From south of the border comes a cautionary tale—but not the one author “DuzT” is spinning.
Yet, in my heart of hearts, I believe we’re reading a clever parody here.
DuzT is heading home after work, but he needs to buy groceries. He sets the scene for what follows in a manner that I, for one, find utterly hilarious:
I stopped at Meijer which is…Michigan owned, is unionized and has a very respectable selection of organic produce as well as locally baked breads. Lately they’ve been expanding their gluten-free line of products too….I’m a very political person.
Then Progressive encounters a Downtrodden Worker. Here are parts of his ensuing narrative:
The cashier was an older white woman and she looked like she’d had a hard life. I often feel bad when I see older people still working when, in a just society, they shouldn’t have to. Obviously I don’t know her story but there she was checking and bagging groceries, a job which keeps you on your feet for hours on end, at 8:30 on a Friday night.
So far, the cashier is an appointed victim, offering an opportunity for self-gratulatory pity. From his privileged position, about which he is no doubt duly remorseful, DuzT feels sorry for the little people, and he wants us to know it.
But the Downtrodden Worker refuses to play her appointed role. She voices some fairly mild criticism of—Barack Obama!
DuzT continues:
So the woman begins checking out my groceries…and starts in with me about “that man, that elitist” in the white house having “no idea” what it’s like for regular people out here. On and on.
My anger was building up to a boil; I mean, I just wanted to get home to that beer and who knows how many people before me had to hear this crap?
So after I was all paid up and everything was in my cart I said to her,
“I suggest you keep your political opinions to yourself when you’re standing there because you never know who’s standing here. I don’t appreciate hearing my president trashed like that. That’s all I’m going to say.”
Her eyes flashed with anger and realization that I must be one of “those people”. She drew in a breath, about to say something and I said,
“If you say one more fucking thing I’ll go find your manager and all three of us can discuss this.”
At that, she suddenly deflated. Now the look in her eyes was fear. She looked down and meekly mumbled “Ok. Sorry sir.”
I left then, proud of myself and still full of anger.
Having taught the uppity woman worker her place, DuzT begins to reflect, if that’s really the right word here:
By the time I got to the car however I was starting to have mixed feelings. This lady was clearly a low information voter, concerned about rising prices and was only repeating something she heard Rush or Sean or whoever spout off about and I had just threatened her job. It’s something I’ve never done before in my life and, well, it made me feel kind of shitty. I will never be able to understand people who do that kind of thing for a living.
Shorter DuzT: “Poor thing, she just didn’t know any better. Was I too hard on her? Aren’t I wonderful for having these self-doubts? It shows what a fine, sensitive fellow I am.”
I know around here people always say we progressives shouldn’t be afraid to speak up and I’m glad I did. I just wonder if I went too far.
At this point, I became convinced—and I remain so—that we were being had. The right-wing stereotype of a liberal (not always far off, I might add) could not have been more lovingly constructed. And the account concludes with this corker:
I guess that kind of defines the liberal quandary in a nutshell doesn’t it?
BWAHAHAHA! The comment thread over there is worth a clinical look as well.
[H/t Glenn Greenwald]