Do you ever feel that just about every experience in life now caters to upper-middle-class and rich people? Sure, everyone is feeling the brunt of inflation, but something else happened along the way.

For example, over the past 20 years:

The price of going to a concert has quadrupled.

A one-day admission ticket to Disneyland has gone up around three times.

The cost of the average American home has gone up around two-and-a-half times.

Pleasures that were affordable to everyone suddenly had to become luxury experiences. Face-value tickets went by the wayside in favor of having to buy things on the secondary market. Simple things that blue-collar people enjoyed have been gentrified by upper-class people who thought they were cool and “authentic.”

It seems impossible for the average person to get a good deal in life, and if they do, someone will figure out how to make rich people want it and sell it for double the cost.

A fed-up person on Reddit named r/degreeofvariation, asked the online forum, ”What was loved by poor people until rich people ruined it?” The question received over 18,000 responses in just six days. Given the commenters’ reactions, it seems there hasn’t been a simple, affordable pleasure in American life that hasn’t been co-opted by people with money and ruined.

Here are 17 things that poor people loved until rich people ruined them.

1. Living in warehouses

"Yes! They tore down all the real lofts to build condos they call lofts." — StrainAcceptable

"And people complained the windows are too big and everyone can see in, and they didn't like the open floor plan. That was the whole point. Artists had lots of room and tons of natural light." — richarddrippy69

2. Etsy

"I bought so much stuff for my wedding in 2012 from Etsy. It was all handmade and so cute and inexpensive. It’s changed so much from the cool site it once was." — PrudentConfection

3. Food banks

"My local food bank put out a news article basically saying that rich people need to stop using the food bank as a 'life hack' to lower their grocery bills." — ConfidentlyCorrect

"This is why food banks in my area now need proof of need. Which is shit, because it means jumping through more hoops to put food on the table when you’re already desperate." — DoorSubstantial2104

4. eBay

"It used to be so useful to get all kinds of cheap or unique things. Then more and more big commercial sellers joined the club, and eventually, eBay itself forgot about what and who made their platform a success in the first place." — Onesmilematters

5. Cabins

"Quiet out-of-the-way country cabins sitting by lakes. Now they are overpriced Airbnbs." — Amyaaurora

"I'd even say Airbnbs themselves. They started as a potentially cheap alternative to hotels run by people who have extra space they aren't doing anything with. Now people build guest houses specifically for Airbnb and treat It like a full-on rental." — Jarf17

6. Fixer-uppers

"Buying a 'fixer-upper' home and spending weekends working on it. I was really looking forward to that." — Couldstrife1191

7. Thrift stores

"Thrift shopping. I'm not 'thrifting' I'm f**kin broke." — Elduroto

"Sometimes I feel like it's cheaper to buy clothes at Target or Walmart brand new than it is to buy from a thrift store." — Urchintexasyellow

8. Festivals

"Burning Man was on my bucket list until rich fucks started showing up with bodyguards and started establishing private zones." — hgaben90

9. Farmers markets

"That's what our markets are turning into as well. It's gone from local farmers and affordable produce to artisanal creations for the elite." — KeepOnRising19

10. Houses

"We poor people would work our entire lives to own one. Property became a great investment and way to increase wealth so rich people started buying them. Not to live in as intended but to rent to the poor and keep them poor by renting so they will never be able to save enough to afford their own." — Etobocoke

11. Fajitas

"I remember being able to get skirt steak really cheap and sometimes for free." — DiegoJones4

"Oxtails/ crab/ wings used to be so cheap when I was younger." — Glohan21

"A few influential chefs decided to introduce traditional peasant food to the world, and now oxtail ragu with pappardelle is a $30 dish in fancy restaurants." — Patorama

12. Carhartt

"Blue collar workers needed the durability, then celebrities wore 'fashionably' and drove up the price." — Pepperdice

"...and then Carhartt realized that their brand was fashionable, and started throwing their logo on cheap shit to capitalize off it." — Glochnar

13. Hobbies

"Burning Man, Collectable Card Games, Retro Video Games, GOING TO CONCERTS...like seriously, just pick a hobby. Once the re-sellers get into it, prices go through the roof, and nobody can afford to do anything." — divine_shadow

