The 8 Stages of Processing the Trump Reality
Meg
4410

I am making this my last read of the night. Today, I was walking to the bank across the street from my job. Aside from the bulk of my job descriptions’ major duties, I also manage the money our company takes in on a daily basis. So, I was making a quick deposit run.

I was about twenty feet from the bank’s entrance. A truck was pulling into the parking lot. In it, two white men. Elated. They must have been on break. The driver got out of the truck, ran in front of me, and said, “Ma’am, here, lemme get that door for you.”

I am typically kind to everyone. I greeted him, I thanked him for getting the first door. As soon as the first door closed he hustled to the inside door, he opened that one too. I thanked him again. He told me to have a good day and not to work too hard. His words were genuine. I did not question the place from which they came. I could tell in his eyes that he meant every word and his gesture of not letting me open either door, told me that he was an overall sweet person.

He did not see me as a black dot in the middle of white pages, causing a disturbance. He did not see me as a reason to obliterate humanity, set fire to personal property, act a plum fool, or to get so enraged, he could cause bodily harm. He saw me as a woman walking towards the bank’s doors, on a mission regarding my job, and open enough to accept his gesture of being kind.

Today, I was reminded why I have been so calm, at peace, not really too worried about this whole thing. Good people regardless of race, color, creed, occupation, class, status, etc… still exist. And, in the town as small as the one where I work, that bit of happiness was what I needed today to keep remembering. Things are gonna get worse before they get better. This is probably our worse.

Peace, Meg.

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