0nionSkin

Here’s my left tit. Fuck Tumblr @staff for this new policy.

Like as stated above for example, use open source software. Switch from chrome to firefox. Read the terms and conditions.

Shop at antique/thrift/pawn stores and stop buying everything new.

Barter. Exchange services, items, or skills with your peers. Are you 16 and able to drive your friends around? Carpool, and ask that your friends pay you back with food sometime, or teach you a skill that they have. Maybe that band kid is really good at knitting. Learn how to do that.

There’s always a lot of work to be done and not all of it requires experience, a specific skill set or being legally an adult.

Seriously. 4 years ago, I’m cashiering at a whacky mart on a register that holds all the smokes and alcohol. It’s 10pm and these two young men (early 20s) come up to the counter. They have three random novelty items (I don’t remember they were), but it was strange and unusual to get odd items this late at night. Maybe it was for some fraternity, I don’t know. It’s a college town so I get weird stuff from frats a lot. I scan the items and tell them their total is $22.xx.

Grinning at each other, they reach into their jackets and slam down two gallon zip-lock bags, full of only pennies. I stare them in the eye, but they didn’t even look back at me. Everyone else in line groan and went to other registers. These two kids knew what they were doing, but they didn’t know what they were in for because I prepared for this; I knew this was going to inevitably happen. I grinned with them, because I was gonna get paid during this. These pranksters are here for recreation. This convo occurs between Me, Ringleader (the other guy was silent and awkward), and a friendly coworker of mine.

Me: Is this $22.xx?

Ringleader: …

Me: Did you count it?

Ringleader: Nope.

Me: Are you going to?

Ringleader: Nope.

Me: Is it at least $22.xx?

Ringleader: Don’t know.

Me: Nice.

Coworker: Hey! You guys can use the self checkout. It can take all of your coins at once.

Me: Oh, don’t worry about it Cowor–

Ringleader: Nope, don’t trust them lady.  (Partner laughs)

Coworker: What? Why!?

Ringleader: Doesn’t count all your change right.

Coworker: I’ve used them before. It really works!

Me: (to Coworker) I got this.

I unpacked the ziplocks and threw all the pennies on the counter. It was a beautiful, massive shitstorm of a mess. And I digged in it. I was Frank in a dumpster in ‘It’s Always Sunny’. The two, still averting my gaze, start chuckling as if they were taking away my dignity. They whisper to each other “Dude oh my God,” “Dude yeah,” “Dude, hilarious.” I counted each penny, one by one. My coworker comes up to me.

Coworker: Guess I’ll help you count this.

Me: Don’t worry about it.

(She looks at me confused. Then she puts on her ‘get down to busy’ look.)

Coworker: I got your back.

Me: Oh…ok.

We worked up a system where we counted ten, put them in a pile, then with ten stacks of ten pennies we separated them, making $1 piles. We made progress slowly but surely. Some customers came to the line, but we advised them to get to another line. Some of them looked at us confused, but when they saw the counter full of pennies they understood. Some decided to wait, but when they realized it wasn’t going to take just a few minutes they took their leave. Another register in the liquor department opened so it wasn’t too bad for other customers. We get to about $12 (about 10min in) until I “knocked” over the piles.

Coworker: Neontonsil!

Me: Oops. Sorry.

(Coworker looks at my grin. I give her a wink and tilt my head, motioning her to leave)

Coworker: You know what, I think I better let you do this.

Me: Ha, alright.

(Coworker leaves. I look at the two guys. They are absolutely stunned at the fallen piles of pennies.)

Me: (To Ringleader) Yeah, I’m going to have to count all of this again.

Ringleader: ….Ok.

I started from zero. I count slower then ever, and made my way back up. The duo is entirely silent. I get to about $7, when suddenly I say:

Me: Drats. I lost count. I better start all over again.

Ringleader: Really?

Me: Oh yeah man.

Ringleader: Why!?

Me: I lost count, sir. I could be in trouble if my register doesn’t have the right amount of cash, and I don’t want to rip you off.

Ringleader: …

It’s about an hour later. My manager walks past, looks at me. I smile at him, and he looks at the counter. He walks away without a word. I eventually count all the change and surprisingly they had only $18!

Me: Hmm, I think that this is $18.

(The duo has been dead silent. They look done for the night.)

Me: I’ll recount it.

I fucking recounted it.

