"I am a Grady doctor. What do you think I think?"
That's what I said today to the man in the Subway lunch line who asked me what I thought about the Supreme Court upholding the Obama's signature health care law.
You know. The one that will grant millions of Americans better access to health care and improve overall public health? Yeah. That one.
He said it kind of smug-ish and confrontational-ish. Which annoyed the crap out of me.
Then when I gave him my response he returned it with a snort and a half upturned smirk.
Yeah, he did.
I started to bite and entertain that smirk. I started to go in on him and ask him how much his Brooks Brothers suit cost him and also how many times as a child he'd seen somebody cook up some crack cocaine in the same kitchen his mama cooked dinner in. I wanted to ask him how many grocery stores were in his neighborhood and, if there was one, what was the ratio between it and the liquor stores. I wanted to talk to him about how much money--no wealth--his family or even his friends' families had that went waaaay back to, like, I don't know. . . a time when people worked for free to help with attaining said wealth.
But I didn't.
Instead, I just turned away from him and said, "Hey Marcus! You doin' alright today? I'll have the turkey on wheat--six-inch!"
Because that snort and that smirk were enough for me. Yeah, it was.
Look. I am not trying to get all political on this blog. Not today I'm not. Like him and some others, I make decent money and like keeping my money in my pocket just as much as the next person. And. I'm fortunate enough to have a job with benefits that affords my family health care.
I realize that my position in life is only a little bit hard work and a lot of bit being blessed to be born when and where I was to the parents I have. I think poverty and poor health choices are complicated as hell. Way more complicated than just telling somebody not to get the crispy fried chicken sandwich over the grilled one. Or admonishing them to get water instead of sweet tea.
Look. I'm a Grady doctor. And I know that it isn't as simple as some want to make it. I also know that a whole lot about a whole lot in this country is messed up and unfair.
Messed up. And unfair.
And can I just say that I find this image above both disturbing and disappointing on more levels than I can even begin to impart here? Good, because I do.
So what do I think about all of this, Mr. Upturned-Smirk-on-Your-Face-in-Subway?
I think you and the people holding these signs need to come down to Grady Hospital so that you can meet a few people who tried to make good life choices and got sick anyway.
I also think that next time you order that ham sandwich combo in Subway, you should get the baked Lays instead of the regular ones, the six-inch instead of the twelve-inch, the wheat bread instead of white, and that you should go easy on all that mayonnaise and oil.
You should also hope you never lose that job that your badge indicated you are lucky to have--but if you do--and you keep on ordering like you ordered today in the Subway lunch line--things just might work out in your favor, too.
That's what I think.