REAL ART RERUN
EAVESDROPPING ON AMERICA

This Real Art Rerun was first posted on October 4, 2003.

Yesterday, I went to one of those discount tire places to get some new tires. I always kind of dread the excruciating boredom that accompanies these visits. I usually bring something to read and try to lay low, especially because I go to a place that’s in a rather working-class, fundamentalist, and conservative part of town that’s on my way home from work; given the misguided hyper-patriotism that’s swept through Texas and the rest of the country these past couple of years, I’m always a bit nervous about the “ATTACK IRAQ? NO!” bumper sticker on my car pissing off some pro-war butthole. So after checking in at the front desk, I got a soda and sat down in an inconspicuous corner to read the Howard Zinn one-man play, Marx in Soho.

After a while, I overheard an amazing conversation.

I try not to eavesdrop, but sometimes, especially when I hear people talking about politics, the urge to do so is irresistible. A man and a woman who were both waiting for their cars had been talking about motor oil. That was pretty easy to ignore—I concentrated on Zinn’s resurrected version of Karl Marx talking about how his ideas on the rich exploiting the poor are still quite relevant today. Then I heard a remark that jolted me out of my reading.

“I made a big mistake with this president,” the man said.

“Wait, what did he just say?” I thought to myself while I tried not to stare. You’ve got to understand, this guy, who appeared to be in his mid-sixties, about my father’s age, looked like something out of the “King of the Hill” TV show—that makes a lot of sense because we were in Channelview, the Houston area petrochemical town that could very easily double for Arlen, the fictional community where the show takes place. He was wearing Bermuda shorts, a stained wife-beater tee shirt, had messy hair, and needed to shave. He had a good-old-boy accent. I imagined that he had spent his years doing the same kind of work that the John Travolta character did in Urban Cowboy. I know not to judge a book by its cover, but this guy looked pro-Bush and kill-the-A-Rabs all the way. The woman to whom he spoke looked like she might be a close friend of Peggy Hill. I kept listening and pretending to read my book.

The man continued. “After hearing about all these lies he’s been telling, and I’ve been counting them, I finally figured out that I voted for the wrong man!”

“You got that,” the woman said.

“You see, the Republicans, they say that they’re for business and all, but what that means is that they’re only for the rich and the white-collar workers. They couldn’t care less about the middle-class, the blue-collar workers, and the poor,” he said.

“Yep, yep,” she replied.

“They’re really screwing up the country,” He said. “Now, the Democrats really like the rich, too, but at least they try to help out the middle class every once and a while. They’re not so good, either, but they’re better than the Republicans. We really need to get Bush out.”

“Yeah,” she replied.

Could I really believe what I was hearing? His analysis was essentially the same as my own: both parties are in love with the wealthy class, but the Democrats aren’t quite so dangerous as the GOP; Bush is evil—get him out now. This really kind of blew me away. I’ve been operating under the assumption for years now that white working-class Texans were inexplicably and solidly pro-Republican. I didn’t even realize that an average Texan Joe like this guy would be so class conscious—it was entirely appropriate, of course, that I was reading a play about Karl Marx.

Either I’ve had my head up my ass for years, or things are starting to change. I’ve seen the polls that have shown a steady decline in support for Bush, but, I must say, it’s both weird and uplifting to see some evidence of that decline right here in his stronghold. It’s been a good week for the left what with “Traitorgate,” the Terminator’s transmutation into the Hitler loving “Gropinator,” and Rush Limbaugh’s vile, racist, pill-popping mouth being silenced. Overhearing this exchange in the tire place was like putting whipped cream and a cherry on top.

I’m having a good weekend for once.

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