Me: I think this is actually $19.xx.

(Without a word, the Ringleader whips out a $5)

Me: Seriously? You had cash?

Ringleader: Needed to get rid of my change.

Me. No problem. I’ll just recount this again. I want to make perfectly sure that this is $19, since I counted $18 the first time.

Ringleader: Are you kidding me?

(I shake my head no, completely serious)

He takes out a $20 bill straight out of his pocket and throws it at me. My coworker gives the biggest WHAT THE FUCK face. Internally, I die as well, because they were smart enough to have a backup plan. And the fact that he was touching his cash in his pocket the entire time kinda messed with me. I take the cash, do the transaction, give him his change, thanked him and wished him a good night. The two start to put their pennies back in the ziplock bags and I didn’t help them at all. I watched them just as how they watched me. Lots of pennies dropped to the floor, but they didn’t care to pick them up. It looked like their souls were sucked out of them. It was past midnight and I clocked out way past when I was supposed to. A lot of my coworkers gave me a thumbs up or told me good night. Even my manager told me ‘good job,’ the only two words he ever said to me. Went to bed at the dorms after such a great petty penny night and crashed. Strange to say, but I’d love to count pennies again.

A number of people in the discussion are married.

One member of the discussion said that it was important to her and her partner, and that they knew “no one else could be my husband, and no one else could be his wife” and only a few minutes later, “his other partner is just as important to him as me”. I was struck by how unhealthy this was to not see that these two statements contradict each other. A lot of people were defensive.

It really sort of hit me how odd it was that these people could reject so many of society’s norms around relationships, but be unable to let go of marriage. 

Some of the argument was that there were financial benefits to marriage. I did some research: all the people are living in England. The gist of the benefits is: if you’re in a very particular tax situation, you could be £200 a year better off, possibly; it’s easy to commit low level legal tax loopholes by passing property, assets and businesses between you; some pensions allow you to receive some of your deceased partner’s pension; you don’t pay inheritance tax (something that only impacts extremely wealthy people). And… that’s the whole entire lot. People who are married must know they’re not getting special extra money for being legally tied to each other.  

Part of me thinks it shouldn’t matter, people should do what makes them happy and marriage means different things to different people. 

But I also see an institution that rose up to treat women as property. One that was pushed by religion to keep people toeing the straight monogamous no-breaks-up line. One that until incredibly recently always excluded queer people explicitly and often still does. 

I see a social concept that pushes not breaking up, even when you’re hurting each other more than you make each other happy. Not breaking up, even when you’re being abused. I see a social concept that treats two adult humans as a single unit. 

You cannot become one with another person. You do not have an other half. I don’t have the energy to type all the ways it fucks up your ability to function to see the world this way but it’s basically an endless list.

I want to say live and let live, I want to accept a difference of opinion, but I think marriage is so toxic society can only heal if we give it up completely. 

Here’s a short list (with sources) of things ICE has recently done which are both illegal and immoral:

Kidnapping

Homicide

Torture

Child Abuse

Sexual Assault

Child Neglect

Child Endangerment

Illegal Searches

More Illegal Searches

Lying About Warrants

Harassment of US Citizens

Wrongful Arrest

Police Impersonation

When injustice becomes law, resistance becomes duty. Law does not always equal justice. 

If those who create and enforce the law act in an immoral and abusive fashion, there is no moral obligation to follow the laws which they create to protect themselves and cow their victims into obedience.

I work in a non-restraint facility for special needs kids (21 and under) with extreme behavioral issues. I’m talking real violent stuff. Sixteen and twenty-one year old boys who can (and do) home-run swing desks at your head.

As a non-restraint facility, we are trained to respond to these outbursts in the most non-threatening, non-confrontational way possible, while still protecting both the bystanders and the person currently attacking us.

We are monitored every second of our shift to make sure the safety and dignity of our clients is maintained, especially–and just let me emphasize this–the safety and dignity of the person attempting to hurt us. Their right to be treated fairly and with empathy is not forfeit just because their brain chemistry fucked them up today.

We have to be calm, regardless.

We have to be gentle, regardless.

We can never respond with any kind of force, ever.

Those rules apply to all the staff, all the time, no matter what.

So when I hear bullshit about how somebody “reached for their waistband” or they were “resisting,” when I hear yet another police officer got off because the situation was “scary” or he “feared for his safety” or whatever the fuck, I lose my shit.

