You laughed, loud and hard at me, as I exited my “low-income apartment complex” in Belltown. I heard you and called you out on it. You turned, mumbled some words about how it “wasn’t about you” and “I’m sorry,” but seriously, fuck you. I saw your Amazon badge, and I know how you people think. How? Because I was just like you.
I had that high-paying tech job; I made thousands a month, and I willingly gave it up. Why? Because I saw the writing on the wall years ago.
I deliver food on my bike now. I make just as much as I did then. You want to judge me? When you’re paying $5k for a studio that has less square footage than mine does at $1,200/month? Yeah, I hear noise, but I can pay off my debt, put some in savings, spend two months out of the year traveling to places you barely learned about in geography class. YOU are what’s wrong with this city, not me. Laugh all you want now, but in a year’s time and you’re applying at my store for a job, I’ll make sure to reject your application. How dare you look down at me—I can’t wait for you to be unemployed.
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