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Cognitive Dissonance

Once upon a time, there was a dirty, poor ragpicker living in the putrid filth of the dump in one of the poorest parts of Vietnam—we’re talking open sewers and stench and danger where you are lucky to eke out a couple dollars a month digging recyclable plastic and metal scraps out of the garbage—who sold his beautiful young teenage daughter for a $60 “advance” to slick recruiters who claimed to be from the big capital city, coming to offer pretty young women the chance to escape their dead-end lives of grinding poverty by working for a new restaurant which was in desperate need of waitstaff, but soon after the truck drove away the ragpicker’s daughter realized they were not heading toward the capital city, but away, toward Cambodia, where rumors said, young Vietnamese women were sold into sex slavery by human traffickers, so the ragpicker’s daughter pulled out her cell phone, called her mother and had mom call the police and set up a roadblock at the border, where the traffickers were caught and she was put on a bus back to the dump.

    TAGS:  cognitive dissonance

Writing this sentence is interfering with the nothing I’m trying to accomplish today.

    TAGS:  cognitive dissonance


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