White Trash

I always enjoyed getting my hands dirty. I never cared which brand of clothing I wore as a status symbol. Just as long as I was comfortable and didn’t look like a slob. I unapologetically curse a lot. I never considered myself low class or white trash. I’m curious as to why yuppies in society deems me as such?

When my parents were together they made a modest living. We went to Disneyland and Universal Studios and other places. My parents got divorced when I was 10. As a single parent my mom made due. It wasn’t until teenage years when we moved to a bad neighborhood or as everyone else referred to it as the hood.

Cops in Arizona are notorious for having an attitude and harassing people. I’ve gotten stopped many times by police in AZ. They would call me names. Your first reaction is to say something back. Then you’d glance at their gun and keep your head low.

As a white person in a predominately Hispanic neighborhood. A 6 foot white kid was pretty noticeable. At first I thought they would hate me. The reality check was they were confused by me. They had tons of questions and would check to see if I was a redneck who was racist. If you don’t create drama and have a good sense of humor. You were alright by me. I have peculiar interests so they didn’t think I was a typical white boy.

We all have stereo types. I guess mine was that I was suppose to get a pass for slacking off, and come from daddy’s money. I happened to be one of the hardest workers and hadn’t seen my dad in two years. So… false. Living in America, race is obviously a tender spot for most minorities. In the hood I was the minority. We joked about it a lot. When ever I did something stereotypical they would say, “That’s that white shit.” Then we’d laugh. I showed my friend Charles a tattoo I designed. I think he was expecting a tribal band or something. “Probably a typical white guy tattoo.” I pulled up the drawing on my phone. The theme was physics with a cartoon style. “Damn, that wasn’t a typical white guy tattoo at all.” Then we laughed.

When I moved to a rich neighborhood with half a million dollar homes and well above a million. My first impression was this is too nice for me. I had hit hard times financially and was back to making minimum wage which was $8 an hour. I worked at a movie theater while living with my mom, who was living with a wealthy roommate. Now I understand that people are rude when it comes to retail. But the things these people cried about were ridiculous. They came in at whatever hour I was scheduled demanding things that were on a corporate level. Sticking fingers in my face with clenched teeth. Thankfully I got another job and went back to warehouse work.

Now I work at a retail store for daddy’s money and rich snobs but they pay better and I’m stock so I don’t have to associate with them. I’ve been referred to as a slave. Talk down to as if I’m backwoods uneducated. There’s a sneer followed by an eye roll from most employees and managers who are usually gossiping or texting. I now realize how white trash I am… and I couldn’t be more proud of where I come from. Because if all the hardship means I’m not a snide, conceded, ego maniac I’d rather take the trauma of being poor. At least we knew we were human beings. Lowly peasants they made us out to be. We never pretended to be something we weren’t. I’ll take the integrity of knowing I’m honest. Over hating myself so much that I dress the same, talk the same, and think the same as the person next to me. So that maybe someone will like me.

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