On Being Poor
I take it in the ass for you, Mr. Economy
By Veronica Boehm
Alright, Economy, joke’s over. Oh wait, I get it; this is punishment for being irresponsible, buying shit without realizing we actually have to repay it before the bank seizes our house, and setting up 10 Starbucks shops within the same two blocks in Manhattan. If that’s how it’s going to be, then fine. Two can play this game.
You’re an asshole, Economy. You took my mom’s job and won’t give her a new one because she is “overqualified.” What happened to the promised 2.5 million new jobs? Are they in Iraq? Or is this the biggest Easter egg hunt known to man? Usually there’s an adult saying “warmer” and “colder,” so a hint would be nice.
Tell us when we’re getting lava-hot so we can pay for necessities. No, not like fake tans, like food! I’m starving. I had to lower my meal plan to seven a week, but quickly realized I’m a fatass and need 21. But really, I need to be able to pay for a plane ticket back home to Florida more than I need nutrition. I’ll just eat when I get home, Economy, because you’re so cool like that.
What’s next on the list? Oh yeah! Thanks so much for allowing our house to stay on the market for two whole years. That was awesome! Because of the false hopes that came with each of our 10 failed offers, we were able to get this thing called a second mortgage. Thanks for including us in your sub-prime mortgage crisis. Mr. Economy, you’re the bomb! You’re like Hans Christian Andersen but better. No, you’re like Adam Sandler’s niece and nephew in Bedtime Stories, who have the ability to screw everyone’s lives with their ridiculous fairytales.
Because of you, we were able to get rid of unimportant things like the Internet. Yes, Internet. You murdered the Internet, Economy! How am I supposed to Facebook-stalk and peruse the overpriced clothes on UrbanOutfitters. com? What am I to do now? Go outside and play girds (that game where you hit a wheel with a stick)?
OK, but I’d actually like to say thank you, Economy. Because without you I would have never met Shannon. Shannon and I became good friends, even best friends, as far as unprotected wireless Internet servers go. She was there for me when I was down, needed entertainment, or wanted an escape. She provided me with her services on the kitchen counter, living room couch, and occasionally my bedroom. The kitchen counter was our usual spot, maybe because of the angle or convenient height. We’ll never know. I couldn’t have asked for a better situation. Not only was I able to save money because her services were pro bono, but I was given the same treatment as her paying customers. But Shannon eventually became Gannon. Password protection changed things forever.
So, Economy, I guess this is where I give up on you, insult your mother, and never see you again. But we both know I won’t. I still have faith that you’ll do right by me, by everyone. You just need some rehab. Hopefully, with the wave of President Obama’s suave new pen, you will be stimulated into taking one of John McCain’s seven houses and giving it to me.