Retirees Whose New Occupation is "Professional Complainer": Come at me.
Living in a big town has its benefits. We're not so small a place that we don't have some pretty nice infrastructure like a good selection of different stores alongside a decent amount of parks, recreational centres and a pretty good library. Residents only really need to travel to the bigger cities for the more expensive, less-often-purchased stuff like musical instruments, audio equipment, niche craft supplies, and specialized healthcare. The doctor who supplies me with my HRT is in Regina, for example. It's not ideal, but most of my appointments are handled over the phone which makes things a lot easier than they could be.
All this to say, the town I live in is actually pretty nice. It's not perfect by any stretch of it, we don't have public transit of any kind. Still, it's a 15-minute town where you can just bike to work a couple months out of the year when it isn't freezing cold.
The big problem we have, though, is an aging population that is growing increasingly pissed off about Literally Fucking Everything.
They call themselves the "Concerned Citizens" group. They're essentially a gaggle of Professional Complainers who use a private Facebook group to bitch and moan about people in the town who aren't white, aren't straight, and aren't kissing their shoes to a mirror polish. Their biggest targets of unwarranted word vomit as of late have been twofold:
The recent renovation of our main street, which has a dual purpose of replacing old and soon-to-fail water and sewage lines while also changing its aesthetic, which everybody knows is somehow a fucking bad thing.
"The Gays."
This really shouldn't surprise anybody. Some old people really fucking hate it - and I mean really fucking hate it - when anything changes near them. It signals to them that the world is passing them by and leaving them behind, or that's how they feel anyway. They constantly say "nobody asked for this" even though everyone I've talked to says the town looks old and industrial, which to most younger people is more than enough incentive to leave and never come back as it is. They also really, really fucking hate it when people aren't soggy cardboard cutouts of each other. Conformity is valued high above personal comfort, happiness and freedom. You have to be like me, and I have to be like me. If you try to be yourself, I'll cut your edges off until you're like me.
Thankfully, the town council has so far recognized the sheer ignorance and spite behind the group. Any time they launch their complaints about the town library having rainbow flags in the aisles or whine about the main street rehabilitation project, the town council professionally yet firmly explains to them why these types of projects and small displays of affirmation mean so much to the community. Not once have these idiots listened to what's being told to them, but they're Professional Complainers; they want their pathetic little echo chamber to cheer them on, that's it.
It's kind of sad, actually. Most of these retirees have been rightfully deserted by their families because of these individuals' caustic attitude, and the only other buddies they have are people who share their acidic personality. They're surrounded by an echo chamber of vomit and detritus, you can smell it on them when you walk by.
Recently, the Professional Complainers Group who call themselves "Concerned Citizens" decided to have a spat at town council again. I saw their presence confirmed by the town council's meeting agenda, so I decided to show up too. I pinned a progress pride flag to my battle jacket, hitched a ride with a friend to the hall and walked into the town council chambers. Once inside, my friend challenged me to try and identify who in the crowd were part of the Professional Complainers group. It was pretty easy to me; they're over the age of 60, they have frown lines as creased as the pile of clothes at the bottom of my closet, and they look incredibly uncomfortable - almost intimidated by the mere concept of an authority possessed by someone who isn't them.
Once again, they complained about the rehabilitation project. They asked questions I had about the project, but I found the answers pretty fucking easily by just looking for them on the town's website. These idiots didn't even try looking, because they don't want answers. They just want to hear the sound of their own voice.
That wasn't their primary focus this time, however. They also complained about one councillor's "DEI initiative" - which, in reality, was merely a directive for town hall to consider different demographics in the population to ensure they're not only making decisions based on how they impact themselves, their families or their friends. It's an extremely basic ethical code that most civic governments are already expected to follow. The Professional Complainers didn't really care, though. They rifled off completely and entirely irrelevant lines of dialogue, quoting idiots like Matt "Probably A Pedophile" Walsh or Majorie "Literal Nazi" Green.
Quoting Americans to say DEI is actually racist, in a Canadian town hall meeting. In-fucking-credible.
I stood just beside the table where people speaking to the council would sit. Normally I would sit down in the gallery because I can't stand for very long and my cane only gives me an extra five or so minutes before I'm forced to sit on the ground, but naturally the entire Concerned Citizens group occupied the entire gallery and not a single soul saw my cane and thought to get up and give me their chair. It doesn't take a genius to know the pride flag hung like a cape on my back was the primary reason they weren't in a rush to give a cripple a place to sit.
I think it's fucking hilarious my head is never visible in the shot of the camera, only the flag cape, the battle jacket and the cane. (and also my sick as fuck slip-ons tbh)
The Professional Complainers complain, the town council explains things to them like they're five, and the Professional Complainers eventually leave the council chambers after their time is up. No sticking around for the rest of the proceedings to learn what else is going on in the town, because - as I mentioned previously - they're only here to listen to the sound of their own voice. As they walked through the doorway next to me, I could see every single one of them glaring me down while I looked at the town councillors and mayor, who had moved onto the next topic on the agenda. I'd say the group were glowering at me as they exited, but the frown lines in their faces are so deeply dug into their flesh that it's difficult to determine if they were actually mad I was there or if they just had a collective struggle with Resting Bitch Face. Given what they'd just shamelessly said in the chambers, I can easily assume it's not just a chronic facial expression.
Oh, and by the way: I had 100% accuracy guessing who was part of the group. You just had to find the frown lines carved like canyons on their faces.
The rest of the meeting went flawlessly. A national charity asked to raise their flag in front of town hall during the week of their event being hosted in the town, which was approved. A new childcare center was being built which required some decisions about how to address the plumbing, and some decisions were made. Then the town council was dissolved as the town now heads into a new civic election.
This is a message to Professional Complainers in my town: you don't fucking belong here. I do.
I'm here for my town. I was born here, raised here and continue to live here. I've always been a tranny-faggot, whether you liked it or not. I will continue to be a tranny-faggot, whether you like it or not. You cannot push me out, you cannot even force me out. I don't give a shit how big your lungs are, you will not suck my breath out of mine. Immigrants and refugees belong here, because they want to help the community that keeps them safe. I belong here, because I want to help the community that gave me life.
You don't belong here, because all you do is bitch and moan about how the town doesn't look exactly the way you want it. This town isn't your shitty little house where you can duct tape your breaker box and call it a job well done. If you can't accept the reality that people other than yourselves live here, then I suggest living somewhere else. Go where everybody pats you on the ass and says "Good game" so it doesn't make you feel gay. Go where everybody kisses your shoes and it isn't a fetish.
Go to your cardboard town filled with cardboard cutouts of the same boring ass people who season their chicken breasts with only salt and garlic, because this town isn't your Wonder Bread Playground. It's a town for fuck's sake. You live in it and you play nice.
If you don't like it, get the fuck out.