The Colorado Civil Rights Commission recently ruled in
favor of a same-sex couple which will require the Masterpiece Cake Shop to
cease discrimination based upon sexual orientation.
It is at moments like these that my thoughts often turn to
that eternal question, “What about me?”
“What about you?”
you ask. Well for the first time I will
admit publicly, in print or any place else for that matter.
I …….am a slob.
There, I said it. A slob. I am out in the open and I feel free.
As a slob, I have been subjected to lifelong humiliations. When I was young news carrier, I saved up my nickels
and dimes to take my mom and dad to the old Zaberer’s restaurant on the Black
Horse Pike. When I arrived, sans suit
jacket, they forced me to wear an ugly blazer the screamed, “THIS BOY IS A
SLOB!” Oh the shame, the humiliation.
Some years later, when I ascended the corporate ladder high
enough to be a vice president at a major New York ad agency, I was denied
admittance to the trendy East Side watering hole, Ryan McFadden’s, because of slobbish
footwear. I was wearing sneakers while
the other hotshots were decked out in full corporate regalia. I left the city soon after.
Anti-slob bigotry is everywhere and the perpetrators are
neither subtle nor ashamed. How may
places to you go where you it posted for all to see, “No shoes, no shirt, no
service” or the more vague yet more evil, “Proper Attire Required”. What is
proper? Who is to say? The trendiest nightclubs always turn away slobs,
admitting only the beautiful and well coiffed.
Wildwood, my childhood oasis, now has an ordinance against “sagging”
pants. “Hey dude, when you’re fat your
pants fall down!” Get it, you slobbist?
I know for a fact that slobbery has barred me from some
lucrative jobs. It has impeded my career
advancement. It has diminished my
opportunities to propagate the species.
Some may contend that slobbery is a choice and that we slobs
pay the price for slovenliness. Not so.
I was an adopted child.
My adoptive parents were non-slobs, sharp as tacks, clean as
whistles. My biological parents were
another story. My bio-dad was an
unemployed 24 year old bum who lived in his car. My birth mom was a 17 year old dropout, the
daughter of “violent drunks”. And you
are going to tell me that my slobishness was not an inherited trait over which
I have no control. In fact my non-slob
adoptive family often berated me. “Get a
haircut. Get shave. Comb your hair. Put on a shirt that
fits. Put on some pants without holes. You look like a bum. You like a horse’s ass.” Can you even imagine what this did to my self
image, my sense of self worth?
They meant well but they could not accept me for who I am, for
what I am, a slob. Twelve years of
Catholic school jacket and tie could not change me.
But who speaks out for the slob? Who has our backs? Who is making sure that we get our fair share
of the good jobs, the best seats at restaurants and dance clubs, the hottest
dates?
Where is the Al Sharpton (no slob he) of slobdom? Where are the Slob Pride, the Slob Power
leaders? Sadly the slob stands
alone. We are the untouchables that the
beautiful people pretend not to see. The
last unprotected minority. The new invisible
man.
Who will step up to the plate for our side? I dunno, maybe this guy.
Subscribe to the 2 Percenter blog by going to http://feedage.com and entering 2percentpov into the Search box on top -choose your favorite reader.
Connect through:
OnFire Radio Show
"Half the people are stoned and the other half are waiting for the next election.
Half the people are drowned and the other half are swimming in the wrong direction."
- Paul Simon
Half the people are drowned and the other half are swimming in the wrong direction."
- Paul Simon
No comments:
Post a Comment