14. NFL games

"While I can afford them I have to ask myself what the actual F/ $500+ for a football game? The experience is awful too. Too many breaks, too many calls you can't hear. It's so much better to be on your couch or in a bar. Who is buying these tickets? $2300 for good seats in LA? That's insane. It's a game. On TV." — StanFigjam

"In 1995 the average ticket to the Super Bowl was $200... This year it was $3800." — RumWalker

15. McDonald's

"It was originally a place for a quick eat because it was cheap, but now it’s just mid food for high prices." — DrMcSpicy

"The old dollar menu stuff is like $3.50 minimum now." — Perrymasson

16. Camping

"I'd say people with campers ruined camping. Can’t drive two miles in the mountains without having to hug the side of the trail to let some dude with $100k+ truck and trailer squeeze past you on a road they have no business going down." — Reasonable-Tutor-943

"This and now it's impossible to get a campsite because of the plethora of Sprinter vans and RVs that cost more than my house. Nobody (few people) camps in tents anymore!" — all-about-climate

"I swear 95% of the time I’m the only person in the campground with a compact car and not a $70k+ truck." — DeliciousMoments

17. Life

"'Poor' people I knew were always happy with the simple pleasures. Now even these simple pleasures are almost impossible to afford unless they're necessary and you break your back to pay for them so you almost resent them. Rich people are literally ruining life." — Wenisdan

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Wellness

TikToker offers a simple, clear metaphor for systemic and structural inequality

@tavitalkstrash/TikTok

When we talk about systemic, structural, or institutionalized inequality, it can be hard for some to understand what those terms even mean. In a racial context in the U.S., the idea is that oppression like slavery and Jim Crow laws, racist policies like redlining, and the racism in scientific, medical, and educational and other fields erected various barriers for Black Americans. The laws or policies may have changed, but those changes didn't automatically dismantle all the barriers that went along with them.

Such barriers are invisible, though, and when you aren't impacted by them you might not even see them at all, or understand what it's like to be on the other side of them. That's where analogies come in handy.

TikTok creator @tavitalkstrash shared a video skit that illustrates how systemic inequality works with a metaphor of a fence and fruit trees.

Watch:

@tavitalkstrash
The fence #fyp

Many commenters pointed out that the analogy works for all kinds of issues, from racial inequality to wealth or class inequality. Those who have the power and advantage are often blind to the barriers that exist for those who don't, and even if they do see a barrier, they may actually end up reinforcing it. After all, that barrier isn't hurting them; in some ways, it actually makes life easier for them.

The video also highlights how bias and prejudice can result from such barriers. "You should just come over here!" As if it's that simple. "Lazy AND impatient," as if the challenges posed by the barrier aren't real.

A person recognizing the barrier and exercising empathy would listen to the person on the other side and try to see their perspective. A person exercising compassion would toss over some fruit and then help tear down the fence.

The tradition of having the fence there wouldn't matter as much as the harm it's causing on the other side. The fact that an occasional person manages to get over the fence wouldn't matter, since the majority aren't able to. Telling the person to plant their own trees or tear down the fence themselves would be recognized as a cruel response, not a helpful one, considering the lived reality on the other side. The idea of what's "fair" would take the full reality and history into account.

One key takeaway here is that the person on the fruit tree side needs to listen to the person limited by the barrier when they tell them how it has affected them and what they need to remedy the situation. The solutions offered from the fruit tree side might not make sense from the other side of it. Such solutions might not be possible, or they might not actually be as helpful as they sound.

Another point made in the comments is that the hungry person's ancestors were probably the ones who planted those fruit trees in the first place. That works whether you look at the metaphor through a historical racial lens (so much of the foundation of this country's wealth was built on the backs of unpaid, enslaved Black people) or a wealth inequality lens (underpaid working class laborers being exploited by obscenely wealhty business owners in the name of capitalism).

Some might argue that such barriers don't actually exist anymore, that this is the land of opportunity and equality where we're all on equal footing. But statistics do not bear that out. As of 2016, the average white family's net worth was ten times that of the average Black family in the U.S. What is the explanation for that?

If you argue that it is not because structural or systemic racial barriers have made it more difficult for Black Americans to build wealth, then what explanation are you left with? That Black Americans are consciously choosing to live with such a wide economic disparity? Why would they choose that? If they aren't choosing it, do you think there is some inherent quality that makes Black people unable or unwilling to do whatever it is white people do to build wealth? Isn't that idea just blatantly racist?

