When I was 15 years old, I became an official, Social Security card-carrying member of the so-called work force–I’d obtained a summer gig washing dirty dishes at an upscale dinner restaurant. This was not the first unpleasant enterprise for which I’d received renumeration–I’d spent more than a few interminable weekends working for tips in an underground bunker where I’d hurriedly stuffed recalcitrant pigeons into traps for wing shooters at a local gun club–but it was the first for which I expected to receive a regular check in a set amount for a specific number of hours worked. At a buck and a quarter for each 60 minutes of toil, I stood to clear a cool fifty smackers each week. So it was that after 12 miserable days of scraping garbage and hosing unidentifiable fragments of food from crusted platters in my steamy corner of the bustling kitchen, employment that fully qualified me for future duty in the United States Army, I finally received my preliminary pay (first week withheld, a practice I still find unconscionable), diligently earned by the copious–and I do mean copious–sweat of my brow. And immediately realized that the biggest thieves in the world weren’t the ones lurking in the long shadows beyond the perimeter of the parking lot; they were the smiling brigands that purported to represent us in the national, state, and local lairs to which we’d stupidly sent them. By my reckoning, twelve of the forty hours I’d spent standing in clouds of hot vapor had been as a servant indentured to the various governmental entities that all claimed to somehow have a lien on my labor. From that day to this, I have never understood why supposedly rational Americans continue to vote for the very Democratic thimbleriggers who promise to take a bigger and bigger bite out of the funds said citizens need to feed, clothe, and shelter them and theirs. “Tax the Rich” is the eternal cry of the socialists, but there never seems to be as many of the well-to-do as are needed to finance all the crack-brained redistributionist schemes that follow the Democrats like the fumes from a skittish skunk. Which is why, when shearing time arrives, their clippers will always end up being turned on you.
- Related Story (The National Interest): Obama’s Tax War
- The Broader Picture Of What These Elections Mean (Daily Caller)