My blog today is on an article that I stumbled upon after a Youtube video on the distribution of wealth in America prompted me to look into where I landed on the scale and how much the top 1% really -do- make…and I found this:
I attempted to register with the website to join the commentary discussion, but unfortunately the ‘standard approval time’ for this site is between 4 and 7 days. Zero Hedge’s rule #5 notes that they’re ‘far too busy to contact users, so if someone asks for your password they have too much time on their hands to be us,’ and when rules #4 told me that I should have no expectation of privacy, I said no thank you. When a website’s register rules are condescending to me, I can only imagine how the users and SUPER BUSY staff must be.
So I’m just gonna be on here instead. xD
Basically, this article is a personal account from one woman about how there’s no hope to reach out of poverty, even if you try, and that this mentality has kept her stuck and “made” her make terrible decisions. I thought to myself, “Okay, what sort of situation would force someone to make decisions that aren’t in their own best interest?” I went there expecting to find some factual evidence of things that our government may be doing to hinder the progress of those who aren’t even a blip on the wealth distribution scale. Instead…well, I found a lot of excuses.
My End of the Story
First, I’d like to tell you all a bit more about me so you know I’m not an elitist prick who’s typing this from my iPad with my Starbucks coffee on my college campus that my parents paid for me to go to and who pay for my college dorm. I’m 24 years old, and as you all know, I’m a tattoo artist. I’m an only child, but growing up, we didn’t have a huge amount of money, so I’m not as ‘spoiled’ as the only child terminology leads many to believe. Emotionally spoiled…oh yeah. My parents thought I was a prodigy and they’re very proud of me. Materialistically, maybe before the age of 10, but I recall being grateful because I wasn’t yet at the age where material goods mattered. That didn’t happen until I was in 7th or 8th grade, and by then we lived pretty modestly.
I grew up in a double-wide mobile home in the mountains that my dad had built a foundation for and converted into a home. My parents did every addition to the house themselves: my dad built us a garage, a huge front deck, and a back deck. He redid the floors and installed the carpet, and my mom redid the kitchen splash tiles, paint, and trim, all themselves and with minimal budget. My parents, especially my dad, were the epitome of hard work, and I was taught that I had to work to get the things I wanted, and that I had to pick which things I wanted most because of limited resources. As a child, I was told “no” and didn’t put up a hissy fit so every parent in WalMart could shamefully judge my parental influence.
I got my first job when I was 18, just after high school, working at Jamba Juice for $9/hour, and after a few months I started my tattoo apprenticeship. Apprenticeships are not paid jobs, so I used money that I had saved up (some of which was given to me, but some of which I had earned at my job) for gas money to the 40-mile away destination so that I could do that full-time and not have to work. Eventually I did some receptionist work at the tattoo shop for $40-$80/week because the price of gas was going up, and I was spending $40/week to get down there.
During the end of my 2-year apprenticeship, my dad had been struggling for almost a year to find steady work, and my mom had taken a part-time job at the liquor store and was making about $120/week. It was just enough for food and utilities, so my parents fell 3 months behind on their mortgage and unfortunately lost the property to bankruptcy. It was really hard for me to lose the house that I had grown up in and move to an apartment with my parents (albeit a really nice one) when my dad found work doing maintenance at an apartment complex. I vowed at that time that I would never let myself be financially irresponsible because I was terrified of being homeless or having to lose a house of my own.
Eventually, my parents moved to Arizona, and I was forced to figure out how to be a grown up. I had been tattooing for about a year at this point, but I had just moved to a new tattoo shop and had no clientele. My boyfriend and I had been together at this point for almost a year, and he was struggling to find steady work as well. I moved in with him and his mom (and our dog that my boyfriend had begged his mom to let him adopt from the shelter), storing away most of my stuff in her shed. During that time, we were on food stamps for 3 months, and I was paying $100 for rent until I made more. But within 6 months, I was on a roll at my new job and we were finally able to move into our first dinky, hideous, 600-sq foot apartment. Woo!
Fast forward to 2 years later, and we live in a 2-story duplex with a basement, and the addition of a kitty to our family. I carried both my boyfriend and I financially for over half of this time while he sifted through different jobs that told him full-time and only delivered 10 hours of work a week, and yet we still had money to go out to eat, go to the movies, the zoo, a casino resort overnight, and a bunch of other fun things, because I’m financially responsible. I don’t make a ton of money, but we don’t struggle…but if I’d given up like the girl in this article sounds like she has, you can bet we’d be back at my boyfriend’s mom’s house, and I’d be miserable.
