Far Too Proud to Beg

This morning, I found myself sharing the sob story of my business with the pharmacist who compounds my cat's anti-constipation medicine. Since mid-2020, little Kiki (LOL she's actually huge, around 20 pounds) has needed artificial assistance in the form of an oral medication called Cisapride in order to poop. I suspect that Cisapride is secretly manufactured by artisan elf-monks in the high Sierras out of solid gold that tarnishes when touched by air, because it costs $60 for a 30mg bottle.

I just happened to get the head pharmacist on the phone, and he was exceptionally kind when I told him that I was a small business owner down on her luck because of the Covidapocalypse and $40 was the difference between me and two week's worth of groceries. Though he gave me a discount on Kiki's medication, I don't want a discount.

I want to be able to afford my cat's medication.

Last year at this time, I was doing great. I had money coming in from my usual side work -- recording vocals, PDF sheet music. Plus my music lesson studio had a line out the door. I'm extremely good at what I do. There isn't a singer who walks into my door who isn't a better singer in 6 months time. I also teach piano and guitar, and I know I'm exceptionally good at teaching those as well: as adults, my grown-up ex-students don't stop playing their instruments long after lessons with me are over.

Enough about me and my business. I'm one of the lucky small business owners. I still have a business to come back to. If I owned a dance studio, a gift shop, or a restaurant, forget it. Tracy Walker is (was?) a hairstylist in Alberta, Canada who did everything right. She's on the verge of losing her house, which will displace her, her husband, and her diabetic brother who depends on her for care.  

Tracy managed to create a situation that I've always wanted but couldn't make happen: she runs her business out of the bottom floor of her house, which has been converted into a storefront. It seems the idiots running things in her neck of the woods are of the same breed as the ones in Illinois, because she is unable to do business under a second lockdown.  Here's the thing: even though Tracy has made the decision to stay open against the lockdown order, much like I have done, there's not much one can do if only half the clients are willing to walk through the door.  Fear is powerful, and Tracy, like me and so many other small business owners, can't do much if people are too scared to be in the same room as each other.  There's also the not-small factor of economic collapse, which is cascading through the middle class right now and crushing people's abilities to afford luxuries such as meals out, karate lessons, cosmetic dentistry, hair cut & color, and exorbitantly-priced pet medications.  

I don't want government handouts.  There are people who should benefit from government handouts: all of those old, infirm, and chronically diseased people should be able to access the money they need.  Me?  I am of sound mind and able body and I want to work.  If I were to come into a great fortune tomorrow, I wouldn't close my Studio.  I would still go to work five days a week, though it would probably be via chauffeur as I hate driving.  

There is a silver lining to the cloud: Notice there were no lines outside Best Buy this year and nobody got killed in a Walmart stampede on Black Friday.  This will be the least commercialized Christmas we've had for a long time, and not because Big Retail wanted it that way, but because Big Government cut off its nose to spite its face in the form of self-induced financial collapse.  There is a lot of garbage that won't end up in ocean and future landfills because there won't be as many toys bought this year.  The desperation is palpable in Target and Dollar Tree -- I remember seeing Christmas decorations up in September because they all knew this would be a terrible year no matter how early they rolled out the BUYBUYBUY propaganda.  I hope we never have a successfully commercialized Christmas again.  I hope this year wipes out the frantic, Madison Avenue-driven urge to buy other people's love via material detritus in many individual souls.

I don't want money.  I want bravery.  I want people to stop following mask orders.  I went into Aldi yesterday and I didn't wear my mask.  When a shelf stocker said "Ma'am, put on your mask", I sweetly replied, "Oh my goodness, I must have forgotten.  Thank you so much for reminding me."  I put the mask on and as soon as I was around the corner, I took it off again.  I am going to stop wearing masks when I enter large chain stores, though for smaller places and local chains, I will comply with mask orders so they don't get in trouble.  How sad that it's up to a 4'11" inch woman to stand up to tyrants.  I guess it goes to show how few manly men there are in the suburbs -- I married one of the only ones who can wield a hammer, a paintbrush, and a saw competently.  I suppose I enjoyed myself a bit, gaslighting that poor Aldi employee in such a sarcastic manner.  I don't usually like confrontation and will do anything to avoid it, but this is war, make no mistake.