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It’s hard not to partake in a little political profiling
COLUMN
By David Knopf
I was walking to the store last week when a Cadillac SUV rolled in.
I could’ve sworn I heard crude oil being sucked from the earth.
The driver, a large man, had a phone to his ear and leaned as he made the turn.
I noticed a McCain sticker in the rear window, alongside one for Mizzou.
Figures, I thought, Big Business, big vehicle, Big 12.
I was there to make copies for our little business, the one with the shrinking bottom line.
The SUVer was at the register as I walked and flashed an American Express card. That’s the one that says, “Don’t leave home without saying ‘I’m too good for VISA or Master Card!’”
The clerk returned the card.
Rejected.
Have another?
No.
He barreled out, leaving behind a cart full of supplies, including a nice printer.
My father suffered from small-man complex, a trait I inherited. Out of insecurity, he resented big shots, even more than he disliked cowboy hats.
The only Republican he tolerated was Nelson Rockefeller, who happened to be the biggest of the big shots.
But that didn’t stop my father, who like everyone had his biases and inconsistencies, and a jerking knee as powerful as Vesuvius.
Jerking knees get stronger in political seasons, especially presidential ones. Lines are drawn, states are painted red or blue, and monogamous, God-fearing people find out they’re in swing states.
In political races, we learn who we are. Profiling is inevitable, even if some of us don’t want people to know what we think.
Ray Charles would’ve known the SUV driver liked McCain.
I knew before I saw the decal.
I click them off: Democrat, Republican, liberal, conservative. I don’t need to talk to anyone. Faces, clothing, religious denominations and vehicles do just fine, thank you. The larger the vehicles, the more likely the occupants are McCainites. See an eight-year old Honda with stickers on the back window and rust around the doors?
Democrat.
When I drive around, I count lawn signs. Obama has the edge in our neighborhood, where the homes once cost less than in some surrounding subdivisions. Now none of them are worth a dime.
McCain definitely has more signs in the neighborhoods with bigger homes. All except the ones with for-sale signs and foreclosure notices in the window.
Obama did well in the first debate, but I wondered why his face had a red tint and his skin looked waxy. It must be the makeup, I thought, or the 18-year-old Magnovox I was watching.
He wasn’t as brave as I would’ve liked, however. Neither he nor McCain would acknowledge that Iraq, Afghanistan and our military mindset are huge financial drains, and might, just might, have something to do with our economic crisis.
Fellas, the sacred cow is a cash cow in disguise. But there are some things people can’t say, even in a political season.
Obama did say that our country’s reputation isn’t what it should be. My mother would call the way he said it hemming and hawing. The word in Yiddish is pfoompfing.
What Obama could’ve said is that the War on Terror might not be necessary if people liked us more. Especially people with darker skin, red tint, waxy complexion not withstanding.
When the SUV driver’s credit card bounced, some nasty comments ran through my head.
Credit a little overextended? Bad mortgage? Bet those MU season tickets cost a pretty penny! Fuel for that aircraft carrier eating your lunch?
Even in presidential season, even when the profile fits, I keep some thoughts to myself. The truth hurts, so I pfoomf.
David Knopf can be reached at dknopf@kc.rr.com.
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By David Knopf
I was walking to the store last week when a Cadillac SUV rolled in.
I could’ve sworn I heard crude oil being sucked from the earth.
The driver, a large man, had a phone to his ear and leaned as he made the turn.
I noticed a McCain sticker in the rear window, alongside one for Mizzou.
Figures, I thought, Big Business, big vehicle, Big 12.
I was there to make copies for our little business, the one with the shrinking bottom line.
The SUVer was at the register as I walked and flashed an American Express card. That’s the one that says, “Don’t leave home without saying ‘I’m too good for VISA or Master Card!’”
The clerk returned the card.
Rejected.
Have another?
No.
He barreled out, leaving behind a cart full of supplies, including a nice printer.
My father suffered from small-man complex, a trait I inherited. Out of insecurity, he resented big shots, even more than he disliked cowboy hats.
The only Republican he tolerated was Nelson Rockefeller, who happened to be the biggest of the big shots.
But that didn’t stop my father, who like everyone had his biases and inconsistencies, and a jerking knee as powerful as Vesuvius.
Jerking knees get stronger in political seasons, especially presidential ones. Lines are drawn, states are painted red or blue, and monogamous, God-fearing people find out they’re in swing states.
In political races, we learn who we are. Profiling is inevitable, even if some of us don’t want people to know what we think.
Ray Charles would’ve known the SUV driver liked McCain.
I knew before I saw the decal.
I click them off: Democrat, Republican, liberal, conservative. I don’t need to talk to anyone. Faces, clothing, religious denominations and vehicles do just fine, thank you. The larger the vehicles, the more likely the occupants are McCainites. See an eight-year old Honda with stickers on the back window and rust around the doors?
Democrat.
When I drive around, I count lawn signs. Obama has the edge in our neighborhood, where the homes once cost less than in some surrounding subdivisions. Now none of them are worth a dime.
McCain definitely has more signs in the neighborhoods with bigger homes. All except the ones with for-sale signs and foreclosure notices in the window.
Obama did well in the first debate, but I wondered why his face had a red tint and his skin looked waxy. It must be the makeup, I thought, or the 18-year-old Magnovox I was watching.
He wasn’t as brave as I would’ve liked, however. Neither he nor McCain would acknowledge that Iraq, Afghanistan and our military mindset are huge financial drains, and might, just might, have something to do with our economic crisis.
Fellas, the sacred cow is a cash cow in disguise. But there are some things people can’t say, even in a political season.
Obama did say that our country’s reputation isn’t what it should be. My mother would call the way he said it hemming and hawing. The word in Yiddish is pfoompfing.
What Obama could’ve said is that the War on Terror might not be necessary if people liked us more. Especially people with darker skin, red tint, waxy complexion not withstanding.
When the SUV driver’s credit card bounced, some nasty comments ran through my head.
Credit a little overextended? Bad mortgage? Bet those MU season tickets cost a pretty penny! Fuel for that aircraft carrier eating your lunch?
Even in presidential season, even when the profile fits, I keep some thoughts to myself. The truth hurts, so I pfoomf.
David Knopf can be reached at dknopf@kc.rr.com.