DANDELIONS: Pride & Prejudice in Minneapolis

Lars has never looked better. His hair and beard are newly-trimmed (the salons are finally open). He wears a Patagonia pull-over. His legs are tanned (he’s been to all the protests) and he wears aqua Hoka One One running shoes. As he sips a cappuccino from Starbucks, his eyes gleam with righteous fervor.

I’m a little afraid of him.

“The police,” he tells us, “must be disbanded.” Lars stands in Reba’s studio. He can only stay a moment. There’s another protest at the Minnesota State Capital.

“I’ll admit,” Reba says, “these aren’t good times for the authorities.”

“That’s putting it mildly.” Lars adds a few profanity-laced slogans, popular among protesters. He’s preaching to the choir. Reba is an old-time socialist. She’s an artist, a one-worlder. As for me, I never trust anyone.

“I’ve got to go,” Lars says, looking at his iPhone 11 Pro. He’s a reporter with a nonprofit media corporation, and never misses a protest over the death of George Floyd.

“Careful out there,” Reba advises him.

“Say His Name!” Lars calls back, defiantly.

After closing the door she turns to me. “I hate that guy.”

What? I’m perplexed. “Lars is the most articulate and ‘woke’ person we know.”

“He’s the biggest gas bag, you mean.”

Well, that too.

Reba throws herself into a leather chair, crisscrossed with duct tape. Above her head is a poster of Che.

“He is well-informed,” she says. “He knows all the right terms. He’s disgustingly biased for a reporter, but that’s what reporters are right now. As for real change, that’s the last thing Lars, or any of these affluent protesters want.”

“What do they want?”

“They want to feel good. They want to blame someone else for their prejudice.”

“Prejudice? But…”

“But nothing. The protesters don’t want to make friends with any of these people. Or invite them to their neighborhoods. Or schools. Go into any big company. And not the warehouse or loading dock. But the cubicles and offices, where the good jobs are. You’ll see nothing but white faces. If any of these protesters had any guts, they would walk into their fancy-ass employers and demand to see a brown face at every fourth desk. All the way to the top. But they won’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because the well-off want nothing to do with the lower classes. Do you think they want them in their offices? Showing up on bowling night? The Twins game? Or coming to Jessica’s next party? I’ll tell you something, it would be her last party. Or one any of her friends would come to.”

I wondered out loud. “Is that what America is, one big high school?”

“Exactly,” Reba said. “Successful people want to have fun. They want to hang with people like them. Working folk are messy. They shop at Walmart. Their cars rattle and smoke. They have to work early in the morning, getting the Egg McMuffins ready. What fun is that?”

Not much. “I wasn’t too popular in high school.”

“That’s because you lack ambition. And you hung out with the wrong crowd.” She cocks an eye at me. “I think I might have liked you in high school.”

Reba, I’ll take that as a compliment.

Richard Donnelly

Richard Donnelly

Richard Donnelly lives in Minneapolis, Minnesota. Classic flyover land. Which makes us feel just a little… superior. Mr. Donnelly’s first book is ‘The Melancholy MBA.’ published by Brick Road Poetry Press.