Whose America?

Chuck had never had much money. He lived broke. Sometimes, he would imagine himself rich, pretend to have serious cash, and go around, for a week, living it up. Buying, eating out, swiping credit cards he couldn't pay, and making the most of things by consuming like a good American citizen.

Then he'd crash. His money, an illusion, would dry up, his credit cards would max out, and Chuck would be shaken out of his daydream of a man not living- check-to-check. Which wouldn't have been so bad, if he hadn't lived so close to so much stuff. Chuck had been programmed to know that he had to have new things, and lots of them. It made people feel good, just like the ads showed. These things surrounded him, called out to him, whispered his name. 'Buy me,' they pleaded from billboards, magazines, TV commercials, and the sides of buses. A city is like a big infomercial, Chuck thought. He couldn't walk with his eyes closed, but he knew he had to stop buying for the sake of buying.

The ten million other people that lived somewhere close to Chuck had it together. They paid their bills, bought what they needed, saved for the future, and kept their collective eye on the ball. At least, it seemed that way. They just looked like they had their lives in order. Chuck, on the other hand, walked down the street feeling like he had a sign on his shirt that said 'fuck up.'

Although, one day, not so long ago, he started to get the feeling that he might be wrong. Every time he turned on his computer, or read some article buried on page 9, he let his mind get infected with another picture of America. The image that came through was really, really different. These reports talked about nine million American kids without health insurance. How the hell was this possible when everyone he saw had a Range Rover or Iphone. The articles brought up New Orleans once in a while, and said that the historic city still only had about 60% of its pre-Katrina population, and that it could be wrecked again if another strong hurricane hit close to it. That type of story really confused Chuck, when he had also heard about hedge fund managers clearing millions is a day by literally warping the stock market. Didn't these guys feel a little bad about their blatant exploitation of the innate desire of everyone to make a good life for themselves?

Then chuck got a little angry. How did things get so screwy? Who let this happen? Weren't there laws to protect the average Joe from getting royally robbed? Chuck's stomach started to growl, and his head began to spin. He stepped outside in his neighborhood. the sun felt good. He stopped thinking about anything for a whole minute. A smile crossed his face.