Buckle up, dear readers, you’re about to go on a bumpy ride in an anti-Trump Prius with a raging feminist.
Meet the driver, Ruth Mayer, a development and communications consultant in Charlotte, North Carolina. She wrote in the Charlotte Observer about an experience she had with her daughter as they drove back from this year’s Women’s March in Washington, D.C. Thinking she would be on a feminist high all weekend, Mayer was faced with the “heartbreaking” reality that she is a very, very angry person that spreads hate, not love. Well, that’s not her exact conclusion, but that’s the only one possible.
She begins her story:
I had spent the morning sitting on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial with my 16-year-old daughter, Katherine, whose silent tears on election night in 2016 had marked the beginning of this national nightmare for me. She had insisted we drive from Charlotte to D.C. this year so that we could "protest in front of the president’s house." We heard all of the inspiring speakers; we relished the creativity of the posters and slogans. Being among so many like-minded people was comforting. I heard one woman say, "I love being here today. It makes me feel less alone."
I wanted to be with people who shared my anger. Because I have been so angry about Donald Trump this past year. I have been angry at my country for electing this man, angry at my neighbors who support him, angry at the wealthy who sacrificed our country and its goodness for tax breaks, angry at the coal miners who believed his promises.
My fury has been bottomless. I drink my morning coffee from a cup that says, "I hate to wake up when Donald Trump is President." The constancy of my outrage has been exhausting, yet I have not yet found a way to quell it — nearly each day has brought a new reason to stoke the fire. But a day with my daughter, communing with the angry and the aggrieved, seemed a good way to try.
Got it? She’s filled with rage and wanted to be around people who think like her and share her hatred. Unfortunately, Mayer was about to come face to face with someone who was going to teach her a little lesson on love trumping hate:
We were about 90 minutes south of D.C. when I heard a terrible popping sound. I assumed I had blown a tire and headed toward the nearest exit. The popping was followed by screeching — were we now driving on metal? Luckily, there was a gas station right off the exit.
Before I could do anything but park my gray Prius, a man rushed over. "I heard you coming down that road," he said. Before I could say much he started surveying the situation. He didn’t so much offer to help us as get right to work.
Right there is the difference between the Left and Right. Instead of sitting around and complaining, this gentleman had already figured out that the plastic bumper on the “environmentally friendly” car had fallen off and he was going to secure it back in place so these nice ladies could make it home safely. He sounds like a real threat to democracy! Mayer, on the other hand, sounds like someone to generally avoid:
He did all of this so quickly that I didn’t have time to grab the prominent RESIST sticker on the side of my car, which suddenly felt needlessly alienating.
Ouch! That had to hurt.
The man told her, "Just ask any redneck like me what you can do with zip ties — well, zip ties and duct tape. You can solve almost any car problem. You’ll get home safe.” His teenage son added, “You can say that again.”
The short interaction had a profound effect on Mayer, who couldn’t even build up enough rage to enjoy her “liberal podcast” the rest of the way home.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about the man who called himself a ‘redneck’ who came to our rescue,” Mayer said. “I sized him up as a Trump voter, just as he likely drew inferences from my Prius and RESIST sticker. But for a moment, we were just two people and the exchange was kindness (his) and gratitude (mine).”
So, this assumed Trump supporter didn’t murder her right there on the side of the road, nor did he refuse to help her. That must have been the moment she realized the error of her ways.
Nope! It’s not her fault she’s so angry and bigoted. Trump made her that way:
As I drove home, I felt the full extent to which Trump has actually diminished my own desire to be kind. He is keeping me so outraged that I hold ill will toward others on a daily basis. Trump is not just ruining our nation, he is ruining me.
You can't make this stuff up!
Mayer also admitted her angst has turned her into a bad neighbor. Eight years ago, she was very friendly with those on her street, even though they represented a broad spectrum of political beliefs, from Liberal to Tea Party. They dined together, laughed, and held porch parties despite their differences. But since Trump was elected, Mayer says she has “retreated from [her] porch” and largely ignores her neighbors. Was that her choice? No, “Trump’s cruelty and mendacity” are, again, to blame
But she still thinks of the redneck and said perhaps their interaction was a sign:
“[T]hat maybe if we treat one another with the kindness and gratitude that is so absent from our president and his policies, putting our most loving selves forward, this moment can transform into something more bearable?”
Ya think? Maybe she could try that someday. Not likely:
How do we hold onto the fire fueling our resistance to the cruelty Trump unleashes, but also embrace the world with love? I wish I knew.
There’s enough leftist lunacy in Mayer’s story to power a whole fleet of Priuses.