My husband and I went out for breakfast one day this week. There’s a little hole-in-the-strip mall that I like because I can get a half-order of sausage gravy and biscuit. He can’t have eggs benedict but his back up Western omelet choice is perfectly serviceable. There are only seven tables and a counter. Two grandmas were at a table and two at the counter were swiveled on their stools chatting with them. We took a table and ordered. Toward the end of our meal, a couple came in. Her love of the sun was reflected in her leathered face. Hair too long for her age and cheaply dyed blonde, she wore flip flops, cutoffs, and t-shirt with sleeves removed. He was completely bald. Her sported tattoos that covered arms and legs. He was stocky, the skin on his face seemed stretched tight. They looked like Trumpers to me.
Today, I was sporting my “Literally Anyone Else in 2020” shirt.
As Jim was paying our check, I stood and turned just enough to let them see it. She said to him, “I need her shirt.”
“Excuse me,” I said.
“I said I needed your shirt and you need my bumper sticker. I agree with you. He has got to go. I have the green Honda out there…I swear to God, I’ve never had a bumper sticker but I got that one.”
The man had a big smile.
“I was folding t-shirts this morning and figured out that instead of organizing them by color, I’m going to organize by messaging: Yoga, Generally Funny and Trump.”
We were all smiling now.
“Yeah,” she said, “you can choose depending on the level of angst from whatever crazy thing he’s done.”
We wished them good breakfast, they wished us a good day and we departed. Her bumper sticker: The big, bloated baby Trump with the text: Deranged Donald.
The takeaway lesson: I am biased. I took one look at them and judged. I didn’t even know I was like that. From now on, I won’t do that, unless they are waving a flag…or wearing a t-shirt.