Hopefully, this analogy makes the concept of systemic, structural, and institutionalized inequality easier for people to unpack. Complex social realities aren't easily simplified, so when someone manages to make a clear visual metaphor, it deserves to be celebrated.

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School districts are transforming buses into wifi hotspots for students without internet

Photo by Jose Alonso on Unsplash

If you see school buses parked around your city and get confused because schools are closed, no worries. It's likely that those buses are pumping out wifi for students who otherwise struggle for internet access.

With schools shut down across the country, school districts have had to scramble to figure out how to provide online schooling quickly. That's no simple task, and the transition has been a rocky one for administrators, teachers, parents, and kids. For families without the technology that enables that transition, it's been even harder.

Since online learning is the only way students can stay connected to schools and teachers, internet is a vital service. But despite the ubiquity of internet providers, not all families can afford internet. Even in places where internet providers are offering free wifi to families who can't afford it, some still can't afford the hardware—modems, routers—that enable them to take advantage of it.

School districts across the nation are addressing part of this issue by transforming their now-empty school buses into mobile wifi hotspots to bring online access to students. School bus hotspots fill a gap for families that aren't able to get wifi in their homes, for whatever reason. And though the idea isn't new—some districts have been using wifi-enabled buses as hotspots for years—it is becoming widespread during the pandemic.

In Montgomery, Alabama, 11 wifi-enabled buses already have rolled out, six more will go out today, and more will come next week. Montgomery Mayor Steven Reed told WSFA News why the buses are important.

"Because we understand there's a digital divide," he said. "And the coronavirus pandemic that we're into right now has only heightened the chasm that exists between those who can access high-speed internet service and those who can't."

"The idea is that any parent, any child in any neighborhood where they see that yellow school bus, they can access the WiFi hotspot," said MPS Superintendent Dr. Ann Roy Moore. "They don't have to be right down the street from their home. If they're at home, it's fine, but if they're at their grandma's house and there's a bus down the road, they can also access from that location."

The largest school district in Austin, Texas has deployed more than 100 wifi buses around the city through a $600,000 grant from Kajeet, an education technology provider.

"As we prepare for the possibility of extended school closures, we know that an Internet connection is a lifeline and a learning link for our students," Kevin Schwartz, chief technology officer for Austin ISD, said in a news release.

"Austin ISD will be deploying many of our 500+ Kajeet Wi-Fi/Internet enabled school buses to locations around our school district so that students can connect using our district Chromebooks."

The buses do have some limitations, however. The buses in Austin broadcast about 300 feet, so some students may have to go outside of their homes to catch a signal. They are not allowed to board the bus, so inclement weather can make accessing the wifi tricky for some, but it's definitely better than nothing.

One thing the COVID-19 pandemic has succeeded in doing is shining a spotlight on existing inequities in our country. School districts in low-income areas that already struggle with funding suddenly have to figure out how to provide computers and internet to students, while many wealthier districts already had laptops or tablets for every student. Thankfully, donors and organizations are stepping up to assist, but addressing the economic inequality underlying the problem will need longer-lasting institutional solutions.

In the meantime, wifi buses are an innovative temporary stopgap for families who can't access the internet otherwise.

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Amazon is donating $690,000 to Australia's fire recovery. Does Jeff Bezos owe the world more?

Canva, Spice Latte/Twitter

Amazon founder and CEO Jeff Bezos (a.k.a. The Wealthiest Man to Ever Walk the Earth) has announced that his company (a.k.a. the Most Valuable Company to Ever Exist) will contribute $1 million Australian dollars in aid to Australia to assist with the country's bushfire recovery efforts. In U.S. dollars, that's approximately $690,000.

For sure, $690,000 is not a small amount of money, and every donation counts. But the announcement from Bezos has people expressing their not-so-charitable feelings about the mega rich man and his mega valuable company. And when you calculate what kind of an effect $690,000 has on Amazon's bottom line, it's not hard to see why.

We're about to get into some unreal numbers here, so it's worth doing a bit of a "How Much Is a Billion" review. Most of us don't have a good grasp on how much a billion is.

