You guys are the ones with the problem, Rob, not me.
I actually had to get up out of bed and sit down in front of this computer.
After laying there thinking about it for a long time, I’m still not completely sure what it is that bothers me.
Maybe I can make some sense of it here . . .
Last year, in Outlook WA, with only an hour left to pay her property taxes or their family home is lost, Ruth called your office and asked you to get out of the way so I could help them.
By interfering, your office was about to cost them their home, and she was determined to make you butt out.
When she explained this to former AAG Cheryl Kringle, Cheryl responded by laughing at her, moving Ruth to tears.
Ruth didn’t understand what could possibly be so funny, particularly at that moment. In less than an hour her home would be lost, and some heartless assistant attorney general on the other end of the phone thought the whole thing was funny?
It was as if Cheryl believed the matter somehow beneath her, as if she should not have been troubled by someone as unimportant as Ruth.
And what was Ruth thinking anyway, telling the Office of the Washington State Attorney General what to do?
The God complex
Eric Dunn, while commenting to the blog a couple days ago, expressed a sentiment I found appalling. It troubled me, and I couldn’t put my finger on exactly why.
He said he was “loving it,” watching us “squeal,” and somehow taking this odd, perverse pleasure in having exerted control over us lowly investors by authoring the new foreclosure law and getting his chance to play God.
And then it hit me . . . it was the very same sort of thing Ruth went through with Cheryl last year all over again.
Some “I’m better than you because I’m a consumer protection advocate” attorney deciding we, like Ruth, didn’t matter one iota.
Someone once told me your office’s handling of this investigation said a whole lot more about you and your staff than it does about me, and I think I’m beginning to see what she meant.
You are the ones with the problem, Rob, not me.
Something deep-seated allows you and your ilk to take pleasure in all the wrong places. I can’t explain it exactly, and I don’t even want to. Just knowing it’s there and it fuels your existence is scary enough.
In the arena,