I voted for Donald Trump. I know, I know — I’m the worst — but you can hate me later.
I recently visited Washington D.C. to witness the historic inauguration of President Donald Trump. I stayed with one of my friends who attends school in D.C.; the university will remain nameless, but I can assure you that the entire student body is completely polarized to the left.
I quickly realized that Washington D.C. is a capitol in more ways than one — D.C. is also the hub of the very metropolitan, millennial crowd divinely endowed with their own reverent virtuosity. Pompous patrons of progressive politics.
The diversity left much to be desired. Don’t get me wrong, they all kinda sorta looked different — a few cliques of different backgrounds strewn around — but they all dressed in that same boujee ensemble so often worn by the urban elite. However, what set them together and homogenous was that they all shared similar ideas. Just because they ‘looked’ different, didn’t mean they thought differently. They were all drinking the same soy-based, kale-infused, fair-trade guaranteed proverbial kool-aid.
My friend showed me around campus and his neighborhood and damned if I wasn’t a leper. Everyone could tell I was in town for the inauguration. They just could. I can’t explain it, maybe it was the clothes I was wearing or my meat-’n’-potatoes frame, but something must have screamed nonbeliever. Twice I was singled-out by the volition of my apparent abhorred disposition. And yet the world’s smallest violin began to play, is what these Triggly-Puff SJW’s would say had I told them I was being discriminated against.
My friends’ roommates were of the fervent persuasion that if they protested the inauguration hard enough, they might just block Trump’s presidency. It was the weekend, so they had no classes to attend, and short of employment themselves, they tried their darndest but ultimately came up short at the hands of a Democratic-Republic. Sad!
They did have plenty of questions for me, as I was no doubt the only Trump supporter within miles of their bastion of liberal conformity. They wanted to sit down and have a conversation.
In practice, this turned out to be an inquisition: a three against one witch trial. Off the bat they told me I was a sexist pig (which, to be fair, is not altogether that untrue). I was called a white-supremacist for supporting the Pipeline, never mind the fact that the friend I was staying with is black; making me a rather misinformed white supremacist. I had to look up what exactly a “cisgender white male” meant after being called one, and realized instantly that the English language is quite voluminous, though even more petty in its meticulousness; an awful vocabulary to waste, which these enlightened folks proved wrong. When I mentioned I like Toby Keith, who played at the inaugural concert, I was pegged a white-nationalist. They asked about my opinion of science, and understanding that it really could get that ridiculous, I told them that the process entirely is a myth. They didn’t get the joke.
Don’t get me wrong, I love debating and arguing. Especially when it gets ugly. I thrive in these conditions. But I was the guest. I was outnumbered. They cut me off and called me a bad name instead of letting me finish speaking. They didn’t have a conversation, they threw a hissy fit.
That wasn’t even the worst part. One of the roommates from Los Angeles had the gall to ask me if I had ever eaten at Chick-fil-a when suggesting places to eat. I was far more insulted by that question than any of their actual insults.
I guess since this is the opinion section, and not a sporadic journal entry of my trips, I should give an opinion here. I really don’t have anything other than wwwooowww is D.C. a cult. That, and it was disheartening to see so many people — who claimed to be open-minded and tolerant — act bitter and regressive toward open dialogue. Labeling me as sexist and racist does more to exonerate people who actually share bigoted ideologies than it does convincing me that I am wrong.
This is all to say that both sides, because Lord knows my side has room for improvement, should trade the characterizations for ideas.