Loving the Illegals

The work line was forwarded to my cell phone. It chirped at me during the middle portion of my ice cream sandwich.

She beat around the bush for a bit, then asked me whether the Texas Workforce Commission was illegally discriminating against her by suggesting she learn Spanish to help her get a receptionist position. The weary woman said she was 40 years old and couldn't learn Spanish tomorrow.

I sympathized with her frustration and told her I'm not a labor lawyer, but that if a job required a bilingual employee then her inability to speak Spanish seemed to be a legitimate reason to not hire her. Like a company not hiring a disabled person for a job requiring heavy lifting. I recollected that the employer had to make reasonable accomodations for disabled folks, but being monolingual is not a disability.

It took a few tries to convey the overall message to her.

"So basically you're saying you're with the illegals. Fuck you!"

Not exactly what I had in mind after spending five minutes of my evening and some cell phone airtime to try to help someone.

Everyday realities like those experienced by my caller continually inflame the white trash extremists in our midst, friends. The folks who can't cope with the truth -- that they have fewer marketable skills than a 18 year old bilingual high school grad -- would rather blame the world for their problems and hide behind racist dogma. They'd rather seek legal redress for their "injury" then take positive action to make things better in their own lives. Ironically, it is these same extremists who accuse other racial groups of laziness and mooching off the government.

It's just easier to complain, call random attorneys out of the phone book, and get drunk.