they read me because they pity me
timer: 10 min
edits: 2 min
erotica prompt: “Brad gets more of a job than he bargained for when he arrives to clean a pool and discovers a young woman floating unconscious at the deep end.”
Brad stood by the pool. He looked down at his hands and looked back at the chick in the water. She wasn’t moving or it didn’t look like it but he couldn’t be sure because the surface of the water was moving.
He moved closer, leaned in, squinting. Bitch wasn’t moving.
Brad straightened his back, thinking. He had recently acquired his American CPR and First-Aid Certification from the American Red Cross and was trained to handle emergency situation. He nodded slowly to himself, rehashing the steps of the process.
The thing to do first was to call 9-1-1. In the trainings, there had always been someone else present who could be obliged to go call 9-1-1 while also grabbing the First Aid Kit. Now, looking around, he saw no one. He had arrived to clean the pool at the usual hour, 11:20 AM, when he both of the neighbors were usually still at work.
He shook his head, wishing someone else was there to dial so he could get to the act of entering the water and saving the girl. He withdrew his iphone from his pocket and dialed.
A short ring sounded, then a click.
“This is the 911 department.”
“You have dialed 9-1-1. There are seven callers currently ahead of you. Please be prepared to describe your emergency and provide your correct address. Please have proper legal identification at the ready. Thank you.” A click, and a clip of soft music.
Brad put his phone to his lips in frustration and sucked in air. He looked to where the girl lay floating suspended beneath the surface of the water. He wondered how she managed not to float up, as it looked as if she had some fat on her. He couldn’t tell from above the surface.
Been hearing a lot lately from Europeans grateful as hell they don’t live in the US — talk of bigwigs like Boris Johnson renouncing his U.S. citizenship over tax bills from the states, in spite of never having lived there; gaffs at incredible student debt, astronomical medical charges and the general way the United States milks its citizens as cash cows as soon as they reach proverbial adulthood (though, like a patronizing, overprotective parent, won’t trust them with a drink til three years later.)
My distaste, as a citizen, has only grown since I left four years ago. Though not ungrateful for the luxury my citizenship has afforded me — ease of travel with my passport, for instance, or the ease of obtaining a new iPhone every two years under my family’s costly mobile contract, or the high-quality education that ironically led me to escape the holy land of capitalism in the first place — I still feel more emburdened by the things that define Americanness, the debt intended to enslave me, the brute sense of entitlement that follows like a stray dog until you learn to strangle it off, the intuitive affront at things deemed less civilized, that which is dirty, that which is poor; the social obligation to pretend to be nice until you’ve gotten what you want out of someone, to bend over backwards for the customer who, under sacred capitalist doctrine, is always right.
Capitalism has founded a culture based on for-profit falsities, people taught to swindle as a means to an end — a pasted-on smile and a high-pitched “How are you today?!” that, as we all know, is never intended to invite an honest answer. Like most of my friends without affluent parents, I’ve spent years sucking sacred customer dick in the service industry, tolerating patronizing verbal abuses of all those Good Christians who, you never know, might just be having a bad day — so don’t take it personal (if you do, you’ll be fired or worse — sued for inflicting emotional distress.) It pains me to envision forcing myself back into that industry; never again could I felate a customer for the sake of my job unless I go into literal prostitution, which pays better anyway. Fire me for self-defense or a refusal to bullshit, if you must. I’ll find another shit job, there are millions like it out there. That life is a mere mirage of living.
Then there’s the debt. My humble 22 grand used to be enough to keep me awake at night, until I decided it was a social tool to oppress and subdue me (which it is.)
Consider Noam Chomsky’s take:
“Students who acquire large debts putting themselves through school are unlikely to think about changing society. When you trap people in a system of debt, they can’t afford the time to think. Tuition fee increases are a “disciplinary technique,” and, by the time students graduate, they are not only loaded with debt, but have also internalized the “disciplinarian culture.” This makes them efficient components of the consumer economy.”
I sought an education and was charged an inhuman amount as punishment. I do not, have never agreed with this system but have had no choice but to consent — rape at gunpoint is still rape. Seeking education is not a crime; a society which values its citizens and its future must encourage education and install incentives to seek it out, not punitive consequences. The USA has made its priorities quite clear, and they do not coincide with my own. At the risk of sounding like a cocky piece of shit, nothing is more valuable to me than my time, my youth, my vivacity — I refuse to devote the years of my 20’s, all this vigor and passion and potential, slaving away on the corporate ladder, or behind the sales counter deep-throating spoiled white people just to pay down my interest fees. They can tack the debt on me, but they don’t own my hide. Hit me with the consequences, USA. Threaten me with total financial ruin — the way I see it, with all this debt I’m already there. My years are mine. If I am so free, as a citizen of this Great Nation, then free I shall be and far I shall roam, unburdened by chains, financial or otherwise. The debt’s not going anywhere, so I’ll worry about it later on. Right now, I’ve got other priorities (marrying a charming, wealthy Canadian is relatively high on the list. Canada HMU.)