RIFFS is The Ink’s series of satirical posts. Check out others in the series here, here, and here
As a supporter of President Donald J. Trump, I believe in his tariffs even though I recently traded my pants for soup. The president is working for us on levels we can’t imagine. He is playing 4D chess, which, coincidentally, is also his favorite bra size.
I am already feeling the benefits of tariffs. For example, I now work in a sweatshop. And the pay is good: fifteen bucks an hour — though by “bucks,” I mean yuan, and by “an hour,” I mean occasionally. Conveniently, the boss keeps my passport in a safe in his office, so it won’t “get lost.” I get Saturdays and Sundays off, which is nice, because that means starting at 8 a.m. on those days.
The Trump taxes — sorry, tariffs — got me thinking. If entire nations can protect themselves using tariffs, why can’t I do the same? It was time to levy some tariffs of my own. I am sharing my experience with hope that others may emulate the personal isolationism that I have come to “enjoy.”
Isolationism begins at home. How can you keep China out of your shopping cart if you can’t even keep outsiders out of your house? Which is why I began with a two-knock tariff on the threshold for answering my front door. Normally, I would open the door for a solid three-knock, maybe even a heavy-handed two-. Now, the first two knocks are paid by China. Somehow. Don’t ask. I will only open the door after five knocks. I am so alone. But if Donald Trump is your leader, are you ever truly alone?
I have also imposed an 80 percent, across-the-board tariff on books. As a Trump voter, this was not a big sacrifice. The way it works is that I now only read the first 20 percent of any book. The last 80 percent has to be read by China. I just read a great book about D-Day. Fingers crossed those guys make it safely to Normandy.
My zip code tariff has been great. I realized I was letting people from all over socialize with me, just totally ripping me off. Why do you get access to socializing with me? Now I only “trade time” with people from the same zip code. I live in a rural area, so that means just Charles, who at our most recent meetup informed me that he is dying, because his dialysis machine is foreign-made, which we both agreed was “treasonous.”
I’m especially proud of my shower tariff. I read it on Reddit that the water in your very own bathroom could, technically, come from anywhere. Apparently, water doesn’t respect boundaries, which means water is like me, according to my ex — haha. Anyway, if water is from foreign, I have to cut back. My 54 percent tariff on showers has, admittedly, changed my aroma, but once Charles passes, won’t be an issue.
When you’re used to being ripped off all the time, like we in the United States are, this new approach can take getting used to. For example, my compliment tariff requires that I will not compliment someone unless they compliment me first. While I am waiting for that to happen, I have been keeping a notebook of potential outgoing compliments. It’s gotten pretty long, but because my antidepressants were made in India — big no no! — I am feeling less and less of an urge to compliment anyone.
Family reunions will also become complicated. Some argue that the purpose of a family reunion is to bring together people who are related by blood but do not live in the same place. But I do not wish to be invaded by people who are not from around here, any more than I want to avail of affordable foreign goods. From now on, my family reunions will take place at the local cemetery, where I’m the life of the party. Aunt Marge is great company. RIP, Marge. Will need someone to drive me there, though, since I had to give up my trusty Kia.
Thing is, I am willing to suffer for my president. You get used to things, you know? At first, those coupon papers in the mail were not the best substitute for toilet paper, but it’s not so bad now, because I barely have food to eat. What I’m trying to say is, you start to go less often. I’m talking about poop. I also miss music, because so much of it turns out to have been recorded outside Jefferson County. But, luckily, I am good at humming, and humming is totally American.
I’m not going to lie: At first, you get lonely, trying to protect yourself from all non-local contact. But over time you realize that protection and isolation are the last true freedoms. Sure, I haven’t had a hug in weeks. Sure, my house would be better with doors. Sure, I will miss my annual trip to Cancun. But in the back of Walmart, there are inflatable kiddie pools. Sometimes in the summer, they fill one up. So, yeah.
Now that I’m hungry, lonely, and devoid of meaning, I can devote myself wholly to President Donald J. Trump. Without him, I am nothing. With him, I have nothing.
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This post was originally published on The.Ink.