By a poor person.

By any standard I’m poor. I make about $200 a month more than I pay in monthly rent. In a good month. I depend on government food stamps because I need a good chunk of that $200 for gas and insurance on my old, fuel-inefficient vehicle to take me to my job. Literally every pair of shoes I own is falling apart, and the thought of buying a new piece of clothing, something that fits, is laughable. No one is going to die and leave me an inheritance, and until I can manage to earn, like, three times what I do now, nothing is going to change. 

Conservatives hate me. That’s pretty clear; they would like to make it harder for me to get those food stamps, and they don’t like the idea of rent control or a minimum wage. You are worth what you own in their world; and I don’t own much. 

But liberals, for all their liberally-talk, make me feel just as less-than. Because do you know what liberals harp on when they aren’t harping on social justice? Eating healthy and saving the environment. 

Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m all for social justice and environmentalism (just like I wouldn’t object to owning more!), but some of these things are a privilege. It’s a privilege to be able to afford a fuel-efficient car. It’s a privilege to have the means and energy and time to buy always organic and never paper. It’s a privilege of income, of health and of leisure time. 

Do you know what a day looks like for me? I’m up by 6:30, out the door by 8 with three children fed and dressed, four lunches packed. By 9 I’m at work. At two I get off and have about two hours to work on my second job from home or attend classes/complete homework for my college degree. Then I pick up the kids by 4:30, bring them home, feed them, play/read/clean up, put them to bed at 8, and go back to my work/school/housework for another few hours. By midnight I’m ready to rinse and repeat the next day. Weekends I do laundry, grocery shopping, catch up on work/school/housework from the week. 

Sometimes I buy the cheapest food. 

Sometimes I buy prepared food. 

Sometimes I use paper dishes. 

I drive an 18 year old car. 

I don’t garden. I shop at Walmart and its ilk. I forget my grocery bags. I don’t make my own soap. I use traditional shampoos and antiperspirants. 

It doesn’t really matter which side of the fence I’m walking down; getting into the clubhouse requires a privilege card, and I can’t afford one.