It’s All A Giant Plate Of Shrimp

A metaphor for that thing that happened this week. You know the thing.

Imagine eating dinner with a friend you’ve known for a long time. It’s not a seafood restaurant, but there’s a menu item that’s just a giant plate of shrimp. That’s all it is. A massive, towering plate of shrimp. Your friend keeps looking at it on the menu, but you really don’t expect them to order it because they’re incredibly allergic to shellfish. Still. There’s something about that plate of shrimp, right? 

Here’s a sentence that’s sure to spark joy: I’ve spent a couple days processing the election. If you’re reading this, you’re probably either pretty depressed, very depressed, pretty angry, very angry, or feel absolutely nothing. I don’t know and I don’t have the energy to do some “who’s fault is this” thing. Everyone’s doing that. It’s a fun game where we find someone to blame who just happens to be the same people we were already annoyed with before the election. If you had a personal political enemy anywhere from the center to the left, the loss is probably because of them and now you can sleep better.

Your friend says they’re considering the plate of shrimp. You ask them, “Aren’t you allergic to shellfish?” They say they are, but they don’t want that to stop them. They’ve tried other foods here before and they tasted terrible and, frankly, they don’t trust a lot of it. In fact, they’re tired of hearing warnings about their shellfish allergy. And they’re tired of restaurants that seem to want them to avoid the shrimp and eat something less fun and less satisfying. After all, shrimp is supposed to be healthy! But every time they’re out to eat with anybody and they want to order shrimp, someone says, “You’ll be sick if you do that!” It feels condescending.

According to everyone online, the Democrats lost because of Joe Biden dropping out, Joe Biden not dropping out soon enough, the party being too pro-Palestine, the party being too pro-Israel, too progressive, too centrist, too right wing, too serious, too jokey, too little policy, too much publicity, not enough press, the wrong type of press, the price of eggs being too high, the price of eggs not being too high but people thinking it is, immigrants, men, women, trans people, and vibes. So, that pretty much covers it. I don’t know at this point. Personally, I thought we were in trouble when Democratic advisors seemed to clamp down on the candidates making fun of bad, unpopular Republican policies and made them become as serious as possible. But I’m from a comedy background. I’m likely wrong, too.

At the dinner table, you try to reason that your friend could die if they eat the shrimp. They respond that you’re being dramatic; they had shrimp a few years ago and it only made them vomit on the table and need a quick trip to the hospital. It wasn’t that bad and, honestly, it was worth it for a taste of that sweet plate of shrimp. It doesn’t matter that they threw up on everyone else at the table when it happened. The horror and embarrassment of that memory has long passed into self-mythologizing for them, almost silly at this point, kind of a joke. It’s not that serious. The friends and family who got puked on are the dummies in the story.

A lot of people are angry or upset. Some are celebrating. People in Hollywood who secretly supported Trump are now coming out, which shouldn’t shock anybody. Hollywood is a city full of extremely wealthy sociopaths who need constant attention, so it’s not really a surprise that some people there might find common cause with the winning candidate. Or, again, they’re  nostalgic for a bucolic time before COVID-19 when things were theoretically simpler, cheaper, and better. Warnings about the dangers of climate change are hard to hear over rose-colored memories of the good old days. Warnings about personal civil rights are hard to weigh against unfathomable imagery of bombs decimating hospitals. Some people wanted to punish Democrats. Some people wanted to go back to the old times. Some people just didn’t care enough. Not everyone. Some.

Right before the waiter comes by, your friend finally promises they’re not going to order the plate of shellfish. “You’re right,” they say. They add, “Nothing else on the menu looks good, though.” They point out every negative thing about something on the menu. You tell them there are tradeoffs for every menu item, wondering when you became the spokesman for a restaurant you don’t own nor run. You tell yourself that they’ll still avoid the shrimp because the shrimp has almost killed them in the past. The pain and embarrassment of that memory alone should stop them. The waiter comes by and after you politely order something mundane, your friend says, “Actually, I’m going to take the giant plate of shrimp.” That’s it, then. You can’t stop it.

It’s hard not to give up. Out of disappointment, out of frustration, out of having been here before. A television star just rebooted the biggest reality show of all time and we’re going to have to watch for four more years. Maybe you’re in one of the groups already being blamed. Maybe you’re part of the group that’s going to be hurt or already hurt. Maybe you’re in another group and got fed up being told by others how to think. Maybe you don’t feel like you’re part of any group and you don’t know if you should just keep your head down for career and safety.

The orders come in. Your food looks fine if not completely satisfying. Your friend gets that giant plate of shrimp. Before you can say anything, they begin shoveling the shrimp in their mouth. All you can do is watch. You can’t stop them. You tried your best. You sit back with a feeling of dread but also release: This is the choice your friend has made. “Maybe they won’t get as sick this time,” you tell yourself as they eat more shrimp than they’ve ever had in their life. “At least I can say that I tried to get them to not order the shrimp, right?” It’s a small comfort. You did your best. You try to fold the tiny napkin over yourself before the vomiting begins.

What’s next? I don’t know. The fear of 2016 was replaced by the anxiety of 2020 was replaced by the sheer exhaustion of 2024. As much as I want us to all fight for what we consider right, who can tell anyone what to do? For eight years now, everyone has heard about the danger. Everyone has seen the danger. “I know, I know! Can you give it a rest already?” There’s an air of frustration and self-protection. It’s only more frustrating when it seems like everyone else gets to celebrate and put their fingers in the air and yell “pew pew pew!” 

After two dozen shrimp, your friend begins to gasp a bit. They’re fine, they wheeze through clenched teeth. Never better. A rash rolls over their skin. They cough. You begin waving the waiter over to get help. You ask if they have an epipen but they’re choking too much to say anything. They’re throwing up all over the table now. It’s all over you, on your clothes, in your mouth. It’ll never come out. You told yourself you did everything you could, but here you are anyway. And, as every table in the restaurant turns to watch with horror, your friend finds a way to scoop even more shrimp into their mouth.