“I noticed when I was talking to men, especially Latino men, about the feeling of pride, bringing money home, being able to support your family, the feeling of bringing security — they wanted to hear that someone understood that need. And a lot of times we are so afraid of communicating that to men because we think somehow we’re going to also diminish the status of women. That’s going to end up being a problem.” – Senator Ruben Gallego (D-Arizona)
0730 h. Patrol Officer Sam Adams parked her cruiser in her precinct’s lot, and headed into the building, at something more than a deliberate pace, to make a situational report to her superior officer, Lt. Rob Busch. She knocked on Busch’s door.
“Yeah, come in”, a gruff and tired voice responded.
Adams entered to the apparition of her boss staring at her empty coffee cup.
“I was going to wish you a good morning, Rob”, Adams offered, “but that seems, ah, maybe not such a good idea.”
“Not particularly”, Rob responded. “I haven’t had my coffee yet. Have you seen Rodrigo anywhere?”
“Uh, no …” Sam began.
Rob cut her off petulantly. “Useless little boy! Not particularly good looking, can’t keep his pompadour in place or his beard trimmed or his nails clean, about his only use is keeping my coffee cup filled, and now suddenly he can’t even do that! Why do we keep him around? Why do we keep any of them around?”
“Uh, Rob?”, Sam reasserted herself. “That’s why I’m here now.”
“Yeah?”, Rob snapped back. “What’s the problem? And what does this have to do with Rodrigo?”
“He’s probably joined the walkout.”
Rob’s eyes briefly popped open, then compressed to narrow slits that matched her mouth. “The walkout”, she hissed through clenched teeth. “And their spouses permit this behavior?”
“Most of them don’t have spouses to keep them in check. They’re toys, and they’ve started listening to each other instead of to us, their betters. Like back in the bad old days before we banned social media.”
“Ick”, Rob sniffed.
“There’s a gaggle of them in the park, marching and shouting and airing their grievances”, Sam reported. “We have a force keeping an eye on them, but we don’t yet have enough to break up the crowd, and we’re worried that things might get out of hand.”
“I’ll fix that”, Rob stated, typing as she spoke. “How did this get started? Any intel?”
“Apparently it started among the boys in the kitchen, laundry, and janitorial staffs. It seems a bunch of kitchen workers were cleaning up, loading the sink for dishwashing, and one of them held up a bottle of dishwashing liquid, pointed to the label, and asked his coworkers ‘why are we here, when even the tools they give us disrespect us?'”
“What disrespect?!?”, Rob half screamed. “We keep them alive and off the streets, don’t we?”
“‘Deter Gent’?” Sam prodded.
Rob groaned, and facepalmed.
“‘If they want work from us'”, Sam continued, “‘they have to provide a more welcoming environment!’ That’s the call coming from the crowd. At least, it is or was one of the early ones.”
“And the later ones are all about money”, Rob eeyored.
Sam nodded.
“All right, I’m on it”, Rob snarled. “Get back to the site. I’ve already called for reinforcements, and we’ll get all that we need and then some. Those little brats will get back in line or find out just how easy it is to throw toys away. Do what you need to do until the new forces and higher ranks get there, and keep me posted.”
“Will do, Rob”, Sam acknowledged as she left her superior’s office.