The snowflake generation got an object lesson in reality on November 8. Hillary Clinton got a participation trophy and her little snowflake supporters got a wake-up call, they had to face the harsh reality that participation trophies don’t count.
Being a coldhearted old curmudgeon I enjoyed the scene.
Some of these little snowflakes even went further.
That’s right, the cute little tweaker ended up in the psych ward because Hillary lost.
Let’s understand that Bennie Ryan wasn’t just any ordinary Hillary snowflake; he raised $187,000 for Clinton and he began his night on November 8 at the Clinton victory party in Manhattan. They were so sure of victory that Clinton had scheduled a fireworks display for when the media announced that she had been elected president. They were forced to cancel the fireworks display.
When the results started coming in, little snowflake Bennie became suicidal and ran from the victory party and admitted himself into an emergency psychiatric ward.
I found out Donald Trump had won the Electoral College while midstream in providing a urine sample for the emergency psychiatric staff of a New York City public hospital. The unlockable bathroom door in this unescapable wing was ajar, and I could hear the victorious Mike Pence’s sinister Sunday-school baritone taunting me with the truth from the hallway television.
For the preceding witching hours of election night, I had lain in a fetal position amidst a cast of anonymous men nursing their own crises, my hands clasped tightly over my ears. It wasn’t that I minded the howls of the guy nearby who was shackled to his cot and monitored by an unimpressed brood of policemen. Instead, I wanted to spare myself any word of the far greater insanity unfolding beyond the hospital walls.
Drained of tears, too tired to sleep, I stared at the fluorescent ceiling lights —which, indifferent to our suffering, remained on throughout the night — and endured the passing time by willing my thoughts to vanish into the dull glow. For a second, I imagined someone would burst in and proclaim, “It’s all right, Hillary won!” and I would bound out of bed, awoken from this nightmare.
Terror drove me to this interrupted state. I was afraid for the nation, for the stigmatized and oppressed. I was also afraid for my own life. Because the values and principles I hold dear felt fatally incompatible with the hate and bigotry that Trumpism had come to stand for. I did not want to live in a world that would elect such a man as president.
Mr. Ryan has said that admitting himself for psychiatric care saved his life.
Personally I think that’s a good argument for shutting down emergency psychiatric care.
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