cheetos attack

10 years into the future
  • me, a chem teacher: so kids, how was your spring break?
  • me: *softly gasps. a single tear rolls down my cheek* attack on titan season 3....
  • Steven: Let's give this weird centipede monster who has been attacking us a chance.
  • SU Fandom: YAAAAAS!
  • Steven: Let's give the Green Dorito who has been attacking us a chance.
  • SU Fandom: YAAAAAS!
  • Steven: Let's give the Giant Cheeto who has been attacking us a chance.
  • SU Fandom: YAAAAAS!
  • Steven: Let's give the Rainbow-Dreaded Giant who wanted to kill everyone a chance.
  • SU Fandom: YAAAAAS!
  • Steven: Let's give the angry Ruby who wanted to kill me out of vengeance a chance.
  • SU Fandom: YAAAAAS!
  • Steven: Let's give this cranky old man with slightly different political views than us a chance.
  • SU Fandom: *angry autistic screeching*

I had a panic attack in my ceramics class today….

Which is odd, in and of itself, because it’s ceramics.

I usually have a great time. I sit next to two other gay individuals and we talk about really pretty girls or the movies we like, or anything under the sun, and this cool older woman likes to recount recipes and tell me natural ways to deal with anxiety and depression. I get to have these great conversations while I am viciously pounding at clay. It’s great.

Today was not a fun day. It started off as normal. We sat down and I started talking about the pretty girl with a “Howl’s Moving Castle,” tattoo (I wanted to marry her simply for that, but that is an entirely different story for a later date) and my two other gay friends started talking about their girlfriends. The topic eventually transferred over to art. This isn’t odd, the three of us are each art majors (each with a different focus). I started talking about being sneaky and drawing this guy in front of me during my biology class. Another girl on the other side of me pipes up and asks, “Was he cute?”

My instant reply is a no. I don’t think guys are attractive which I made abundantly clear. She seemed okay with that, and then I began to rant about my father’s bigotry and hatred for anyone different. Both of my friends (the two gay ladies) agreed with me that it was difficult and saddening. The three of us are minorites, and one in particular is African American/Latino (we’ll call her V). I then said, “I don’t know how to explain to him that many Christians are the cause of this type of hatred. He likes to say other religions are intolerable of his beliefs when he himself is intolerable to change or anyone who is different. I don’t know how to express to him that his president is to blame.”

The girl from before pipes up and starts defending Trump. Instantaneously, I clam up. I don’t like discussing politics with Trump supporters. It turns ugly VERY fast. My friend (We’ll call her E), on the other hand, does not back down. She begins to valiantly try to explain to the Trump supporter that he is a sexist cheeto man that hates minorites and how our nation/states are doomed. E made many valid, factual statements, but the Trumpeteer just kept arguing that he is a business man.

She kept saying that she had friends from all walks of life (same sex couples, Spanish, Native Americans, etc.) and how she isn’t racist or homophobic, but she agreed with many of the plans he had made for the schooling district (apparently, she’s going to be a teacher) or many of his plans in general. She then went on to say that she admires him for his business technique and ability.

E tried once more to argue about his failed business plans and how the electoral college is fucked up, but the Trumpee would only say, “Well, I guess it’s just how you are raised and what you are brought up to believe. I mean, look at me! A lot of people that know me call me a privileged, straight, white girl just because my parents could afford a lavish lifestyle.” E stopped arguing and V quickly changed the subject when the silence became too much.

This is when I began to panic. It wasn’t too bad, but damn, did I want to leave. Everything was too much. I don’t know why the hell I panicked, but I did and I wanted to carve out my lungs and run for five miles.

Now, as I’m typing all of this out, I realize that that’s exactly what she is. She is just a privelleged white girl that will never have to worry about her rights being taken away. She will never have to worry about being deported, or beaten to a pulp because of sexuality or religion. She will never have to fight for her right to simply love someone else. She will never have to fear racial slurs or abhorrent names being slurred her way. She won’t have to worry about buying her next meal or paying for certain bills instead of eating because electricity is more important than eating for one day. She will never have to worry because she is a straight, white women (she isn’t bothered by sexist language, before you say anything).

Of course she doesn’t understand. She will never understand. She will never know how much pain the cheeto has caused because she is the type of person that ever presidential candidate hopes for. She is a sheep. She follows a crowd blindly off a cliff to her death.