Is Life Just A Game Of Survival?

When Miguel was replacing parts on my dishwasher, he explained that by next year, robots will make the house calls. “I’m training my replacement,” he said.

The robot will signal its arrival via text. A truck will drop it off. It will know everything about the unit’s past repairs, and what parts it’ll be replacing via a previous invisible AI diagnosis.

“The world’s changing,” he said, smiling grimly. “We have to be ready for it and accept it. They don’t need people like me anymore.” 

I felt sorry for him. He’d have to find a new line of work, develop new skills, and at his age, likely mid-forties, he’d face financial jeopardy. 

But, I underestimated him.

He’s invested in converting 50-foot long containers into mini homes and renting them out for $350 per month. 

His wife is also an “entrepreneur,” he boasted, a “smart loan shark” specifically—one who preys on distraught mourners who desperately need to cover funeral costs for a loved one. 

He turned toward me, “You borrow from a loan shark and you’re gonna get hurt.” With that confession, he shrugged—like, that’s life. 

“These people can’t afford to pay much,” he added, “but we upsell them anyhow, and when they don’t pay, well, we take their home. I own seven homes now.”

Wow. I’m thinking he’s a big weasel or maybe just pulling my leg. But my eyebrows were raised as he continued to talk without interruption.

“This world’s not for weak people anymore. You gotta be a bully. That’s why I support Trump. You gotta bully everyone.”

Let me jump in here and say that Miguel is Mexican and runs his side hustle out of Tijuana. 

When he first came to my home to diagnose the dishwasher, he said, “God bless you” on the way out. But, today, it seemed like his evil twin had arrived.

“I don’t care if Trump’s rounding up Mexicans. I say, round them all up, just get rid of em!” He swoops his arm in the air like Trump. “We don’t need ‘em. They’re ruining our culture.”

What?

“Look,” he says, “we’ve gotta be the greatest country in the world to survive all this change. And Trump knows what it’s gonna take. So, other countries better make a deal with him. And, if they don’t…well, you know that’s what a nuclear bomb is for. We just go in there and drop it.”

At that moment, I realized Miguel was a lost soul, someone who had certainly been bullied himself and shunned by others. Survival in his mind depended on hurting others, even if it meant nuking them.

By the time he finished the repair, I’d learned all about corruption in Mexico, the deal Mexico’s president is making with China, his mother in Las Vegas being scammed by a phone solicitor, his seven children, and his desire to build a daycare center for single mothers, (but his wife reminds him they don’t run a charity, so that’s not gonna happen). 

Before he left, he said sweetly, “God bless you”—again.

The service call was an enlightening moment that brought to mind all the deeply wounded people who never fully fit in. Somehow, they find their way into belonging, if only mentally, by hitching their wagon to the bullies who do succeed. 

Oddly, being part of that in-crowd gives them privilege, at last. It gives them street cred. So they wear their guilt by association like a lapel pin, confident that if someone like Trump succeeds through ruthlessness, they must too. Maybe, like Trump, they’ll finally get the respect they deserve.

For them, life is nothing more than a game of survival. And if they can win and experience the joys of fitting in, then (in their mind) the harms they create will have all been worth it.

For these people, and there are so many of them, we can all only pray.

Image by Alex Knight on Pexels