I created a term that doesn’t yet exist for thoughts that often arise, in order to make sense of my own emotions. The term is “poor privilege”, and yes it means exactly what it sounds like: feeling privileged while being poor. It’s a super weird, strange, and odd feeling that I frequently have. Is it possible for poor people to be privileged when we’re already at a heightened disadvantage? The short answer is “No”, there simply isn’t any privilege in poverty; however I can’t seem to shake the feeling that I am equal parts both poor and privileged.
38-year-old Mark Russo, a Pennsylvania native used to be a truck driver until one terrible night he got into a crash, suffered a concussion, and had to have his right ass cheek amputated.Continue reading “38-year-old Pennsylvania man went on 4 interviews for a dishwasher position, the owner didn’t hire him because “he lacked essential dish-washing skills””
This local McDonald’s doesn’t have a pest problem; instead, they have an “exotic pet” problem. Ferocious wildlife animals have been entering this restaurant on 39th street for three
weeks, chanting, “Two legs bad, four legs good.”
I think the sun’s rays may be healing me.
If you’ve read my “About Me” section you should know that I live in New York City, but if you didn’t have a chance to read it or this is your first time here, you know now. I live in a very boring, quiet, and residential area of Brooklyn. I always make the assertion that the most exciting thing about my neighborhood is the train station and I mean it.
I can travel throughout most boroughs within the city on $2.75. I consider that to be a semi steal yet low-key highway robbery considering how much subway fares have increased throughout the years. And raising the price of subway fare as opposed to lowering it never has any wiggle room.
Being fat and introverted truly sucks, it doesn’t do me any favors. It’s expected of me to acquire many of the stereotypical fat people personality traits, and when I fail to check off those tiny individual boxes, the disappointment on people’s faces begin to visibly emerge. But that’s just the price I have to pay for living in an extrovert world and having the flesh on my stomach resemble steel armor. No, I am not from medieval times. And yes, that was a joke.