Stories of Poverty

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I could write a story about how I was profiled when I arrived at the Oakland greyhound station. How when my boyfriend and I walked past the security guard he hesitated and then said, “You two are fine.” Later I would find out that the routine not only consists of checking luggage for harmful weapons and substances, but of frisking passengers, arms spanned, legs apart. Or instead I could write about how my bus going to Reno was delayed at the top of Donnar pass. How all thirty-five of us spent five hours watching the lights of cars and semi-trucks go past our windows. How the bus driver failed to inform the passangers of the whys and hows throughout entire duration of the delay. Just a few words passed down like a static game of telephone; something about the chains being broken, or not being the right size. “There’s no greyhound hub in Truckee. We’re going to have to wait for a driver to come out here from Reno.” “Just tell us what’s going on man. Tell us whats up it ain’t going to change anything now.” How three hours into the delay, the woman behind me proudly lit her cigarette shaking her head in defeat, “Fuck this. Ain’t nobody getting off this bus” she said. How a patrol officer was called in to “investigate” three separate parties who had begun smoking marijuana and tobacco shortly thereafter. “Nobody is going to confess?” he said looking away from my seat. I could write about the woman who walked in with seven reusuable grocery bags filled with her belongings. How she spit in my eye while yelling, accusing the man next to me of moving her purse. “You don’t just apologize to a woman, you say you’re sorry” she yelled, “If that bitch wasn’t next to you boy…” How I didn’t know what else to do but look away. These are stori... ... middle of paper ... ...reer. Needless to say it is not something I would normally put energy into and I had much difficulty finding other friends in my circles who had become avid users of popular social media platforms. We sat for a while in silence. I glanced over and noticed he had switched to playing Michael Jackson. “Hey, hey,” Keith was tapping Anne on the shoulder. “Do you know how I can download more MP3s?” Anne turned around looking at me and said she did but that he needed the internet connection for it. Keith slumped back in his seat. “Do you know how...?” I decided that finding free MP3s and downloading them would be far too complicated of a task to teach someone without glasses. I told him in order to learn new phones you just have to play around with them. However I am questioning whether seeing the screen was Keith’s real obstacle to enjoying the benefits of technology.

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