— (@)

So now that we understand how bonkers a billion dollars is, how many billions is Amazon worth? Valuing a company isn't a straightforward endeavor, so estimates vary. Some market cap valuations have put Amazon's worth at $1 trillion. (That's a thousand billions, $1,000,000,000,000 if you really want to see the zeroes.) A much more conservative estimate puts the company's true net worth at less than a fifth of that, at $160 billion.

RELATED: The Truth Behind Amazon's Success? It's Kinda Evil.

Just for funsies, let's take a look at the math for both Amazon value extremes and compare it to the average American's charitable giving.

If Amazon is valued at $1 trillion, a donation of $690,000 would be .000069% of the company's worth. According to the Federal Reserve, the median net worth for American families is $97,000. So that means for the typical American, a donation equivalent to Amazon's would be less than 7 cents. Now, that's not nothing, right? But is that a donation people would feel good about announcing?

Now let's look at the more conservative estimate of $160 billion. In that case, a $690,000 donation would be .00043% of Amazon's worth. For the typical American household, that's the equivalent of giving…wait for it…42 cents. Again, is that a donation most of us would announce proudly?

I know everyone will be saying this but that is literally the equivalent of me announcing I am donating $0.69
— Spice Latté (@GTA4brycecity) January 12, 2020

Twitter users were quick to point out the relatively tiny donation from the world's most valuable company, especially compared to what several others whose net worths are far lower have donated. For example, the heavy metal group Metallica reportedly donated $750,000. Pop singer Pink has pledged $500,000 (and Bette Midler is matching it).

— (@)

@NSWRFS is the world's largest volunteer firefighting organization and all funds donated during this State of Emergency are directed toward services related to and victims of these particularly destructive Australian bushfires. (4/6)
— Metallica (@Metallica) January 8, 2020

In turn, other Twitter users chided people for charity shaming, pointing out that Amazon didn't have to give anything, but did. And it's true. Giving is voluntary. (It's also true that charitable giving is a way for rich people to pay less in taxes, so giving isn't always about altruism.) But it's also all relative. For a person making minimum wage, even a few dollars is a huge sacrifice. Relative to total wealth, Amazon's donation is the sacrificial equivalent of a few coins of pocket change for most of us.

No. He is the richest man ON THE PLANET. He should do a fuck ton more.
— Rain (@SunRedRain) January 13, 2020

The debate boils down to whether or not someone with gargantuan amounts of extra money has some kind of obligation to society to share the wealth with those in need. And if so, how much of that wealth is a reasonable amount to expect? (For an interesting look at how much billionaires give compared to their wealth, check out this article.)

Total charitable giving in the US (itemized on tax returns) in 2017: $269 billion, or 0.33% of household wealth.

Charitable giving by the top 20 billionaires excluding Gates and Buffett: 0.32% of wealth

They give less, relative to their wealth, than the average American.
— Gabriel Zucman (@gabriel_zucman) November 24, 2019

The guy who originally posted the Bezos story pointed out that if everyone on Twitter donated $2, they could beat Bezos' donation, but that suggestion seems to miss—or perhaps reinforce—the point. A $2 donation for the typical American would be the equivalent of more than $3 million for Amazon.

Join me: https://t.co/PezlFoM4q0 pic.twitter.com/aFjzUcK7xG
— Jeremy Berke (@jfberke) January 13, 2020

Good effort at rallying the 99.9%, though, man. But perhaps people can give their $2 and also push for accountability for megabillionaires whose companies pay no taxes.

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Heroes

A new breast cancer study has good news, but not everyone can celebrate equally.

For years, breast cancer patients, survivors, and their families have wondered if decades of walks, ribbons, fundraising, awareness, and dedicated activism were making a difference.

On Tuesday, a new batch of results came in.

A statistical analysis published by the American Cancer Society found that mortality rates from breast cancer fell 39% between 1989 and 2015.

The decrease amounts to 322,600 saved lives in 26 years, according to the paper's authors. Researchers attribute the drop to increased early detection and more effective treatment options.

The percentage of women over 40 who have had a mammogram in the prior two years grew from 29% in 1987 to 64% in 2015. Meanwhile, options for combatting the disease have increased, thanks to the advent of new drugs and therapies.

Hundreds of thousands of fewer people dying is good news.

The bad news is that black women continue to die from the disease at higher rates than any other demographic.

