I needed to get some white shoes for my job, and I needed them cheap, so I went to one of the outlet stores, let’s call it Manchester Coat Factory. Underpriced goods from every sweatshop on the planet were crammed onto the racks. Most of the customers were speaking Spanish, a few were wearing bright colored scrubs — health workers stopping in to get their shopping done in the few minutes between their multiple jobs.

I scrounged around the shelves till I found a pair of shoes that would do, and took the sad, sexless things to the checkout counter where right in front of my face was a picture of Paris Hilton. She was on a box of perfume, called, ‘Just Me’.

Ahead at the checkout was a young woman in scrubs, putting a little money down so she could reserve three children’s backpacks on layaway. A mother of three perhaps, or a loving aunt. She didn’t buy the perfume.

Still, Manchester Coat Factory displayed it in the place of honor by the register. They must think they’re going to sell this worthless debris, but to whom? Even assuming that everything in the store is deep discount, why would anyone who works for a living give even a penny to a woman famous for being rich and useless?

I remember years ago having a job in Newport. I took the bus from Providence every morning and waited with the same people to catch the bus back in the afternoon. One day some boys in an expensive convertible pealed by the bus stop laughing at all of us. A wave of anger, outrage and contempt rose from the crowd. The nature of the insult was clear, but what could any of us do?

Later I worked in a nursing home where the TV’s were on 24/7 and all turned to Fox or the 700 Club. Commercials were running for the repeal of the Estate Tax, urging all the good Christians to give another tax break to the wealthy. A New York City firefighter should pay taxes, but the Paris Hiltons of the world should get to keep their whole unearned wad. Why do we fall for it?

The real woman who is sitting in jail (a peaceful place where no one bothers you for twenty-three hours a day, simple meals are brought to you and you are allowed books and writing paper), is a human being. The image is a kind of a cultural monster, a Paris Hiltonstein. We created her, she sits and suffers for our sins. I hope the prison nurse is watching out for Paris when she starts to feel the furry insect feet of drug withdrawal. It wasn’t home and family she was crying for as they took her away.

I was at a meeting in Providence where men were talking about finding a job and staying straight after jail, and the tightrope you walk when you are on parole. ‘I don’t even jaywalk’, one said. I know people who are serving a life sentence because they had the misfortune to be in the path of a drunk driver. If Paris Hilton gets behind the wheel one day before her license is returned, I hope they lock her up and melt the key. That will not actually happen, I know.

The fact is that it’s more likely she will someday be President. Only 40% of us bother to vote. We let corrupt politicians disenfranchise more and more of us so that we can’t vote even if we want to. We give money to televangelists because God promises to pay it back with interest, but try and collect. We want to make a public example of some poor person who sold their food stamps for cash, but we let the President hand out tax breaks and favors to his base, the haves and have mores.

Paris Hilton is a publicity addict who was set up to channel all our fantasies about the idle rich. If she follows the script, she will self-destruct in some flamboyant way, or maybe she will get religion. She’s a good distraction from the individuals and corporations who are sucking up more and more of the national wealth while the poor get poorer and the middle class disappears. Keep on reading your tabloids, pay no attention to the hand that’s picking your pocket.