Tuesday, December 14, 2010

A Home for the Holidays

On the way home from Marshall's on the bus: Two seats away, a very rough-looking 30-something white woman was loudly bawling into her cell phone about how grateful she was about finally getting the government assistance necessary to get her own apartment after being homeless for one year. (Me and the Mexican woman with her kids and mother were trying hard not to look at her.)

After the overt crying, she offered to her friend on the phone one of her good eyes in exchange for one of his glass ones. (Yes, really, that's what she said.)

After she hung up, she started a conversation with the "I was in Katrina"-babbling middle-aged black guy across from her: She was, apparently, "in Katrina" too, and her ideal apartment complex, and his, would be one that would "keep her out of mischief," and where her dog wouldn't be stolen, but also one that didn't have too many "rich people" because she hated rich people and would "beat their heads in." (While I studiously refrained from making any eye-rolling contact with her, I nonetheless was thinking: "I'm afraid there's no danger at all of you winding up in an apartment complex with any rich people." I'm also wondering what mentally-challenged lower-class Americans would have to mutually identify with on a national level sans Hurricane Katrina and 9/11. This generation of idiots' World War II.)

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