My date with a Trump supporter

Edwin J. Viera, Opinion Editor

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It was supposed to be a typical date, but pretty soon I found it was going to be anything but. Mildred is an ugly name but she was sweet with a tough edge about her. However, my hopes were dashed when I picked her up. As I walked up to her apartment, I saw the “Make America Great Again” sign perched in her window.

I wasn’t going to let this little tidbit of information bother me, but once she let me in, I saw the posters smeared with lipstick kisses and the assortment of multi-colored hats with his campaign slogan on them. She even had one with his 2020 slogan saying, “Keep America Great!” I was appalled but, in an effort, to keep an open mind, I persevered. I was in the middle of what seemed like the mind of the President himself.

“Is something wrong”, she said as she noticed my panic-stricken expression on my face. All I could say was, “No, I just didn’t realize how into the President you are.” As someone who writes opinions for a living, it is important to keep an open mind. But it is also important to remember when to express yourself, even if someone gets hurt.

She finished her make up which shocked me even more. She looked like an Oompa Loompa, but that would be an insult to the Oompa Loompan people. Her blonde locks were swept up in a messy tangle similar to the Chief Executive’s. As if that wasn’t bad enough, her bright red shirt saying, MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN on the front and “LOCK HER UP” on the back, was louder than any piece of clothing I’d ever seen.

We went to dinner first. I asked her what she wanted and she said, she was in the mood for some pizza. We went to Joe’s on Amherst Street and when she ordered, I could swear she said she wanted her slice to be “yuge”. I just hoped I was losing my hearing. I’d rather be deaf than know that’s what she said.

Sure enough, I was wrong. She began over gesturing and talking with her small hands. With that style of speaking, she could have been a silent screen star. Overacting was her specialty.

When the cashier asked about the shirt, Mildred avoided the question. Over and over again she kept saying

Once we got our food, we started talking. I asked her about her love of the president which opened a floodgate of conversation. She started talking about how she admired his speaking style and enjoyed how he openly he criticized the media. It was sometime around there that I began thinking about other things, like getting my senior paper done, what my next article would be, and whether or not I could keep up this illusion of happiness.

“I mean it’s only gotten more intense since my parents got me a vibrating body pillow of him for Christmas”. This sentence zapped me back into the conversation as I was startled by this sentence. She proceeded to ask me, with disgust in her voice, how I could be a journalist. “I like to write and have always wanted to do this as a career”. “Yeah but you’re not a real journalist you only write opinions. #FakeNews”. It was at this moment I knew, she done screwed up.

“How can you say that. Most of my articles tackle real issues and other important topics”. This argument continued until I gave up, finished my slice and begrudgingly dragged her ass to the movies. On the way there she talked my ear off about guns and how she loves going to the shooting range.

Please keep in mind that I let her pick the movie, and she picked the movie, The Post. As a journalism major, I’m always interested in seeing movies regarding my field, however, she did it for another reason.

She wanted to yell at the screen about how it was all fake news and that Meryl Streep was one of the most over-rated actresses in Hollywood. Not for nothing, but I actually like The Devil Wears Prada and Julie & Julia. She said that because of his Meryl Streep tweet.

Despite the constant shushing and the boos people were saying to her, she wouldn’t stop talking. Pretty soon people began throwing popcorn at us. Like her hero, she missed each target that came after her. I however was not so lucky.

We left the movies with the theatre manager feeling sorry enough for me and giving me a free box of Cookie Dough Bites and Mildred was banned from going back to that movie theatre. Now I was pissed, but now I was in a state of pure fascination. Once she got home, she invited me in for coffee. By now, my fascination with her was purely scientific and I was studying her undying passion for Donald Trump.

I went in and she showed me around her apartment, when we got to the bedroom I saw the vibrating body pillow. It had fake hair and when you squeeze his Make America Great Again pin, he says some familiar phrases like “I will build a great wall — and nobody builds walls better than me, believe me –and I’ll build them very inexpensively”, “Lock her up”, and the ever faithful “You’re fired”, made famous by Trump’s reality show, The Apprentice.

She showed me another room that as far more frightening. It was filled with torn pictures of Hillary Clinton smeared in what appeared to be a red marker. Mildred simply said, “She was so unfit to be president. I think it’s a shame that people voted for her.” With a wonder as to how she would react I peeped up and said, “I voted for her”.

It was at that moment, I knew what it was like to be in the same room with Rochelle from Everybody Hates Chris. She went off on me, screaming about how she was a criminal that should have never been released from the FBI’s watch. She pulled out her Bible saying that Hillary went against God’s will and that Trump was a possible reincarnation of Jesus.

As I walked toward the door there was one part of me that had to ask her about all of her “memorabilia”, she said, “He’s not bad, he’s just drawn that way”. I left immediately. When I got home I found a tweet on my newsfeed. I ignored it and went to bed, exhausted after my grueling adventure into Trumpland.

Since then I have learned she was last seen burning copies of Michael Wolff’s Fire & Fury, with it gently singeing her eyebrows off as well as her bangs, with some guy running four blocks away, her latest entrapment, but I went on using my private email server, ensconced in the minute glory the universe decided to give me in regards to how karma deals with people.

Reincarnation of Jesus, my ass.

 

 

The news isn’t fake… but today it is. This story is a part of our annual April Fool’s coverage, The Wreckard. It’s not true. It’s not factual. It’s all in good fun.

Happy April Fool’s Day!

bscrecord@gmail.com

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