A very important figure in our
society recently stated the following...
"I'm tired of hearing that
us better off citizens are being blamed for the state of the lower class. They are the ones who have created their fate.
We are not the cause of their dismal lives."
Do you feel that those who are
more stable in society have an influence on your position in society?
The gray coat, with the olive green stitching still intact from my late wife’s repairs and stained with my struggles in life, left my hands this morning. I told myself that this would be my last resort, how could I sell anything that reminded me of Emily? Yet, I hadn’t eaten in seven days, and I no longer had the energy to even... breathe. I did one of the few things that strips the lower class of their humanity, pawning their valuables.
ReplyDeleteI woke up early that morning, having to walk 18 miles to the pawn in shop in Paris. As I waited outside, I looked above to the looming letters above the pawnshop. They read “Liberte, Egalite, Franternite”. Egalite, equality, I whispered, how I hoped that I would be treated with this in mind. All I wanted was to climb out of the hole I was trapped in. With the money I earned from my coat, I had planned to spend a bit on food, pay my rent, and then save the rest. I had to start saving, even if it consisted of a few shillings; I had to work to make a change. I even had collected an old tin can, with rusty red letters,to store my money in.
As soon as I entered the pawnshop, I was called over with a whistle, like the one given to a dog. I immediately felt the inhumane treatment I was treated with all my life. The clerk quickly looked me down and up, giving a little smirk at my appearance. He didn’t even fully inspect my coat; instead he speedily pushed it aside. He said “20 francs”. I stood frozen; this was shillings compared to what I had paid. I started to protest, but the clerk gave me one quick agitated look, and I knew I had to take it and leave.
Mario, the Italian next door, is using the tin can as a bowl now. D-
Yes, I am a tramp. You can call me that now. I USED to feel offended by the connotation that word used to have. I USED to wish to be back waiting tables, at Le Jardin, knowing that one day I could have someone wait on me. Connerie, bullshit.
ReplyDeleteI remember the moment I stopped caring, even if I lived or died. It was at Chelmsford. It was my very first spike. The worst part was when that heartless spike worker, Henry I think his name was, took away my valuables. Henry stuck his fat fingers down my pant pockets and found the few francs and tobacco I had left. I was planning to use my money to leave London one day. As soon as he got hold of it, I angrily asked him what gave him the right to do so. “The law” his snark reply was. Well, that’s the most idiotic thing I’ve ever heard in my life! I saw him smugly slip the francs into his pocket.
At that moment, I felt like nothing. I forgot I was human. If people like Henry treated me like dirt, then why should I even try to make a change in my life? If Henry had the audacity to take my belongings, then what stopped everyone else from stealing everything I had ever worked hard for. I would not let that happen. I wouldn’t succumb to such treatment. So, I decided to not work or own anything.
This way nothing would ever be stolen from me again, my dignity or my belongings. B-
I didn’t choose to live this life and neither did this life choose me. I am forced to be here, in this miserable position in society. You think that I don’t have dreams and aspirations like you? I am a lazy and unworthy mass on earth, breathing too much of your righteous air. But you don’t know anything about me. You have a blinder over your eyes, like some of those idiotic horses tramping around. But wait…you don’t know anything about tramping. You are ignorant to what your actions do to us, to me, the lower class.
ReplyDeleteIts 12:45 pm. My eyelids are itching and puffy, I am fighting to keep them open to write this piece. I just came back from another day of being treated like an animal at work. No one respects me there or even tries to treat me like a human being. I’ve been working in Restaurant T- for almost 6 months. I was so naïve to think that I would be able to change my social position. To think I was happy going to work. Now, I just feel....stupid.
I went to work everyday wanting to show my patron, Mr. Badour, how hard I could work, the urge to progress in life. I worked, 18 hours a day, 126 hours a week. I didn’t even have to time to wash, shave, or sleep. If only this was the center of my hostility. After all the treatment from Mr.Badour, I don’t even get paid all of my wages. He only sees a barbaric face, and not the man who desires to triumph. I am not a human in his unlighted eyes.
You want us to change, but how, if I don’t even have enough money to buy a piece of bread. M-