A Close Encounter with a Trumper

If you're a gutless liberal, don't worry: MAGAts are mostly soft and brainless.

I promised myself I would no longer talk about 2024, but I want to return to another nightmare year: 2016. (You were likely thinking I would go back to 2021 to talk about the Jan. 6 insurrection, but I plan to rant about it via audio instead.)

Back in 2016 I was unemployed like I am now and feeling shitty about myself and the state of the country—also a lot like now. Unlike now, I was living alone in a cottage on the Jersey Shore, and one night my good neighbor took me to a local dive to unwind. (I had spent the last 12 hours alone watching Breaking Bad.) After downing half a pitcher of cheap beer—which was far from the only beer I drank that day—I turned my attention toward the muted flatscreen television that hung over the bar. My neighbor was busy drunkenly flirting with some woman, so it was impossible to ignore the large screen with its rolling subtitles.

Trump was front and center rallying his supporters, waving his childlike hands, and spewing the usual bullshit and vitriol. I began to move my mouth and gesticulate in a mocking fashion, and some old Army vet, who had not yet said a word to me, started grunting disapprovingly from two seats down. (His wife was sitting between us.) If he had realized he was dealing with a mad man, he would have probably let it go.

It’s not easy to recall the ensuing conversation, but it went something like:

“What’s your problem?”

“You ever served, son?”

“Served? I was a goddam teacher,” I said with a laugh.

“Served in the mil—”

“What goddam difference does it make?” I barked.

“You’re disrespectful,” he growled.

His wife intervened with light attempts to redirect his aggression, but I got a sense he had done this before and that she couldn’t control him. Her scolding seemed more of an attempt to get her objection on the record—that way if I beat his ass or if he beat mine and got arrested, she could say, I told you so. I had more contempt for her than I did for him in a way.

“You should mind your business,” I said. “My father served in Vietnam.”

“But you yourself didn’t. You didn’t serve,” he said.

“Trump didn’t either,” I said. “I’m having a nice drink with my neighbor, and this chicken-shit asshole is right in my face.” I pointed to the screen and repeated my earlier point: “You should mind your goddam business, old man.”

The bartender must have noticed the commotion because he suddenly appeared in front of us, even though I hadn’t seen him since he brought us the pitcher. Before he could ask what was wrong, I said there was no problem and that I was just watching CNN and talking to myself—nothing to see here. I tried not to look at the old man or his wife. I told the bartender I was a first-time patron but made it clear I wasn’t there to start any trouble. In fact, I regretted leaving the goddam house at all.

“You said you were a teacher? I should take you out back and teach you a lesson,” the old man said after the bartender stepped away. Clever man, I thought.

“Have you ever read a book?” I asked.

“No!” he exclaimed, and I laughed inwardly. (I wasn’t trying to escalate the situation by laughing in his face.) He didn’t seem to understand the relevance of the question. Dunning and Kruger came to mind.

How was he going to “teach me a lesson” if he had never read a book?

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In case Mr. Tough Old Army Man is still alive and reading this, here’s the relevance: I don’t like to call anyone “stupid,” but stupid is as stupid does (to quote Forrest Gump). If you want stupid speeches, stupid presidents, and stupid policies, then by all means continue not to read but, nonetheless, vote. (I love how even the dumbest of the dumb find a way to do that every four years.) Keep on “owning the libs” at your own expense. Trump has already betrayed you, and he hasn’t even retaken office yet.

But if you ever decide that stupidity and ignorance are no longer serving you—or the country—the first step is to read a fucking book. I’d be happy to recommend several. I just hope your teachers taught you how.