You wanna talk about how you were frightened for your safety, walking up to someone in the middle of a psychotic episode? Yeah, well, I’ve been there. Pretty regular–probably twice a week, at least–no gun, no taser, with guidelines that state I cannot even use my fucking thumb because that’s considered “grabbing” and therefore a “restraint.”

And you know what? I’ve walked away from every one of those. I haven’t died. I’ve never even been seriously injured. We defused the situation in ways that didn’t involving riddling the other participant with bullets and at the end of the day, everyone went home. Go fucking figure.

And yet–and fucking yet–I keep hearing “not all cops.”

“Not all cops” are bad. “Not all cops” shoot innocent people .3 seconds after rolling up on the scene. “Not all cops” are racist fuckbags, misusing power for a personal joyride. “Not all cops” rape people at gunpoint (and get off scott-fucking-free).

Yet, at my place of employment, somehow everyone is calm in a crisis. Somehow everyone responds to violence with non-violence. Somehow everyone is always able to act like a goddamn compassionate human-being in the middle of the worst kind of street fight–

but you’re telling me that cops, people paid to protect, can’t all do what I do?

You’re telling me that cops, trained to respond to crises, can’t all respond to the same crises, with the same skill, that I do?

And you’re telling me that cops have to stick together in the face of these “potentially false” accusations. That cops have to support each other, no matter what, because their job is dangerous or whatever. That yeah, some cops, but ~actually, sweetie, not all cops~

Fuck that noise. My job is dangerous, too. But you better believe that if anyone sees a member of our staff breaking regulation, their ass gets reported immediately. That person loses their clearances; they can no longer be hired in the field, anywhere. There’s no moving to another district. There’s no finding another location. We make it stop.

So until every cop is cleaning house, until every cop stops this strategically blind bullshit, until every cop refuses to stand by and watch the rampant abuse and corruption inherent in this system, until all the bad cops are weeded out and unemployable–

so by now you’ve definitely heard that it’s legal not to open the door to ICE if they only have an administrative warrant, but what does that look like? how do you tell if the warrant is administrative or judicial – especially if you read little or no English?

here are photos which show the difference. they were posted publicly on facebook today, July 14 2019, by Kelly Hayes, a journalist at Truthout. the original fb post can be shared here. here’s the text from her post, in English and Spanish. bolding is mine.

English:

Y'all ICE has successfully been turned away from at least two homes in New York because they didn’t have a warrant signed by a judge. So while ICE cannot be trusted to follow the law, it is crucial that folks know that they legally do not have to open the door if all they are presented with is an administrative warrant (which are signed by ICE agents). They need a warrant SIGNED BY A JUDGE. Here’s what an administrative warrant looks like versus what a judicial warrant looks like.

Español:

Hola todxs, ICE/La Migra ha sido rechazada en al menos dos hogares en Nueva York porque no tenían una orden judicial firmada por un juez. Si bien es cierto que no podemos confiar en que la Migra siga la ley, es importante que todxs sepan que legalmente no tienen que abrir la puerta si todo lo que se les presenta es una orden administrativa (que está firmada por los agentes de ICE). ICE necesita una orden firmada por un juez. Así es como se ve una orden administrativa (la primera foto) y así una orden judicial (la siguente).

And the problem with seizing THAT is that it isn’t real. It’s based on confidence and what people might conceivably pay for it. And if you just seize it, that confidence tanks. And then that wealth evaporates.

The problem with capitalism isn’t that there’s a bunch of old dudes sitting on hoards of cash. It’s that they’ve collectively created a system by which they have ludicrous social and economic power based on the PROMISE of hoards of cash. That don’t exist. They have created a social stratum in which debt is money.

And she’s supportive of my writing about queerness but also kind of bitter about how quickly her entire generation’s history has disappeared into a bland “AIDS was bad, gay marriage solved homophobia” narrative, and now we’re having to play catch-up to educate young LGBTQ+ people about queer history and queer theory. It gets pretty raw sometimes.

I mean, a large part of the reason TERFs have been good at educating the young and queer people haven’t is, in the 80s and 90s the leading lights of TERFdom got tenured university positions, and the leading lights of queerdom died of AIDS.

