The presidential conventions are done. All the hot air in Tampa and Charlotte should have been issued with hurricane warnings. Either that, or each delegate should have been issued a roll of toilet paper to deal with all the crap that was being spewed.
Here’s what I learned. Neither side really cares much about the average American. Sure, they pander to their respective audiences, but really, both sides are out of touch. In fact, I saw today that both sides think $250,000 a year is where the middle class ends and the well-to-do begins. I should be so lucky.
Only one line stuck with me throughout both conventions. It was the one delivered by Slick Willy, who really crystalized what the upcoming election is about. We have two choices, “you’re on your own” or “we’re all in this together.” Two very different versions of the future of the country.
I can thank the Janmeister for today’s RobZerrvation. She was watching the speech, even though her roots were deep in the Republican world before she met me. After hearing that “you’re on your own” party line, she looked at me and said, “I wouldn’t mind being on my own if the deck wasn’t already stacked against me.”
This from a lifelong Republican kind of girl. She was right. And this isn’t really about the right or left, but what kind of country we want to be. I still dream of hitting it big with an idea and rising to the top some day. I think a lot of us do. But the deck is increasingly being stacked against us.
I sometimes feel like I’m living in the MGM Grand in Vegas. This would be a glorious thing if I was a high roller and had a penthouse suite on the house. But I’m just a middle class level gambler so I have to pay for my room. Sure, you can say, “but the drinks are free.” As we know, they’re not really. The deck is stacked against you and you’re paying for those drinks one pull or one card at a time.
So there I am. I come home from my state job, new paycheck in hand. I’m feeling pretty good about being a middle class kind guy. I think, hey, why not put some money into play and see if I can get me a penthouse suite, you know, the kind the high rollers who have secret bank accounts in the Caymans and Bahamas get.
As I said, I still believe, right or wrong, that I can hit it big. It’s the American dream. Climb out of the gutter of the lower or middle class and become Mr. Big. Women would adore me, I could have all the fancy cars I wanted and someday I could even have a beautiful house, a White House.
I stay away from those one armed bandits. You know, the Day Trader and Pyramid Scheme slot machines that look promising, but will just suck my money away in no time at all. In fact, I’ll probably lose my entire check before the drink lady makes her way to me with a Tang and vodka.
No, I decide it’s time to look hit the gaming tables so I can look the dealer right in the eye. I look around for a good seat. Finding one, I sit down at the table.
Yes, I know that Blackjack is the only game here that isn’t automatically stacked against me.
I plunk down some more hard earned money. Two cards are dealt in front of me. I flip them over. “Blackjack!” the dealer yells. “WINNA!!!”
Now we’re rolling. I win a few more hands, gaining confidence with each play. That high roller suite with the free hookers is going to be mine tonight, I tell myself. I’m finally going to hit it big at the table of life.
Sensing a great night, I begin to bet bigger and bigger with each ensuing play. I win a few, lose a few, sure, but the cards are definitely going my way.
The chips are stacking up fast. I’ve already doubled my hard earned money through shrewd play. Know when to hold them, know when to fold them as Kenny Rogers once said. I can do no wrong. By now a crowd has gathered, wanting to watch one of their onw, an average Joe, hit it big in this world of ours.
The pit boss makes a call upstairs. Soon, a new dealer is brought in.
He asks me to place my bet. I start with a bold bet, about half of my take so far. A hush comes over the crowd. Two cards are dealt to me.
The dealer asks me to place my bets. The gambling gods are with me. I have two Kings and double down on the economy. I put in a few more chips and split the bet. “All in,” I say. Up come the next cards. A nine on King one. Stay. A Jack on King two. Stay.
The dealer sighs. He has a Four. I can smell the money already. He hits, a five. Again. A six. He draws again. Another six.
“21! A LOOOOSA!!!” He yells out in the room and takes my cards and all my money.
I look the dealer in the face. He’s smiling. A shit eating grin of a grin. “Come back again, sir.”
“Oh, I will, uhh…” I look at his MGM Grand name tag. “…Mitt. I will.”
“Next time, let’s play for your healthcare and retirement,” the dealer responds. “I have a special deck just for you. You thought this one was stacked against you, just wait!”
I know I will be back. I simply can’t resist. As I’m leaving, I see the American Dream machine over in the corner, a progressive slot gathering some dust. Maybe that will be my ticket out of the middle class. It definitely wasn’t in the cards on this day.
In the Emerald City, pressing my luck each and every day as always,
– Robb