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A few days ago, I took a min-vacation to a few midwestern states. At one point, I stopped at a state capitol administration department to obtain points of interest information. Surprisingly all the state workers had been replaced by a special group from India (seems there is not any one in the U.S. of A. smart enough to work the state computers). Due to the language difference, I could not explain what I wanted, nor understand what they were saying to me. Needless to say, I left without the information. In frustration, I decided to return home, ending my trip. The return trip was even more frustrating.
With no old style sit-down restaurants to be found, my choice seemed to be fast food (beef from Argentina or Brazil), Chinese or Mexican. None of which support America or American families.
Bloated and tired, I stopped at a motel attempting to get a single room with a single bed from the Indian or Pakistani owner. Got one with no ice, two beds and local TV. The following day, the international trade-off continued with a menu in three languages at a table made in Taiwan, surrounded by chairs made in Hungary, with service ware made in China, wrapped in napkins made in the Philippines, Mexican fruit, cereal from France, eggs from Panama and Canadian bacon. All served by Latinos on a Indo-China table cover.
Even the ride home was dotted by German cars, Hungarian want-to-be cars and Japanese motorcycles sounding like hungry bees, stopping often at a British gas station for gas or OPEC fuel and a bottle of Russian distilled water packaged in a French bottle.
Home at last, I turned my door knob made in Sri Lanka, turned on my foreign made lights sitting on a African made stand and started my Italian coffee maker and put on my Cambodian robe.
As I sat in my Swedish made recliner, placing my Columbian coffee on my Chinese end table and turned on my Japanese TV to obtain barely English speaking newscaster tell me of our nation’s bleak economic future caused by banks selling to off-shore investors. I wonder what changed America.
It seems my Kentucky made Corvette, the only American made sports car, was the only real American made product I had touched in a week. As the sound of an American railroad northbound Norfolk Southern whizzed by, the 100 year-old railroad that built America cleared my vision and I saw what happened to America. There before me, our tax dollars are being spent building a new roadway, using a Komatsu track hoe, operated by non citizens, working for a Korean construction sub-contractor, directed by a German company placing foreign steel reinforcement in the road bed.
Guess I’ll remain in my foreign America, trying to exist on my quickly diminishing Social Security, as special interest and entitlement forces bleed it dry, giving to those who paid nothing, not taxes nor loyalties to this country. Take time to learn Hindi or Urdu language, so I can file my U.S. taxes, retrieve my medical records while speaking Filipino to explain my quest on my local telephone company service line. Perhaps retired, I will have time to learn the national language, whatever that is and be able to sing the new worded National Anthem.