So I got in the elevator yesterday from ground level after collecting my mail from a mostly empty lobby. The day was bright and sunny and I had two plastic bags full of store bought foodstuffs including ice cream which was already on the melt from the heat of mid afternoon. The two elevators facing to the outside the interim glass barrier with its locking doors which were occasionally visited by other condo owners and the plethora of building renters that had displaced many of the former now octogenarians who had been long time residents. A young woman, her arms full, shepherding a small girl of six years or so approached one of these barrier doors and struggled to present her key into the lock so as to catch an elevator ride up to one of the building’s twenty floors.
It is a strange society within the structures one-hundred and sixty residential units where two small capacity lifts must service three hundred or more people during different hours of the day. Somehow one can avoid a crowd, even when one of them is temporarily out of commission yet one always has the distinct impression of encountering a new face everyday. Sometimes, once in one’s lifetime. The etiquette of those who have spent more decades than most at this address is to accommodate the situation with a customary amount of silent respectful politeness. This does not prevent one from engaging in a brief visual investigation of one’s neighbors and the attitudes that they project. And, in the case of those of us who are pre-Smart phone generation, an occasional friendly word or two offered in the spirit of general felicity. Most times this is welcomed by the fellow travelers and on occasion the lack of response is respectfully honored.
My response to the young woman’s struggle was to extend my arm, using a hand to disrupt the elevator door’s sensor which in fact was the most overt method of demonstrating to those engaged in the key to lock frenzy that the person ahead in the elevator is going to be helpful enough to offer a small good deed of waiting for their ingress.
“Do onto others as you would hope they would one day hopefully do upon you”
The barrier now breached the woman canted forth unsteady from her burdens attempting to steer her tiny charge toward the open door as the tyke meandered back and forth as they often do. The woman entered the cabin with the little girl driven forth just below her, assuming a back to the wall stance just opposite. I politely asked her what floor and then punched the button before my own, assuming a mind my own business pose. The doors rolled closed and a motor somewhere further down the shaft hummed and the elevator was slowly launched skyward. I happened to look over to the woman and her charge and to my shock saw a torturously spread eagled effigy of a fat naked pig struggling to escape the torment of electricity from a mad scientist’s laboratory upon the cover of what appeared to be a child’s picture book. “PORKENSTEIN!”, the books title unabashedly declared. I looked up at the somewhat ethnically Hispanic woman who smiled nervously and then down at the little girl who scowled back at me with unexpected arrogance. I suppose that my own visage registered some modicum of shock and dismay.
The little girl cradled what seemed to be some Pixar inspired Voodoo doll from one of those dark Disney tales that one day later in life will insure a weekly visit to the psychiatrist. I managed to stammer out, “my you certainly have a lot of toys!”, to the little capo. She beamed back with an expression of a PC form of sneering ‘black’ ghetto pride, “I’m going all the way up!” I looked at her overconfident bearing and pondered what it must be like to be at Whitehall palace. Her mother almost seemed cowed under the burden of a full inventory of toys. I looked back at the amorphous ‘white’ thing on the cover and two and two became ’44’. The educational process of what once was America had defaulted to a pernicious form of perversity that only a John Dewey, that fellow traveler who helped steer the path of public learning toward Socialism on a collision course, could appreciate. The kernel of Frankfurt School political correctness and commie insurgency was now in full swing at a kindergarden near you! I, as being branded, ‘WHITE’, was not worthy of respect but only tolerated by virtue of immediate utility. Just punishment in the minds of some, no doubt! Forget the outdated fact of that outmoded slogan, ‘two wrongs never produce a right”, of those locked in an older way of thinking. In the Diversity happy world of ‘gun-free’ gay rights as administered by drones and ‘hate-crime’ vigilant Homeland security, I and the majority of European gene’d elderly males were now demoted to ‘creepy ass crackers’. My only distinction in society now befitted by the ‘C’-word as the latest overwhelming constituency of spokespeople of the airwaves had once been referred to by the ‘N’-word. Or, so Oprah, and her latest cinematic gambit would have her audience believe.
“Is this how the Germans feel after seventy years of continual cinematic and literary harassment by their Zionist cousins?”
I reached my floor and got off in the heavy cloak of silence that one is weighed down with after being thoroughly embarrassed and subsequently enlightened. The Nazi’s had their Hitler youth we have been scrupulously reminded at every turn, and we have our i-phone directed pint sized ‘ubermenschen’ that are, no doubt, not to subtly being conditioned as we speak to exterminate anything ‘WHITE’ from polite society. It’s the new swear word, or so it seems.