At the bottom of the dishwasher’s deficient paycheck is the signature of a born-rich white man.
What comes to mind when you think of Connecticut? The highest per-capita income in the United States?
Or do you think of a 35-year-old Ghanaian dietary aide on a work visa. At her nursing home job in Stamford she picks up as much overtime as she can, an impossible amount. She saves all year for a plane ticket to her birthplace for a two-week visit with her husband. Almost a year has gone by since they were together celebrating their two-year wedding anniversary.
Or maybe you think of a 90-year-old working-class white woman. She knows a couple of third-degree Masons but if you ask her she’ll probably pretend to have forgotten their names. She’s the former president of her union which she helped organize. She lives in the same modest four-bedroom home in Hartford where her father raised her and with his equally modest earnings from his job at a nearby defense plant managed to eventually pay off the mortgage.
Then possibly …