Health Care Reform, Glumdaclitch and Knuckle Dragging Neanderthals

Let's recap this lovely Monday morning thus far, shall we?

I was running a little late on the way in, but I stopped at the campground store for a biscuit, throwing caution to the wind and risking being a few minutes tardy. Their deli has been closed for a couple of weeks for renovations and I was jonesin' for a sausage, egg and cheese biscuit. I walked in and Marty, the tattooed manager with ginormous hooters that excite our GM so much that sometimes he shows up with his little white biscuit bag and his eyes glazed over like a teenybopper, took one look at me and announced, "There will be no more biscuits. It sucks."

"Ever?" I asked, with a twinge of hope in my voice.

"Never, ever," she answered.

I may or may not have made a pouty face as I shuffled over to the rack holding the assortment of packaged pastries.

I made it to the office, only 3.5 minutes late, sat at my desk and, once situated, ripped into my Texas Cinnamon Roll. I sniffed it. I grimaced. When you can SMELL that a pastry is stale, that's pretty bad. I began to pull it apart, realizing it was hard as a rock and sighed as I rolled it up in the packaging and tossed it in the trash. Breakfast ended up being a pack of crackers from the company vending machine.

Next door to my cubey, Cousin Frankie was chatting with Lulu about his latest ailments. He's had the shingles and been down with his back. Now he's dragging his leg behind him. It all seems to be related but no one knows for sure what's going on. He was griping about our worthless health insurance and I chimed in with my two cents worth. It seems we pay every month for the privilege of saying we're covered, but that's about the extent of our benefits.

Except for the noggin' doc. I am thankful that I only have to pay a $30 co-pay to have my head examined.

Anywho..

I was caught off guard, but not really surprised when Cousin Frankie and Lulu's discussion of health insurance made it's way down the darkened path to Obama's health plan helping nobody but "them n*ggers and Mexicans."

I took a deep breath, turned the volume up on the radio and quietly talked myself down from my mental clock tower before I said a whole bunch of stuff I'd regret later.

I don't do politics. I don't know the details of the recently passed health care reform bill, but I'm pretty sure it doesn't specify specific races or nationalities. People, especially ignorant knuckle dragging neanderthal people, will hop on any bandwagon they can twist into a reason to spout hatred and discontent.

Please don't misunderstand. There are perfectly rational individuals without a trace of racism in their blood who oppose specifics of the bill for perfectly logical reasons. My anger isn't due to a difference in opinion over the passing of a bill. My blood boiling, venom spewing pissedoffedness (heh.. I made a new word) is over the gaul of some people to use ANYTHING as an excuse to attack groups other than those they personally identify with.

The really fun part? Cousin Frankie is, indeed, my distant cousin. We're both descended from a common ancestor, one listed on some census forms as "Glumdaclitch" who was rumored to be Cherokee. I think she was probably Melungeon. I'm still working on finding out how she was named after a character from Gulliver's Travels. In any case, she wasn't "white." That whole side of the family tree is peppered with dark skinned kinfolk of assorted racial backgrounds.

If I had the cajones, I'd point all this out to both Frankie and Lulu, my other distant cousin on that side.

I tried in vain to block it out, as they went on about people getting welfare checks and food stamps (both of which I've had to use in the past.) I think my favorite quote came from Lulu, who was telling Frankie about a girl she knew on assistance, "She's Mexican but she was born here."

I'm pretty sure that makes the girl in question an American.

I'm not really any better than they are, I suppose,  because I sit here, radio blaring, lips clenched, beating the hell out of my keyboard instead of speaking up.

And I'm ashamed.

Forgive me.

Ya'll have a good one, we'll talk again soon.

Later Taters.


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