In this urban bistro, they still hate Hillary

By Meta-Content Generator A.J. Liebling
with Nellie Bly in New York

The hulking industrial buildings of this lower Manhattan neighborhood remind the visitor of the district's proud past as a thriving commercial center, where meat was processed and packed for a hungry city. Today those businesses are long gone, replaced with $12,000,000 condos and edgy bars serving Brooklyn rum for $18 a shot. 

These diners are still mad about her emails

Yet in this post-industrial district, a few neighborhood hangouts remain, where the bitter locals doff their black leather jackets and gather to enjoy simple traditional delicacies like duck a la orange and octopus en croute.  We visited one of these old-fashioned watering holes on a bleak winter day and talked to some of the diners about why they still hate Hillary Clinton.

A gaunt old man facing imminent job loss and a sizzling platter of steak-frites, who gave his name only as Dean, was unrepentant:

I know this is going to get everybody riled up again, but I don’t have regrets about the Hillary Clinton e-mail stories. It was a running news story. It was a serious F.B.I. investigation. The stories were accurate.  

Although his views may seem incomprehensible given that there was never any credible allegation that Hillary Clinton's handling of personal and unclassified e-mails violated any law, many of his fellow diners shared his bitterness. 

A withered old lady named Maureen with flaming-red dyed hair seated with Dean paused from devouring her bowl of mussels in garlic sauce to state adamantly: “She was so political and she thought she was better than anyone else and she didn't divorce her cheating husband.  So I agree with my brother Kevin: she can go f*** herself.  And maybe next time she'll return interview requests from 1996.”

Although the bitterness expressed by almost all of the customers may seem incomprehensible to the outsider, it's part of a wider surge of political discord from those who feel somehow left out by the rising tide of prosperity brought about by the Biden Administration.

A young server cautioned onlookers not to judge the bistro's patrons too harshly: “You have to understand that these people have seen their dreams go up in smoke.  Hardly any of them can afford to live in this neighborhood anymore.  Some of them can't even find a place to live in Brooklyn.  I've even heard some of them talking about moving to Yonkers.  Yonkers!” she repeated, shuddering.

She said that she was getting her MBA at night from Baruch College, “so I don't end up like these losers.”

The economic anxiety felt at the bistro was palpable.  A frazzled middle-aged woman named Maggie juggled three cellphones while conversing rapidly: “So you're saying Ivanka knew nothing about the classified documents?  Thanks, Kellyanne.  I mean a source close to Ivanka.  Ciao, bella.”

She put down that phone and screamed into another:“What do you mean you can't option the f***in' film rights now?  Do you know how much a brownstone in Park Slope costs?  No, I won't live west of Fourth Avenue.”  She abruptly poked the phone, ending the call, and returned to her langoustines.

“Look you have to understand why everyone hates Hillary.  She never leaks, I mean, talks to anyone.  What gives her the right to stiff us?” she asked, picking up a third phone and saying quickly, “Yeah, I got another A1 scoop.  Jared and Ivanka knew nothing about the classified documents.  Absolutely solid.”

Tribeca in its long-gone glory days

Her dining companion, a preternaturally boyish man named Peter, put his fork down in his platter of Dover sole and said, “You have to be as smart as I am to understand how terrible Hillary Clinton is.  I don't vote or even have any political opinions at all, but she ruined our country with her shrill partisanship.”

Reminded that the man who lost the popular vote to her in 2016 was known for his non-stop lies and his unspeakably crude invective about women, the disabled, the news media, and anyone who disagreed with him, he said, “You expect that from him, but not from her.  That's the difference.”

Hardly any of the lunch crowd had a good word to say for the former Secretary of State and Senator from New York. The closest anyone came was a woman dining alone in front of a dozen raw Bluepoints on ice staring daggers at the other customers.  “Hillary?  Yeah, I feel for her.  I know what it's like to get f**ked over just when you think you've attained the job you always wanted and deserved,” said the woman, who gave her name as Jill.

What does this level of bitterness say about the future of our broken political process?  

Although the fault lines run deep in this narrow island, if you look hard, you can find tender green shoots of unity.  Just a few miles uptown, where gleaming office towers speak of a more prosperous time, we found a number of well-dressed men and women at a fashionable glass-walled Sixth Avenue bar.  It turned that Greg and Sean and Laura and Jesse, although miles away from their grizzled counterparts in Tribeca, hate Hillary too!

So there's hope!