"Calamity" of power misued nationally is narrowly averted, but power misued in "real life" continues unabated

Despite all the “excitement” about making history last Tuesday, voter dissatisfaction was clear by the lowest voter turnout since the 1996 presidential election. In fact, the winner of that year (Bill Clinton) and this year received fewer votes than the losers in the previous four elections. According to the Washington state Office of the Secretary of State, there were a total of 42,995 write-in votes for President of the United States, of which 9,354 were from King County, where Seattle is located. The Excel spread sheet provided for download only included the total number of write-ins by county; there was no list of names provided, and I doubt because of the sheer number of them that vote tabulators even bothered to input the names. 

Thus I was “disappointed” not to see my name on any official tabulation for president of these United States. But when life has been one adversity after another, you eventually become blasé about it, just shrug it off and move on. I often find myself encountering conditions and persons that test my patience and tolerance for arbitrariness, illogic and fickleness—especially in the workplace. I’m so glad that someone as devious and erratic as Hillary Clinton was not elected president; who knows what kind of mischief she could have inspired in others. 

Or rather, more mischief. I have already talked about one particular female “supervisor” who I have come to regard as one the poorest I ever had to work for, mainly because of her unpredictable “decision-making” that is based almost wholly on whim and personal feelings which often devolves into either blatant favoritism or vindictiveness. While I respect her position, I have little respect for her as a person; in regard to that “little,” it is enough to say that I am completely honest with her—except that what I say to her concerning my observations isn’t generally taken as “respectful.”

Of course, “respect” goes both ways. Despite the fact that I am versatile and take initiative to keep things moving in a productive fashion in the department I am ostensibly assigned to, I have been constantly reminded that I was only hired to be the designated pan washer; if I didn’t wash pans “well,” I wouldn’t have been hired. The other day the supervisor walked up to me and said “Go wash pans” and just walked away. No “Can you wash pans? We don’t have anyone else to do it. I appreciate it.” We still had a lot of “temps” around to do it; this included one male working in bottle labeling who didn’t look like he was really “into it” and could have been replaced by any one of the females who were an overloaded presence in the department I was in. But because he shared the race of the supervisor, it was obvious to me that the politics of favoritism was involved.

As a full-time employee who demonstrated over and over again that he deserved better treatment, I was again reminded of my “place” in the organization; I was just there to wash pans for the Russian-speaking duplicitous divas. As a college-educated individual who also served in the military, I have had to be extremely “humble” about where I stand in the eyes of others, which is mainly an “other,” not a “real” American. But eventually enough was enough, and it becomes too much. I was told that there was no one else who could wash pans; well, the lie will be exposed now.

It took me about an hour to acclimate myself to the fact that it was time to move on from a situation that I found untenable to my sense of logic and fairness. As I said before, I have become blasé about adversity; after all, I had endured far worse. After my first enlistment in the Army, I took a Greyhound to Los Angeles, where I was promptly robbed of all of the money I had saved up. I walked around in a daze for a whole day considering the most painless ways of suicide, but I eventually fell asleep in an abandoned school house and awoke to a bright new day. After spending a week as a “tourist” and rummaging for food in fast food restaurant garbage bins, I ambled into a Army recruitment office that has happy to help out a sergeant with a Good Conduct medal and a “1a” reenlistment code. I think the greatest regret I have was not just doing my 20 years rather than trying to “expand” my horizons by leaving after my second enlistment and going to college. The way I look at the world has certainly “expanded,” though what I see is not better.