There was a time, when I was between housing accommodations, that I reached out to the county for food assistance, health assistance and housing assistance. I wandered into a cavernous room from out of the scalding summer heat, took a number at the front and sat down among empty chairs save for a pregnant Latino woman nursing her child and a black woman sitting at one of twelve counters. The air-conditioning wasn't working well and the cloying Iowa humidity was mixed in with tepid air creeping out of the vents. Only three people were working the counters that day - one with the black woman and two others obviously doing paperwork. 

They called the Latino woman's number and she dutifully pulled her baby away, tucked herself and brought along the carrier to the window. I waited. I hadn't been sleeping well most nights. I was getting around the medical system by taking Ambien prescribed to someone else who was getting it specifically for me. The drug didn't seem to work very well - I laid awake restless until the medication hammered me to sleep, only to wake up groggy and exhausted. I wouldn't find out until nearly 15 years later that I actually suffered from severe sleep apnea, and that the drug was further reducing my oxygen.

The Latino woman was done at the window. She stood up with paperwork in her hand, adjusted her shirt and left the building. I waited. My legs were sweltering in the only pair of jeans I owned, sweat dripping from the bend of my knee down my calf and into my threadbare socks. I didn't know what I would say when I went to the window - I didn't know what to do. I'd never asked for assistance up to that point, and I really didn't want to change that any time soon. But needs must when the Devil drives.

They called my number. I approached the window and sat down nervously. "How can we help you today?" "I'd like to apply for food stamps and Medicaid." "Ok, can you fill this out for me?" I took the clipboard from her; a pen was strung to the top with twine and tape. It was basic information. I handed it back. "Ok, it says you are employed." Yes. "You make about $7200 a year?" Yes...under, actually, but yes. "You don't have a permanent address?" Do I need one? "Yes." I entered my grandparents address. "Ok, and you are not covered under any medical or dental insurance?" No. "Ok, thank you. So...I can give you some pamphlets here...these are about work programs..." Ok, but I have a job. "I understand...so I can give you these pamphlets. You can call the number on the back of this one here...and they can help you find employment." I need food stamps.

The woman raised her brow but slit her eyes, "Let me ask you this...are you pregnant?" No, obviously. "Are you African American?" No. "Are you disabled?" No. "Then I'm sorry, we cannot help you." But...I need food stamps. I don't make enough to eat properly. "I'm sorry, I really am. Good luck."

So what. Those are days long gone. And I'm here now, much better, much stronger, much happier and much more present of mind. But that's not really what this is about. This is about the fine line we must ride between fair and foul. This is about understanding the balance of pulling ourselves up by bootstraps and a right to fight for what's right. Did I starve without those food stamps? No, I ate out of the trash and I made it. Was it fair? No, but life isn't fair. Did I try to sue, or call the ACLU, or go on a racist rant about everyone else getting something but me? No - because everyone needs help sometimes, and who in hell am I to poke my nose in everyone else's business but my own?

I think of the 'Millennial' generation who is often accused of being soft, and I'm reminded of the every generation before them into the Baby Boomers who are just as soft, if not softer. In fact, I'm called to consider American culture - once proud and strong, now crumbled into a crippled and demented smattering of insane racists versus crybaby foul-callers. I think of the people who lived in squalor, dressed in rags, sweated in sweltering heat at the end of a tool only to make just enough money to feed themselves beans.

Most of all, I think of all the unfair bullshit out there right now perpetrated by rich fucking pigs - like, for instance, immigrant families being split mother from child because a soulless human garbage can and his southern fried human hating bigoted attorney general want to impress their White Supremacist pals back at the yacht club. 

We've got to stop crying about how unfair everything is and put an end to these evil bastards once and for all. We have to toughen up a little, put our chins out and start throwing punches. This country has fallen apart and it's not because gays get married or because women work or because abortions happen or because blacks have the vote or because immigrants flood our borders or because you missed out on your dream job or because you can't get into the school you want or because someone won't bake you a cake - it's because no one can handle anything without sniffling, calling foul and bringing forth litigation. That's both sides. 

What we need is to bring back real American values. Tax those rich bastards until they're forced to eat lunch in the same establishments we do. Make them fix our crumbling roads. Estate tax - death tax? Make them pay the fucking luxury tax that funds our infrastructure and our children's educations. Free college for every citizen? You goddamn bet - paid for by each rich sonofabitch that wants to take a spin on the stock market. Marijuana? Legal as hell and taxed to death. Smoke away your brain, and meanwhile kids with cancer don't even need to worry about medical insurance. You're covered, courtesy of partying college frat boys. You judges and for-profit prisons better clean up. You know why? Because we're pretty fucking far from ok. Marcellus Wallace needs to call a couple hard pipe hittin dudes to go to work with a pair of pliers and a blowtorch on your asses.

We're already a country of working poor, what's wrong with going broke at the dangling feet of another lynched rich white bastard? You know what real American values are? All are welcome - no matter where you're from or how you got here - YOU ARE WELCOME. And I don't care what the fuck you look like, if you're in this country because you want to be, and if you treat other people with respect and deference and love, then you get the same fucking luxuries we all get. That's the American Dream. That's the promise of this great land. You want real American values? A gun in my hand, a dollar in my bank account, freedom to brew moonshine and sell it to whomever, freedom to be left alone, freedom to go to school for free, freedom to have medical care, freedom to work, freedom to organize, an open border, an open market and the freedom to grab a rope for the wealthy bastard that wants to take it all away from me. 

Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!