The Minutes of Our Last Meeting | My Emotional Support Alligator
Nick the Gator may not be fuzzy, but look at those eyes.
Notes from the Post-it Wall — Week of August 5, 2018
I bet the best part of a customer service representative’s job is picking their American name. “Hey, Aarushi, who you going to be today?”
“Today, I’m Stephanie. Tomorrow… I’m thinking I’ll be a Jill! No, Jillian! Definitely Jillian.”
![I Believe... [Trump & West Sell the Same Snake Oil]](https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/579fa3912994ca0eff850271/1525290276602-7VL391FE8JUKB3GIJCAD/63D3D89E-A10F-476D-AACA-F8F058399C12.JPG)
I Believe... [Trump & West Sell the Same Snake Oil]
...that with the definition of service animals to include emotional support animals (previously known as "pets"), soon there will be a new classification — emotional support animals for emotional support animals. Your nervous chihuahua with the IBS and shivers needs support, too. Get him a pet gerbil for his emotional support and every anxious person in America will begin looking like fucking Dr. Doolittle.
My Emotional Support Strategy Isn't as Cute as a Puppy
I am now at war with the Chicago Transit Authority, Target and United Airlines for denying me my right to utilize my emotional support strategy and generally discriminating against myself and those countless people who have the same ailment but have been silenced by a marginalizing oppression due to archaic views of the human body.
Anxiety is the thing that’s ripped our country apart. It has divided us, caused us to fear and hate those who think and live differently than us, and even caused us to hate those who only slightly disagree with us. It has led to panic and overreaction. And I worry that American Anxiety is only going to exacerbate the social and political divide in this country to the point that there is no coming back.