I met two Americans yesterday at a bank in Borneo, they both don’t like Trump.
But before that revelation, it was just three fat white guys happy to meet each other in the far flungs of the world.
‘Why don’t you like Trump,’ I asked, we didn’t have time to waste, and I wasn’t going to waste this opportunity on pleasantries,’ he’s a true American, pissing off everyone left right and center. You gotta admire a guy like who just doesn’t give a fuck what other’s think of him.’
I threw in it’s the American way, for drama. An Australian telling an American about American values probably didn’t go down well either.
I wasn’t knocked out by either of them,but inside, they were raging at my insolence.
‘What’s the alternative,’ I said, stoking their rage, ‘Crooked Hillary?”
One of them was from Arizona, a young fat thing. The other from New York, and old fat thing – they had to be father and son.
I’m one to talk, that’s why I’m talking.
We were getting along swell. They were waiting for a transfer and I wanted to withdraw some cash from the ATM to pay for the repair of the broken screen on the mini Ipad, which I’m proud to say is still rocking it’s way around Asia.
Michael, who I called Dave, was the older one. He didn’t like me getting his name wrong. I really understood. I wanted to tell him that I had so many names that I’ve lost track. He was looking at my daggy shorts I bought in Butterworth, the ones that have netting for the balls. He said before the election, he had a slogan. Trump Trumps The Election. It was highly original. He said he also had one for the Liberals. Trump is Trumped.
I was doing belly laughs on the floor of the bank.
I eventually got my cash out.
The young guy from Arizona had that distinct Michael Moore stench to him.
Michael took the fall better. But I could see he didn’t like smart asses.
I’m not bad at squash. And yes, Michael was from Florida, memory jolt, not New York. We joked about the wall, send those wet backs back.
They are Mexican your way, I said. Of course I know they are from Cuba.
He eyed me off. He already pegged me for an Ozzie, now he was completely sure.
Oh Cubans, cheap cigars, right. When you have nothing to say ,stick with the sterotypes and ram them every which way.
Isn’t ignorance bliss?
They left the bank quietly like two church mice.
Had I offended their sensibilities, in the far flungs of Boreno?
I hope that I had enlightened them.
I mentioned the word of their god, Obama.
He is that squeaky clean, non stick kinda guy who graduated with honors in sticking to the script.
I’ve never been a script man. Nor is Trump.
Ad libbing and offending a few along the way is only human.
I have to give it to my new American friends, they didn’t compare Trump to Adolf Hitler nor comment about his ass. They were semi-enlightened in an age of Social Media Hysteria.
With the Trump wave splashing on the shores, I turned to the banking staff and started calling all the young female staff, Ibu, or aunty. Then fits of laughing hysteria broke the tension.
The sky didn’t fall. Life continued on, irrespective of whether we liked Trump or not.
I thought that was really neat to know.