What’s happening to this country? It use to be that you could work hard and prosper. That if you gave something your all, you got your all back. But lately things haven’t been the same. Morals are dying. The fiber of this nation is weaker than wet cardboard. All I want is a fair system, one you can count on for you and your children. One where, if I give my waiter a seven hundred dollar tip, he’ll give me the social media jerkoff I deserve.

Oh, Mr. Big-Shot-Working-Olive-Garden-On-A-Tuesday-Socialist-Looking-Young-Adult, thinking I’m just walking around town giving everyone who refills my water a hug and a loan. Check your horoscope again, yuppie, because last time I checked, it’s common courtesy for you to take my pasta stained hundreds and cash them online for some sweet sympathy shares, not quietly stuff the cash in your work slacks like some fake Italian cuisine peddling politician.

Waiter Inline

This was no bribe, this was a payment. I didn’t do this to fund your band’s experimental EP that only uses natural sound as an instrument. I didn’t do this to help continue your blog reviewing Bernie Sanders’ outfits. And I certainly did not do this out of the kindness of my own heart, an organ somehow containing both the emotional depth of a frozen sheet of vinegar water and the bottomless cynicism of a fourteen year old’s secret poetry journal.

I did this for Tumblr. I did this for Facebook. I did this for mothers who send these kinds of stories to their struggling 20-something children, giving them hope that someday they’ll place the free bread basket so elegantly that a stranger hands them a four year degree in anything besides philosophy.

What must go through the mind of someone who receives a gift, and doesn’t even consider doubling up that physical present with one of online attention? A person so isolated, so gripped by their commitment to “the real world” that they refuse to adapt. It is the mind of a person in the past, and a real dick of one too.

What do you gain, sitting in your mud hole without so much as a notification? Is it peace? Is it calm? Is it my seven hundred dollars, you little turd?

I hope you’re happy with yourself, because thanks to you I will go on unnoticed, perhaps turned off forever from the prospect of charity. You may look at me and wonder if altruism is real at all, when you should be more concerned that knowing and properly using the term “altruism” is the first time your philosophy degree has ever come in handy.

Now if you excuse me, I have to go tell my daughter we can’t afford her seven hundred dollar face surgery, all because someone didn’t snap a single selfie with my dollar dollar bills.


“Luke Strickler is a writer in New York City and a person everywhere else. See more of him @Luke_Stricklerwww.luke-strickler.tumblr.com, and on his parent’s fridge.” 

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