What it means to be American

Something has been happening in my office that serves as a nice metaphor for what it's like to be young and white and not poor in America today.

About five months ago, one of our managers- an exceedingly nice, quiet woman- began bringing candy to work. She kept it in a box in the outer corner of her cubicle, and it was filled with all kinds of bite-sized chocolate; Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, Butterfingers, Snickers, Hershey's, etc. The first few times I went by, I'd apologetically ask if I could partake. She made it clear with a smile and a permissive wave that it was fine, and I shouldn't even ask. Still, whenever I took a candy bar, I'd say hello and thank her.

Eventually, I began to look forward to Wednesdays, when she worked from home and I could raid her office without being spotted. Some days, by 5pm, I had helped myself to as many as ten bite-sized candy items.

I began to feel that these chocolates were a part of my life. I wasn't paying for them, nor did I do anything to earn them, and yet I still felt that I was deserving. On the days when she was in the office, however, I couldn't make more than one or two runs without seeming like a hun.

Whenever I walked by her cubicle, I would hope she was in the bathroom or otherwise occupied so I could have my fill. But she rarely left her desk.

I began to resent her. I'd peer into her area, see her hunched over and hard at work, and think 'why the fuck don't you ever take a walk?' Each time I passed and she hadn't budged, my annoyance mounted, until finally I noticed in myself a clear distaste. She was a dragon guarding a pot of gold.

What had begun as a nice gesture on her part, and a pleasant surprise for me, her co-worker, had transformed. I felt entitled to the candy that she bought and transported and supplied and gave away free, and when I couldn't indulge myself to gluttonous extents, due to fear of perception, my offended mind would not let her good deed go unpunished. For her kindness, she earned my ire.


I am a marauding, selfish, overfed American of Generation Y. Somewhere somebody is being pelted with rocks while they stumble on treacherous terrain, struggling to survive from second to second. Someday that person will tear me to pieces. I hope I remember to thank them.


























This story is like 30% true.