This is going to be fun . . . I’m going to take on the persona (okay, not really their persona, um, per se) and you get to guess who I’m pretending to be (read: this is my new approach to griping because the traditional, rational approach is pretty pointless in the face of the completely irrational):
If you can believe it, I made only just over three hundred thousand dollars a year at my job at a top tier university. Yes, that’s right, only $300k, and before that I made only just over $100,000. But then they came along and raised the bar (wait, is that what I meant?). Anyway, with that teensy amount of money, I had to pay back my student loans–more on this outrage later, ensure my kids got the best piano and blah blah instructors going, and save for their educations, etc. On a paltry $300k (well, and what my husband was making, but that’s a whole other saga of unfairness and inequity.).
What is this country coming to when you have to pay back your student loans to the most expensive universities and law schools in the country? I mean, really! No one told me that it would take twenty years to pay off my twenty-year six figure loans. I couldn’t be expected to do that kind of math, now could I? Since they snuck these loan agreements on me BEFORE I got my Ivy League education. See how they treat women in this country? Black people? It’s an embarrassment.
Then we, that’s my fabulously Ivy-educated hubby and myself, get out of school, weighted by debt that we didn’t expect, and all of a sudden we have to . . . achieve. Hrmph! Wasn’t it enough that I become educated, now I have to work, too? And not just work, but actually be successful, have expectations placed on me as a professional. What in the world is THAT? Then, and this is where we verge on the surreal, we achieve a goal, and all of a sudden, there are more expectations, more responsibilities, more demands. I bet that never happens to men. Or white people. Clearly, things are at an all time low in this country when I am expected to meet my employers’ expectations, and then those expectations change! It’s like . . . a bad (racist) movie about an evil empire intent on subjugating the upper classes. Get this close, and ooops, you have to work harder, go further. Next thing we know, my husband will be elected president, and what then? I bet they’ll want him to DO something, there will be demands to meet, bars to strive for . . . what else can you expect from such a crappy country? That’s all we need, my husband being stressed out and having to . . . oh, I don’t know run the country. It’s just one more thing, you know? And for what? A paltry salary, heck, I made more than that my first year out of Harvard law. And then the demands will start, the expectations, the criticism, the . . . I shudder to think of it, really.
That’s not how it’s supposed to be. I want to live in a country that respects me, that hands me a stellar education, a six figure salary–and all the percs of both, and that doesn’t ask for anything in return. I want to coast along doing as much as I think I should, given my limitations–the main ones being the horrible country that I live in and the way it abuses people like me, and getting what I think I deserve. I want to live in a country that worships me, as I worship myself. I want to live in a country in which I can take pride–for a change.
Oh, and speaking of change, did I mention that I invented it. No, really. Not like Al Gore invented the internet, like seriously, I invented change. Well, not just me, my husband muttered something about it while he was busy not voting (aka being “present”) in the Senate, and it just struck me that change is good. And because my life’s been so hard–such an unfair, uphill battle–I want things changed. I’m not sure exactly what I mean by the word, though, but I know it involves me and I know it involves me getting everything for nothing, and isn’t that all that matters? Isn’t that what makes a country great? Bootstraps and dreams? Hrmph! I have a dream, alright, but it’s not (fingers waggling in scare quotes) American (fingers still waggling madly), and it doesn’t involve earning or deserving a darn thing.
I guess you can tell that’s been building for a while, and seeing Her Highness gabbling crazily yet again last night, I just couldn’t not say something. Seriously. She makes me angry. And a bit sick to my stomach.