While a lower percentage of black women are dying from the disease overall, their fatality rates are still nearly 40% higher than those of white women, a rate that has remained maddeningly persistent for decades.

[rebelmouse-image 19531394 dam="1" original_size="700x466" caption="Photo by USAG, Humphreys/Flickr." expand=1]Photo by USAG, Humphreys/Flickr.

"The reason for the black and white difference is primarily related to economic status and lack of insurance on part of black women," Harold Freeman, former director of the American Cancer Society, told NPR in a 2014 interview. "But also, we have a health care system that doesn't treat everyone equally." He cites a lack of ability to pay for preventive care and subconscious assumptions that lead some medical professionals to ignore black women's concerns as contributing factors.

The study also found that the racial mortality gap varied heavily by region. Disparities were worst in eight mostly southern states: Alabama, Louisiana, Mississippi, Missouri, North Carolina, Virginia, Indiana, and Michigan.

Eliminating the racial disparity when it comes to breast cancer diagnoses will require more than ribbons and walks to solve — and organizations are already rising to the challenge.

Groups like Breast Cancer Action have made racial justice a core plank, citing the need to address the disparities in education, housing, and economic power that exacerbate the mortality gap at its root.

As a stopgap, programs like the CDC's National Breast and Cervical Cancer Early Detection Program help provide early detection screenings to low-income and uninsured people.

While some states indeed showed large, persistent racial disparities in mortality rates, according to the study, the gap was nearly nonexistent in several others. Three states — California, Massachusetts, and Delaware — made significant, verifiable progress in making outcomes more equal over the 26-year span.

"This means that there is light at the end of the tunnel," Carol DeSantis, lead author of the study, told The Washington Post. "Some states are showing that they can close the gap."

For the 252,710 people expected to be diagnosed with breast cancer this year — and hundreds of thousands more in the years to come — the progress in treating the disease is a welcome sign.

The work to make sure they all have an equal shot at a full recovery remains.

I'm black. My wife is white. We saw 'Get Out.' This was our conversation afterward.

After two weekends successfully dodging spoilers, my wife and I finally had a chance to see "Get Out."

Written and directed by Jordan Peele of "Key & Peele" fame, "Get Out" tells the story of Chris Washington (Daniel Kaluuya), a black, 20-something photographer who accompanies his white girlfriend (Allison Williams) on a trip to meet her parents (Bradley Whitford and Catherine Keener) for the first time at their family home. What should be a potentially awkward but innocuous visit becomes anything but, as Chris quickly realizes something sinister is going on.

From left to right: Keener, Whitford, Williams, Betty Gabriel, and Kaluuya. Image via "Get Out"/Universal Pictures.

Before I go on, I should mention that I'm black, and my wife is white. We met nearly six years ago, and I was warmly welcomed into her family.

Immediately, however, "Get Out" reminded me of a pivotal moment that happened early in our relationship.

I had joined my wife's extended family for her cousin's high school graduation in eastern Kansas. Rows and rows of mostly white teenagers sat in folding chairs at the 40-yard line of the football field, while their mostly white parents waved and peered at them through zoom lenses. As we waited for the ceremony to begin, I played a game I often play in moments of intense whiteness (folk concerts, theme trivia nights, farmer's markets, etc.). I call it "Find Another Black Person," and depending on where I am, it's much harder than it sounds.

That day in Kansas, I didn't see any other black people.

I've played this game for years without ever really thinking much about why I play it. After seeing "Get Out," it clicked: This harmless game is more than just a way to occupy my impatient mind — it's a safeguard. In a sea of white people, I look for a lifeboat. And "Get Out" reminded me that maybe I'm right to.

Logan (Lakeith Stanfield) and Chris (Kaluuya) meet at the party. Image via "Get Out"/Universal Pictures.

"Get Out" is unsettling, suspenseful, witty in just the right places, beautifully shot, and well-acted. It's fantastic.

The rest of this story will have spoilers, so if you haven't yet seen "Get Out," get out.

As I watched the film — from its title theme, "Sikiliza Kwa Wahenga," a song in Swahili that loosely translates to "listen to the ancestors," to the tears streaming down Chris and Georgina's faces when they were in the "sunken place" — something stirred loose in me. Scenes of Chris dodging microaggressions from all sides while Rose gaslit him without abandon felt familiar — yet horrifying — on the big screen.