When an epidemic happens, public health agencies spend millions of dollars trying to understand what happens: Why are people sick or dying? What caused it? Who else is at risk? Government health departments like the Centres for Disease control and private companies both invest hundreds of millions of dollars into preserving public health. This happened in 1977, when military veterans who all attended the same gathering began to get sick with a strange type of pneumonia, with 182 cases and 29 dead, and the CDC traced the illness to a bacterium distributed by the air conditioning system of a hotel they all stayed at, and in 1982, when seven people died of tainted Tylenol, and pharmaceutical companies changed the entire way their products were made and packaged to prevent more deaths.

Meanwhile, the AIDS epidemic took six years to be recognized by the CDC (1975-1981) because at first the only people dying were intravenous drug users, which is to say, heroin addicts; when it was recognized, President Reagan’s government pressured the CDC to spend as little time and money on AIDS as possible, because they literally didn’t think gay lives were important. So yes, hospitals refused to treat them and medical staff treated them as disgusting people who deserved to die, but also, there was very little funding for scientists to understand what this disease was, what caused it, where it came from, how it spread, or how to stop it. The LGBTQ+ community had to organize and fight to get hospitals to treat them, to fund scientific research, to be legally allowed to buy the drugs that kept them alive, and to have access to treatment. An effective treatment for AIDS wasn’t found until 1995.

And it’s ongoing; a lot of the difficulty of fighting AIDS in Africa is that it’s seen as “the gay disease” (and thanks to European colonialism, even African societies that used to be okay with us were taught to think LGBTQ+ people are bad).  Even now that we have medications that can treat or prevent AIDS, they’re incredibly expensive and hard to get; in 2015, New York businessman Martin Shkreli acquired the exclusive right to make a drug that treats an AIDS-related disease, and raised its price from $13.50 a pill to $750 a pill. 

Here’s one history on what it was like to have and fight AIDS, one history on how politicians responded to the epidemic, and if you can get a copy of the documentary How to Survive a Plague, it’s a good introduction, because it’s about how AIDS patients had to fight for their lives. A lot of these histories are imperfect and incomplete, because privilege played a big part in whose lives and deaths were seen as important–Poor people, people of colour, trans people, and drug addicts were less likely to be able to afford or access medical care, and more likely to die without being remembered; histories often tend to focus on straight people who got AIDS through no fault of their own, and then white cis gay men who seem more “respectable” and “relatable”.  

Like, I don’t think it should be an aromantic-exclusive option, or a plan B when you and your best friend are still single at 40 and want to take yourselves out of the dating market.

I’ve heard it mostly as that backup plan, that “if I don’t find anyone, I’ll just marry Trish haha”, and I don’t think that’s even what I’m talking about normalizing. That’s a secondary outcome, seen as “giving up” on finding “real love”, and even if a pair of friends go for it, it’s plagued with this general feeling of “sub par”.

What I mean is that marrying a best friend (or having a committed intimate or emotional platonic relationship) should be seen as just as worth doing as marrying someone you’re in love with. It should be normal for teenagers to try as many committed friendships as they do romantic relationships. It should be normal for someone to say “this is my best friend and if everything works out, maybe we’ll move in together later” or “Trish and I have been roommates for two years now. We’re considering adopting soon, or Trish might carry a child!”

And as an aromantic person, it shouldn’t be strange for me to say “I prefer friendship to romance”. People should hear that and nod their heads like “that’s understandable. John feels the same.”

Hell, I see so many people expressing that they prefer their friends’ company to their romantic partner’s. “My friends understand me better and I think treat me better” and they’re expected to go home to this person, to marry and have kids with this person. It’s bizarre to me. Your platonic feelings for your friend aren’t inferior to your romantic feelings for your boyfriend, and if one of them treats you better than the other, I think you should probably rethink which one is your primary partner.

I also find it strange that it’s not more common in poly spaces for a friend to be considered a legitimate “partner”. In a world where friendships were just as likely to bloom into life partnerships as romantic relationships, I think polyamory would be much more commonplace. “I committed to Josephine about a year ago and now we own a home, but I fell in love with Joe about six months ago and we’re all trying to make it work.” Josephine shouldn’t have to worry about her partner leaving her for Joe just because their bond is romantic and therefore the “sensible” relationship to choose over the other.

I’m just ranting at this point, but I reiterate: committed friendships should not be seen as strange and “sad”, but as a legitimate option for a lifetime commitment. Not just for aromantics like myself, but for everyone. It should just be normal.