of complete relief with the feeling of desperately needing to run around the streets of Las Vegas naked in celebration.
All of this is to say that as I watched the numbers climb tonight, I realized that I didn't necessarily trust the people of my country to make the right decision. And, quasi-atheist/agnostic that I am, it annoys the hell out of me when a large portion of a certain party calls on God to help out our country. As far as I'm concerned, the help half our country needs is moral. If people are bigoted enough to feel that they can determine folks' right to marry who they love, or a woman's right to deal with her body herself (also, that old white man on the television machine definitely just said the phrase "a Latino problem"), then maybe we do straight up need a law that tells us not to be closed-minded dicks who prioritize our own financial well-being over anything else.
My writing just stopped being eloquent, I think.
I'm amazed, guys. It is nothing short of miraculous that as a society we have gotten here. And we need to keep going. Miracles are a great booster, but it's on us.
For tonight, America, rest easy. Barry's at the wheel, and he's not a closed-minded dick.
PS, Paul didn't get to vote and while I felt bad for him I was also totally stoked that I wouldn't move all the way to a battleground state where an individual's vote actually has a large chance of swaying an electoral vote just to have my vote canceled out by my other half. Everyone celebrate. Our relationship is politically safe for another four years.
And Barack Obama is President again.
I woke up this morning at 6:30am, ridiculously eager to get going. Last time this happened, I was a senior at Amherst, voting in NJ by absentee ballot. My previous post will tell you all about how wonderful it was, how magical that the first election I could ever vote in yielded a Black President. (Note the capitalization.)
Today, I danced around in the kitchen in my "I SUPPORT LOVE" t-shirt while my Romney-voting fiance ate oatmeal (gross) and took his sweet-ass time getting ready. Walking into the high school, I sang loudly, "Get up, stand up, stand up for your rights!" while Paul pretended not to know me. Inside, I joked around with the volunteers, high-fived an old dude, and got not one, but two stickers saying, "I voted today in Clark County, Nevada!" Today, I voted for Barack Obama and for the Henderson libraries, and I am damned proud of doing so.
There is something about voting that makes a person feel worthwhile. Something about doing your part, exercising not only your civic duty but your civil rights. And something so, so glorious about speaking your mind and having it be heard. I have never cared so much about a presidential election. (This was way better than last time.)
A couple days ago, Paul and I almost came to blows over this election. By the end of our dispute, I think we both were crying. He finally explained to me why he felt the need to vote Romney. And I still didn't understand. There's a quote that's been going around by Doug Wright:
“I wish my moderate Republican friends would simply be honest. They all say they’re voting for Romney because of his economic policies (tenuous and ill-formed as they are), and that they disagree with him on gay rights. Fine. Then look me in the eye, speak with a level clear voice, and say, 'My taxes and take-home pay mean more than your fundamental civil rights, the sanctity of your marriage, your right to visit an ailing spouse in the hospital, your dignity as a citizen of this country, your healthcare, your right to inherit, the mental welfare and emotional well-being of your youth, and your very personhood.' It’s like voting for George Wallace during the Civil Rights movements, and apologizing for his racism. You’re still complicit. You’re still perpetuating anti-gay legislation and cultural homophobia. You don’t get to walk away clean, because you say you 'disagree' with your candidate on these issues.”
That's it for me. I simply do not understand how anyone can prioritize the economy over the civil rights of anybody, ever. Paul kept saying that it was unfair, that it's not that black and white. But the thing is, it is that black and white. Oppression is oppression. And it terrified me that I could be with someone who didn't think so. And what was worse was when I turned on the TV today, finally, to see how the East Coast was doing, and the electoral college was all about Romney.
If there's something glorious about voting, there's something utterly nerve-wracking about the possibility of one's heart and body - one's entire human existence - in the hands of a man who doesn't care. In a flash, I envisioned myself crying on the couch in my underwear, bemoaning the loss of my civil rights and gnawing helplessly on chicken nuggets while my dog loyally sat watching over her heartbroken mistress.
And now I am crying [tears of joy] on the couch in my underwear, helplessly gnawing on chicken nuggets and trying to balance the feeling of complete relief with the feeling of desperately needing to run around the streets of Las Vegas naked in celebration.
All of this is to say that as I watched the numbers climb tonight, I realized that I didn't necessarily trust the people of my country to make the right decision. And, quasi-atheist/agnostic that I am, it annoys the hell out of me when a large portion of a certain party calls on God to help out our country. As far as I'm concerned, the help half our country needs is moral. If people are bigoted enough to feel that they can determine folks' right to marry who they love, or a woman's right to deal with her body herself (also, that old white man on the television machine definitely just said the phrase "a Latino problem"), then maybe we do straight up need a law that tells us not to be closed-minded dicks who prioritize our own financial well-being over anything else.
My writing just stopped being eloquent, I think.
I'm amazed, guys. It is nothing short of miraculous that as a society we have gotten here. And we need to keep going. Miracles are a great booster, but it's on us.
For tonight, America, rest easy. Barry's at the wheel, and he's not a closed-minded dick.
PS, Paul didn't get to vote and while I felt bad for him I was also totally stoked that I wouldn't move all the way to a battleground state where an individual's vote actually has a large chance of swaying an electoral vote just to have my vote canceled out by my other half. Everyone celebrate. Our relationship is politically safe for another four years.
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