I'd say it couldn't have come at a better time, but to be honest, we've needed a film like this for years. It was frightening for the same reason a stadium full of white Kansan parents and their children left me looking for a familiar brown face — sure, nothing bad will happen ... but it could.

Whitford and Keener. Image from "Get Out"/Universal Pictures.

To put it plainly, "Get Out" left me shook. I needed to talk about it immediately, and thankfully, I had a car ride home with my wife to do so.

I needed to digest what I'd just seen. "Get Out" was certainly no ordinary film. The way my heart lodged firmly in my throat when I saw the red and blue lights approach our hero in the final scene, only to be saved by his trusted black friend, his lifeboat? I saw my worst fears play out on the silver screen. It was just too real.

The sunken place is terrifying. Image from "Get Out"/Universal Pictures.

While my wife and I are an interracial couple, we're also both women, so my experience watching and reflecting on "Get Out" isn't quite the same as what Chris experienced.

I was nervous when I met my wife's white parents for many of the reasons Chris was nervous in the movie. Did they know I was black? What was I walking into? But, as a black woman, I also had the privilege of coming to my future in-laws' front door without the burden of more than 150 years of assumptions and lies about violent black masculinity, hypersexuality, and predatory behavior (especially as it pertains to white women). It doesn't mean I rang their bell without worry or fear, but as a woman dating a woman, I know I didn't shoulder the burden of history as black men in heterosexual interracial relationships do, and I recognize that.

Chris (Kaluuya) and Rose (Williams) get comfy. Image from "Get Out"/Universal Pictures.

When we got in the car, I turned to my wife. I knew we'd watched "Get Out" differently. How could we not?

I needed to know if in watching the film, she saw me. Not just a character in a horror film, but me, her wife, who faces fear, isolation, and anxiety about racism every single day.

We discussed the film in-depth the whole way home, but there was one part of our conversation that stood out to me because, in that moment, something clicked — for both of us:

Me: "When do you think about being white?"
Her: "When racist stuff happens."
Me: "What do you think when racist stuff happens?"
Her: "I feel bad."
Me: "You feel bad for whom?"
Her: "For whom? The victims of racism. I feel guilty."
Me: "You feel guilty after racist things happen. Did you feel guilty after watching the movie?"
Her: "Yeah, maybe a little. Yeah. It's so extreme though, you know?"
Me: "Yeah."
Her: "It kind of got out of the range of like, 'realistic racism,' I guess. Once we got into brain transplants, we're obviously outside of a realm. I feel like I felt more guilty when they were doing other stuff, the minor stuff ... that turned out to be major."

That right there — the conclusion she drew — is an important one.

Whether we're talking about Hollywood horror or real life, racism is never just small stuff. It may start with small things, like being followed around a store, having your hair stroked by strangers, or people assuming you grew up in poverty. Before long, it becomes voter suppression, subpar medical care, limited economic opportunities, and poor public schools. One racist misdeed begets another, and it all starts "innocently" enough.

Chris (Kaluuya) greets guests during the party. Image from "Get Out"/Universal Pictures.

Punishing experiments on black soldiers like the Buffalo Soldier bicycle mission, the Tuskegee syphilis trials, the stripping of cells from Henrietta Lacks — these things don't happen all at once. They happen when a group of people is not seen as fully human by society. That's when these small things cross into what my wife called the "realm of the impossible" — a realm that black people in particular know from history is actually very possible.

That's the frightening reality I grappled with while watching "Get Out," and, while it didn't leave me screaming in the theater, it definitely keeps me up at night.

I adore my wife, and I know the feeling is mutual. But I was black long before I met her, so even as our families blend, my blackness won't.

My blackness is non-negotiable. It's not a hobby or a casual interest. I won't get bored with it one day and shove my blackness in the attic. It's here. Always. It's with me at work, at home, when I'm driving, and when I'm in a crowded football stadium watching a high school graduation.

Thankfully, my wife recognizes and appreciates that. But even on her best day, she won't know what it's like to feel so out of place, to look out into that sea of white faces and need a lifeboat. She can't. No white person can. But in that theater, for 103 minutes, a surprising and innovative movie helped her get a little closer to understanding what that's like. That's more important to me than she'll ever know.

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