resident poor person

***A note about the title: someone [from the group mentioned below] once called me the “resident poor person” because I said that Applebees was fancy to me growing up lol***

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READ IT HERE INSTEAD:

My partner has this extended friend group.

Around the time the 45th US president was about to be inaugurated and people in LA were just shitting themselves at the thought of this surreal future, we were all sitting at the HMS Bounty, an annoying nautical themed bar that doesn’t card. There were maybe 8 of us there, and an older man began eyeing us from a corner table. We were the only two parties in the room. I sat taking polite sips of beer and listening to the conversation, occasionally glancing around at the sticky dusty ship decor. Eventually the man in the corner put his newspaper down, his spectacles on, and sauntered over to talk to us. After rambling a while on the dangers of the upcoming presidency, which was definitely a preaching-to-the-choir situation, it began.

"You all look like a bunch of smart kids! Where did you go to school?" The man asked the collective table. Really. He just dove right in. One by one, everyone answered.

"Brown!" "Wesleyan!" "Brown!" "Stanford!" “RISDI!” they chirped. After each person answered, he'd give an appreciative nod, or murmur "Good. Great school." The little dance continued clockwise.

I focused on the Tecate in front of me, fiddling with the soggy lime wedge perched on top, dread multiplying in my stomach like bricks. I remembered that the beer was purchased for me with the Amex black card of a girl who lived at the Ritz-Carlton. All my previous interactions with that card had been ringing people up at restaurants - people who always tip terribly. I remembered how all these kids met: at a junior high and high school that costs roughly $44,000 dollars per year to attend, over half the median per capita income in California. Of course I looked it up, because I’m an absolute sicko. Finally he reached me, the end of the circle. Dim as it was, he found my eyes. It felt like I was sitting under the sun.

"And where did you go to school?" He asked.

"I didn't," I said.

"Oh. Well... what do you do?" He seemed hopeful.

"I'm a waitress," I said. I turned back toward the table and took a sip.

"Oh. Well, there's more to you than meets the eye," he continued, "I'm sure of it!” Did this dude really not think it was enough to simply be a waitress? Did he really think I needed a little something extra that leveled me with the young rich kids I was sitting with? Something magical, something impressive? He drifted back to his seat.

I had had this interaction many times before. I can’t even count how many people I’ve waited on who felt it their duty to give me the gift of believing I was destined for more than just serving them fucking pasta. But the cringe of it happening with this audience was newly mortifying. I could feel the inferiority creeping up my neck and I wanted to joke about it, address it, so it could die before crawling into my brain. “No one can make you feel inferior without your consent” is a quote for people who believe in absolutes, and lying.

But nobody said anything. They just continued with their previous conversation. The stench of stale cocktails clung inside my nostrils. How could I be drowning in what all this meant, while these kids around me just joked about their funny old Spanish teacher? (Over the years I have learned she was most hilarious).

The ease with which they answered the stranger’s question was so telling. I’m not naive; I understand that everyone is dealing with something. So why don’t they act like it? My mind flooded with patterns. Were they incapable of knowing what it had been like to be appraised in that nasty academic way? If they were capable, why weren’t they able to address it in real time? A simple, “WELL THAT WAS AWKWARD, HUH?” Or “PRETTY CONDESCENDING WHAT HE SAID TO YOU, JANZ!” Would have sufficed. Maybe.

AND YET. They’re not bad people. It fills me with such layered rage.

Dating someone younger than me from a different socioeconomic background had me comparing, and we all know comparison is an uphill battle you never win. Subconsciously and for decades, I'd wished I knew how to explain myself. I’d wished I spoke Academia. I'd wished for simplicity, for shallow answers. All the while knowing that explaining oneself in a sentence, in a piece of fugly cardstock someone’s powerful parents paid a king’s ransom for, isn’t what I value. The social capital that comes from having that ability isn’t cool or necessary, just convenient and classist.

So how do we ask better questions when we’ve been raised to value the wrong things? The societal pressure that dollars, degrees, percentages, certificates, credits, etc have on our lives is stifling, but we seem to just keep upholding it, all while nobly proclaiming that NOBODY SHOULD FEEL INFERIOR! If that’s true then why is the question “how are you feeling today?” so odd, yet “state your resume for me right now” is completely fine? Why is it okay to conduct a social situation like a job interview? Can we humanize the divide by speaking differently to one other?

Here's what I should’ve been repeating to myself at the HMS Bounty: Your only asset is YOU. You don’t have to hide behind a degree or fancy school, because you have a personality, something money cannot buy. You don’t get a built in conversation starter. And who cares?

Your resume doesn’t make you a good person. Doesn’t make you an adept listener. Doesn’t make you funny. Doesn’t make you a better parent. And especially doesn’t make you an artist. You do.

Wouldn’t it be wonderful if more people believed that and maybe acted like it?

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*****Leaving some questions here in case anyone’s having trouble coming up with talking points besides “Where’d you go to school? Or “What do you do for a living?” 🥱

“What’s one thing you would change about the world and why?” “What makes you laugh?” “Did you eat breakfast this morning?” “What’s the last thing that inspired you?” “Do you have to wake up on the same side of the bed?” “What’s the wildest thought you had today?” “Do you like pumpkin spice lattes or do you think they stink?” “What’s the last thing you did just for you?” “Do you have any songs you hate so much that you have to leave the room when they come on?” “Walk me through a day in the life of you!” “If you could go to a theme park for free would you do it or do you not like standing in lines?” “Can you do any impressions?” “What’s your go to karaoke song?” “Do you believe pets can see into our souls?” “You know that weird dew that settles on your skin when you sleep outdoors?” “Have you ever injured yourself while cooking?” “Do you like weekdays or weekends better and why?” “Have you ever read a book that changed you?” “If you had to eat one processed candy for the rest of your life, what would it be?” “What’s your preferred method of expressing yourself?” “I’d love to know how you’re feeling today!”