c. 2024 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(7-24)
Telephones – I am not a fan.
For whatever reason in my later years, I have become someone who rarely uses the telephone for actual conversation. Perhaps because of my tilt toward writing as a meaningful career pursuit, I eschew talking one-to-one over a landline or cellular connection. It seems much easier to handle text messages, or e-mail communication. Having a safe distance between sender and receiver lets me read and respond as I choose. I prefer that buffer of safety to being hooked like a fish. For speaking audibly with another human being, I would rather see them directly. Though of course, being left alone is something I cherish above anything else.
A recent morning at the Icehouse reminded me of this preference. One of my friends from across the county line called to let me know about her aches and pains, and gossip a bit regarding the workplace where we had met. At first, our banter was pleasant enough, a free-form journey by rail, metaphorically speaking. But somehow, we got diverted onto a political track. I rarely, if ever, discuss my philosophy of government and citizenship with anyone. Except for a very few astute people who have mentored me along the way. I developed this shyness over wonky, lost-in-the-weeds intellectual discourse, or typical grandstanding, because confessing my distaste for being herded like a barnyard chicken has often seemed to arouse a sense of horror and disbelief.
Having my thought processes arbitrarily steered left or right is an experience I reject. Because it calls into question the premise of individual liberty, and also risks giving me a bad case of dyspepsia.
Honoria Stunt snorted and sniffled when I reacted to her rant about American democracy potentially vanishing if the wrong candidate were to be elected in our upcoming election cycle. She was someone a bit older and more experienced, a product of union environments and traditions. I have always appreciated her work ethic and discipline. But on this occasion, a spark of disagreement crackled over our electronic connection. I tried to choose my words carefully when answering her call to action.
“Look, I get that you don’t care for a particular candidate, or their party. I don’t either. But my take on the choice we face is different than yours, philosophically...”
My friend who had spent years wearing an apron and gloves, doing kitchen work professionally, was miffed. I could hear the tone of her voice rising.
“Different? Umm... okay. Different, how?”
I had to clear my throat due to allergies from the summer season.
“I know this might sound ridiculous, said out loud, but I think that our democracy ended for practical purposes, many years ago. I don’t trust either side. Think about it, you get opposite choices every two or four years. Left hand, right hand. Mc Donald’s or Burger King. Pizza Hut or Domino’s. Chevy or Ford. Browns or Steelers. Guardians or Yankees. Giant Eagle or Walmart. It’s a bit more complicated than that of course, but my point is that the system perpetuates itself. There is nothing more important than maintaining the overarching power structure. That means everything to the ruling class. It is why third-parties face challenges to ballot access and money. Have you heard people complain about voter suppression? The fact is, it happens every day in America. But not in the manner you might think. Our duopoly, the two major parties, fight to keep balloting channeled into one slot or the other. Anything else is considered seditious and unpatriotic...”
Honoria must have been scratching her gray mop of wiry, curly hair. I could hear that she was having difficulty breathing.
“WHERE DID YOU PICK UP CRAZY IDEAS LIKE THAT, RODNEY?”
I was embarrassed to explain my heritage. But tried to do so anyway.
“You see, I was raised in what I call a ‘two-party family.’ My father was an Eisenhower Republican. My mother, an FDR Democrat. Neither would give any ground to each other, politically. Yet they both loved this nation. They loved our traditions and beliefs. They invested themselves in helping to work for the common good. Their partisan identities were always second to faith in the republic, above all else...”
My former workplace associate laughed and busied herself watering potted plants, while talking.
“Well, all of that sounds great! You can’t be the only kid who grew up with lively debates at the dinner table. But how did you get that twisted into thinking our democracy is gone? Are you a nut or something?”
I sighed loudly, and smiled.
“You might have differing thoughts regarding my outlook, but consider this before passing judgment. Tribal rancor now rules the day. Lobbyists and elites are largely in control of governing this land, regardless of what party holds dominance. Both sides play to their base supporters. But in the end, bankers and barons and insurers run the show. When I was at the point of bankruptcy, as our financial system teetered on the brink of collapse, it became necessary to negotiate debts. Many creditors took 30 or 40 percent as a payoff, to settle my accounts. But then, the IRS said that I had to claim the forgiven amount as income. I ended up with a one-year tax liability of around $5000.00. Now, when General Motors was bailed out, I read that the cost to citizens was $10 billion in total. Think about it, do you suppose that they paid taxes on that sum, erased by our leaders?”
Honoria fidgeted with her cell phone for a minute, before answering.
“Well, I suppose not. But what difference does it make?”
I huffed and brought my device closer.
“The point is that we play the game by different rules. Things are rigged, that is no exaggeration. It happens every day. You’ll hear tired, hackneyed phrases like ‘no one is above the law.’ But in literal terms, that is just horseshit! You know it and I know it, in our hearts...”
She must have had tears in her eyes.
“Have you always had such extreme opinions? My goodness, Rodney! I used to think you were a pretty normal guy, until right now!”
Her candid comment had me nodding with a grin.
“That’s why I don’t talk on the phone, much. Except to people like you, I like to hear about your garden and that freezer in your back room, full of bargains from the surplus stores!”
This random interjection broke the dark mood that had colored our conversation. Suddenly, my supermarket cohort squealed and whistled with gleeful amusement. My contrarian opinions had been noted. Now, she was ready to say goodbye.
“SPEAKING OF MY FREEZER, I CAN HARDLY GET THE DOOR SHUT! WHY OH WHY DO I BUY ALL THIS STUFF? MY CHILDREN ARE GROWN AND HAVE THEIR OWN HOUSES. EVEN THE GRANDKIDS! IF YOU’RE OUT THIS WAY STOP BY SOMETIME! I’LL FILL UP THE TRUNK OF YOUR CAR! ADIOS, LOCO MUCHACHO!”
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