Today I had the pleasure of asking someone who works on Capitol Hill (I won’t drag him into this by namedropping him) why he doesn’t reach over and punch Paul Ryan in the balls.
I also asked if he ever went back to his office and said, “WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?”
That’s the most exciting thing that’s happened since yesterday, when I got asked to move my IWW pin three inches from my lanyard to my shirt. I’m pretty sure even asking me to do that is technically illegal, but all sorts of things are technically illegal, like scheduling people for breaks they often do not get or setting up situations where they’re forced to work off the clock. You know. Things like that.
At the risk of seeming like some easy-to-pick-off lone wolf, the entire situation is made even more ridiculous by the circumstances. I’ve worn this thing for five years and they claim they didn’t notice. If they hadn’t had us remove all our “bling” (it’s fucking “flair,” Jesus – get it straight), no one would have been the wiser and I could have gone on being a slacktivist who wishes he didn’t live in a right-to-work state.
I’ve kept it on symbolically, as a token of the beliefs I hold, the organization I’ll never have, and what I passionately feel is humanity’s only way forward. It just happens to be barely protected speech (and sometimes it isn’t) so I have that going for me, which is nice.
I don’t have to point out what a sad, harmless, pitiful man I am. I toss my screeds to the wind and I don’t even know most of the twelve people who read them. I wish you spoke to me more. If you’re afraid of doing so publicly, do it privately. I need to know I’m not doing absolutely nothing, which is what I fear most.
This isn’t funny or entertaining, and I thank you for tolerating it today, if you are even that generous. I’m tired and I have nothing to show for it. I love my wife and my family, but as far as achievements go with regard to writing or activism, I have strained myself to the max for no gain. For loss. It’s devastating.
I almost threw that dumb fucking pin in the trash, but then what would I be? If I can’t even cling to my ridiculous ideals, I’m nothing. Why am I even here?
Have a great Saturday, if you can. I’ll be at work until five, then I’ll go home and try not to be such a downer. It’s a challenge I’ve failed lately.
PS – It’s hard to write on your lunch break with your boss hovering over your neck, but I’m the gonzo retail journalist, right? This is my domain, between danger and despair.
To be continued…