July 27, 2017--Betty Said: "You're a Swamp Creature"

"I've had it up to here with your bullshit."

Betty gestured that the up-to-here was her throat and slammed the coffee mug on the table before stomping toward the kitchen.

Jack and I looked at each other. "Wonder what's gotten into her," he said.

"I'll tell you what," Betty said from the sanctuary of the kitchen. Jack's voice carries. "You come in here every day and all you want to talk about is your boy Trump. Those are not my words--'your boy'--but yours. As if you and he are pals. I'm sick of him and I'm sick of you."

We could hear her rattling dishes in the sink. She was not only waiting tables but dishwashing. It was the height of the season and every business was shorthanded.

"I didn't know there were rules about what we can and can't talk about," Jack said. I looked around and was happy that for the moment everyone else having breakfast appeared not to be paying attention to us.

From the passthrough window Betty said, "You're such a hypocrite."

"Me?" Jack sounded incredulous. "I'm a hypocrite?"

"If the shoe fits," she said, referring to Cinderella. If Jack knew the reference it would not have made him happy. I enjoyed it and chuckled.

"I can't wait to hear this," Jack said to the room since a number of others having coffee were now tuned into what was happening.

"All I hear is you railing about the government this, the government that. The 'swamp' and that sort of thing."

"Well, it . . ."

Betty cut him off. "And tell me how you earn a living." Jack didn't respond. "I can tell by your sudden shyness that you don't want to talk about that. All you want to talk about is how the government is a swamp and has to be drained and blah, blah, blah. All the time while you're sitting pretty on your government job. I'm sick of it and you."

She came out of the kitchen balancing on one arm three dishes heaped with eggs and pancakes and hash. They were for the booth behind Jack.

"And where do you get your benefits?" Betty glared at him. She turned to the others in the adjacent booth. "I'll tell you where," she said to them. "He works for the highway department. It's a state job. But the state gets lots of money from Washington for the interstate roads and who do you think has his job paid for by that?" She gestured toward Jack, not turning too look at him.

"And, as I was saying, that's how he gets his benefits. Health care that he pays pennies a month for, a state pension where ditto, and a month paid vacation every year. You know how many days vacation I get? I'll tell you--exactly none. And no sick days. If I don't show up for work I get zippo. He, on the other hand gets four weeks vacation, and a dozen personal and sick days. All paid. And paid for by who? The likes of you guys. From your taxes."

Jack sputtered, "I'm talking about the federal government. How it . . ."

"You can't pick and choose buster. If you have no use for the government you need to take a closer look at your own deal. You're a swamp creature too. Like all the people you pick on while you're fat and happy on the gravy train. Paid for, I might add, with my hard-earned money. And yes I do pay taxes. I have three part-time jobs. This one here, four mornings a week, then a hosting job at another restaurant three nights, and I also clean houses on Saturday. Turn-over day. I'm not complaining. These are just facts. But I'm sick of your whining. As if you're the most taken-advantage-of guy in the world. When compared to a lot of folks you have it real easy. A real sweet deal."

"Life is unfair," Jack said.

"That's the best you can come up with? Well pardon my French, but that's just more bullshit. Of course life's unfair--I don't need lessons about that from you--but you need to admit that it's been unfair to your benefit. Talk about unfair. Tell these good people how you got your job in the first place and how much an hour you get." Without pausing she raced on, "Since you won't I will. He makes $22 dollars and hour with time and a half for overtime when he and his crew can wangle it. Up here that's a lot of money. And the only reason he has his job in the first place is because of his uncle who's a mucky-muck in the state Republican Party. He too is quite the complainer. Never saw a government program that he didn't hate. Except the highway department, of course. He's some kind of a no-show supervisor. Talk about the swamp. One thing about these small towns is that nobody has any secrets."

She now was standing opposite Jack with her arms folded across her ample bosom. "So what do you have to say for yourself?" She began to tap her foot. "Notice how all of a sudden he's all clammed up," she said to another couple in the booth behind me. By then they also were deeply interested in what Betty had to say. Both were nodding in agreement.

"I didn't tell you about my health insurance. About his there's nothing for him to worry about. After he retires, which can be after only 25 years, he has insurance for life. Again, paid for by you and me. That's that swampy government again. I'm on Obamacare. Until two years ago, before I got that, I never had coverage. Couldn't afford it. When I needed a doctor I paid for it. Actually borrowed money against the trailer I live in to pay for it. Including when I had my son, who's 15 now. I got help from Obamacare 'cause though I have these three jobs I still didn't earn enough to have to buy into it with my own money. I qualified for a subsidy. But I earned too much to qualify for the maximum subsidy and so the plan I now have has a $5,000 deductible. Which means I go bankrupt if I have to have surgery or something serious."

"That's why Trump wants to fix it, and. . . ." Jack began to say but decided wisely not to complete his thought.

"Yeah, he wants to fix it. Left to Trump, who keeps talking about how beautiful his plan is going to be, he now wants to just repeal it and let 20-30 million lose their coverage. With thousands of people dying for lack of care. That could include me because, I didn't mention it, that I have breast cancer."

"I'm so sorry . . . ."

By then Betty was back in the kitchen.