I COULD have taken up smoking to deal with the fact that I felt like a prisoner living with my boyfriend’s mom, in his 12×12 room with limited access to the living room and kitchen because she hated that we lived there, but was too nice to not offer for us to stay. I COULD have stayed on food stamps for longer, but I felt bad enough having to use them anyway that it was the first thing to go when I could afford it. I COULD have pretended that credit wasn’t necessary to rent an apartment, but instead I applied for my first credit card while I was still living with my parents, because I knew I’d have to play the credit game eventually. I knew I’d have to be a grown up someday.
Lots and Lots of Excuses
I get that there are a lot of poor people in this country, a lot of whom have families and are struggling. I get that. I know it’s not their fault a lot of the time. But at some point, you have to take responsibility for your own actions and see if they MIGHT have something to do with where you are in life, and if you’re saying that your situation is MAKING you make decisions that keep you in that situation…you’re playing the victim, simple as that. The victim doesn’t take responsibility, or problem solve, or change their perspective. The victim is entitled to feel wounded by their situation, and everyone else plays a role, but not them.
In this story, the woman mentions talks about the first time she was pregnant and about her kids. She says that Planned Parenthood is 3 hours away, and that sliding-scale clinics can’t help you anyway, which implies that she never took measures to have safe sex. I’ve been taking birth control pills ever since I was 16 years old, and I’ve NEVER been to a Planned Parenthood. Ever. My state offers county-based, sliding scale planned parenthood services, and I had free birth control pills all the way through my apprenticeship and up until my first tattoo job. Rich people don’t get sliding scale services, by the way. It was an hour drive, but you only have to go every 6 months, and it’s worth it because I realize, as an ADULT, that I’m not yet ready for kids. I’m sure that her child is a blessing to her, but I just don’t get why, even with children, you would think things are hopeless. I mean, she’s going to college for God’s sake, THAT’s something! Doesn’t she realize that with whatever degree she’s getting that she won’t have to work 2 jobs, and she won’t be so tired that she resorts to 20 cent frozen burritos? She can spend more time with her kids!
Which, by the way: you have a HUGE “large pleasure to hold on to,” and that’s being a mother. If materialistic wealth if your idea of a “large pleasure,” then no wonder you’re playing the victim; you have no grasp on what’s really important, and your perception revolves around what you’ll ‘never have’ instead of what you do. Some people can’t even have children. They’re probably a financial burden, but they’re YOURS. If you didn’t want them and you couldn’t travel to planned parenthood, then don’t have sex. In fact, were you and your husband in this financial slump before you got married? Why are you picking him up, and from where? What are his excuses?
As far as the Patriot Act making it harder to get a bank account…I don’t even have a clue what that means, unless it’s some liberal brainwashing that tells her that the government knows how much she makes. THEY DO THAT ANYWAY. It’s called taxes. You know, that thing where your WIC comes from that everyone pays into? That thing that WOULD fund food stamps for you if you didn’t have an excuse for why that wouldn’t work out for you too?
My favorite is the author’s justification for smoking. If you can afford cigarettes, but not food, then I can’t find any sympathy within myself to give you. Seriously? I’ve done the math on this before because everyone I know smokes, but let’s do it again. Let’s say you’re a mild smoker, and you smoke half a pack a day. If you average 3 packs a week of the shittiest cigarettes known to man, you’re looking at $10/week, or $30/month that could be used towards groceries, or whatever else you need. But it’s a stimulant? No, it’s a habit. If you want to be stimulated, stop eating crappy frozen burritos and buy some foods with real nutrition via your cigarette money, or with food stamps. I assure you, you won’t get roaches from cooking–I’ve left dishes in the sink for a week and left the trash unattended for two (because I get busy sometimes too), and the most we got were some flies. My bad.
I’m sorry, I’m ranting…
The point I’m getting at it this: there are some people who are truly in need of assistance. Some of them are humbled and grateful by any act of kindness, because they still have hope that things will turn around. They know that they don’t live in a 3rd world country with no running water, and if they can still walk and run, then they understand that it’s kind of a big deal to have that going for them.
Some of them are entitled to more, and because of this attitude, they won’t be grateful, and they’ll never be inspired to rise above what they are and make a difference to themselves. The author says that her point of view is “self-defeating, but it’s safer.” Safer than what exactly? If you’ve really hit rock bottom, what do you have to lose? It’s not safer, it’s more convenient. What if you were to put in the effort required…and you fail? It would be heartbreaking, as she says. But do people become successful because they never failed? No. They become successful because they continued to try, learning from their mistakes along the way, and because they refused to be a victim.
I AM SORRY that that was so long. I really, really want to hear your thoughts on this, people! This perception is becoming very pervasive in America, what is your opinion?