Post election blues

I’m A Take One For The Team

Evening of November 5, 2014. A bar in Waukesha, Wisconsin.

“Tell ya Bloom, it’s a great feeling.” Hooper sips his beer.  “Totally awesome.”

“Sure is.” 

“A real solid win. Senate, the house, Walker . . .”

“I’m a take, I’m a take, I’m a take one for the team!” Bloom raps. 

Hooper’s brow knits, glances at Bloom.

“Kanye, bro.” 

Hooper looks away.  “Anyhooo.  We rocked it, bro.” 

They exchange fist bumps.

“We rocked it like a rock, dude.”

“I mean, we work hard, right?  Guys like us?  Wives work hard.  Eileen . . .”

“She still at Walmart?”

“Plus her Etsy gig.”

“Still ain’t enough ain’t it?”

“That’s all gonna change, my friend.  Big boys in charge now.” 

“GOP on top.”  Bloom takes a pull.  “Back in black.”

“My take home?  Last ten years?”  Bloom nods in agreement.  “Premiums through the roof, out of pocket’s killin’ me.”

“Goddamn Obamacare.”

“Keepin’ Tyler and Tiffany on my policy till they’re 26, though?  Hope they keep that part.” 

“That no lifetime limits thing?  That, too.”

“Another one?” Hooper waggles his bottle.  “Jody, two more Lites.”

“I got this one.”  Bloom puts a five dollar bill on the bar, drains his beer.

“Goddamn bankers.  Hope they string ‘em all up.”

“Hang ‘em high.”

“Need some tough regs with teeth.  Bust their Gucci balls.”

“We need, like, a sheriff.  Fuckin' Clint Eastwood.  Clean up Wall Street.” 

“Right there on Wall Street, man.  Swingin’ from their goddamn bulls horns.”

“Pay to see that, bro.”

“Pelosi, Reid. Good riddance.  Bitch.” 

“McConnell’s a real white man.”

“Him and Boehner.  They ain’t waitin’ till ’16 to clean house.”  Hooper stares at the crawl along the bottom of the screen. 

“Gonna clean Obama’s clock.”

“Goddamn entitlements.  Been pickin’ our pockets the last six years” Hooper says.

“Picked clean, man.”

“Spreadin’ it around to anyone with their brown hand out.”

“Or two.”

“More like a five gallon bucket.  Fill that bucket with soapy water and wash some windows, Tyrone.”

“Wash some cars.  My truck’s pretty dirty” says Bloom. “Earn a living like the rest of us.”

“Ryan’s budget, man.  Bring it on.”

“Throw the baby out . . . how’s that go?”

“Grover Norquist, man.  He says he wants to get the Federal government down so small he can drag it to the tub and drown it.” 

Bloom blinks.  The channel is tuned to Fox, sound off.  “Medicaid, Medicare or vice versa, whatever.”

“Vouchers. Everyone gets one, right?  Once that’s gone, it’s gone.  You’re on your own, pardner.” 

“Don't spend it all in one place, Jesus!” Giggles. “Right?  Am I right?”  Bloom is quiet for a moment.  “My mom’s on Medicare.” 

“Better not mess with Social Security.  Hell, by the time we get there, won’t be nothin’ left anyways.”  

“Derricks on food stamps.” Glances at Hooper. “My brother’s family?  Since his unemployment ran out.  Tinker Fastener shut down for Mexico what, two, three years ago? 

“Goddamn Mexico.” 

“That’s runnin’ out too, pretty soon.  Food stamps.”

“Goddamn unions.  Between them and the EPA.  Shit.”  Fingers an unlit cigarette.  “Mexicans don’t worry about the environment an’ shit.  You want a job, Paco?  Here’s your hourly.  Don’t like it?  Go someplace else.” 

“Somewhere else like across the border, dude.”

“Not after they put up a fence.  Fence ‘em in man!  Or out.  Get some special ops, drones an’ shit?  Now try climbin’ the fence.  Good luck with that.”

“Bap, bap, bap, bap, bap, bap, bap, bap, bap!” Bloom mimics firing a machine gun. 

“Unions pricin’ us out of the game, man.  It’s like (Hooper affects an effeminate voice) oooh, everyone makes the same goddamn thing ‘cause we’re all the same.  Shit.”

“True ‘dat.”

“You pay a man what he’s worth.  A man makes his own way, dude.” 

Hooper and Bloom are quiet.  Hooper peels the label off his bottle. 

“Who needs ‘em, unions” says Bloom.  

“Republican’s know how to handle money.  Just get out of the way and let us run our business like we want.  Dems?  It's a no brainer, dude.  Bob's your uncle."

“If times is good, everyone does alright.  Raisin’ all boats an’ shit.” 

Hooper and Bloom look at the television in silence.

“Times are real good for some, I imagine.  CEO’s doin’ just fine” Hooper says.   

“Wives ain’t doin shift work.”

“Keepin’ what they make, that’s for sure.” 

“Dodgin’ the IRS.”

“Kids sure as hell ain’t repaying any college loans.” 

“Kyle’s talkin’ bout the Navy” says Bloom.

“Your oldest?” 

Bloom nods.

“What a racket, college.  Ain’t like they’re teachin’ ‘em what they need to know in high school anymore.”  Hooper dissembles his cigarette. 

“Five years, nothin’ to show.  College.”

“Goddamn lazy teachers.”

“What a sweet deal.”

“Till they get a wakeup call from Walker. It’s comin’, you can bet your ass on that.”

“Fire ‘em all, get some unemployed in there, put ‘em back to work.  Derrick could do a better job at half the pay.  Be goddamn happy to have it, too.” 

“We get Walker in the White House next two years or even Jeb or Mitt, the liberals are done. Cooked.  There’ll be more jobs you can shake a stick at.”

“Sure hope they pay somethin.’ ”

“No worries.  It's all good.  Gonna get things all tricklin’ down and shit.  Straight up.”

“When you can’t make them see the light, make them feel the heat.” 

Hooper looks at Bloom, squints.  “Kayne?”

“Reagan, brah.”