They tried to make her go to rehab and she said, Yes.

I should first state that I am not an ultra-conservative. In fact my political leanings are very much dependant on the topic or issue at hand. This tale is about how a simple ride on public transportation can make you at least cognitively race to the right.

Yesterday, I took a very crowded bus from downtown four miles south. In the seat in front of me were two women in their mid-thirties. I am assuming here although, they both looked a bit older. I gathered that they had not seen each other in a while. The white woman had her hair pulled back in a very neat bun. The black woman’s do was similar but not so neat. This does not really matter, just setting the scene. Their conversation went something like this:

BW: Where you been, girl? I ain’t seen you in a long while.
WW: I just got out of rehab.
BW: Really, I thought you were doing so good?
WW: I got my settlement check. It was 30 grand and I relapsed.
BW: What settlement check?
WW: You know from when I fell at work. (She mumbles but, I got the impress it was at a fast food restaurant)
BW: Really, $30,000?
WW: Yeah, but I only got $8,000. left.
BW: $8,000.?
WW: Yeah, like I said I relapsed and spent the rest in 2 months. I woke up and two months later that’s all I had left. Yeah, they took my kids. That’s where um comin’ from now. They gonna give them to my mother for now until I can get things straight. My dad got the rest of the money, but, they don’t know about it. (I assume “they” here means the courts and the county).
BW: Dang, so how you gonna get them back.
WW: Well the first step was finishing rehab. I got another $20,000 comin’ too.
BW: Fa what?
WW: The whole amount was for $50,000. The 30 grand was just the first check.
BW: So, you get another $20,000?
WW: Yeah. (she puts her head down as if she were sad or ashamed. I’m not certain which?

I stared out the window while the words representing WTF! repeatedly paced through my brain. I had a million questions that I could not ask for obvious reasons and will ask a few here.

Does she need to reimburse the county for care for placing her children in foster care? Does she need to pay for her own rehab? Does she need to reimburse the courts for their time? Does she believe that she has any responsibility to the taxpayers that will have to foot the bill for her very bad choices? Do the powers that be know that her dad had squirreled away the money for her? I’ll save you the effort. The answer to all of the above questions I believe is a resounding, NO!

My eyes drifted to the guy across the aisle with muddy boots and a face that I felt certain was weathered 15 years beyond his actual age. He was a hump, a proud hump that I imagine got up every day and went and humped for the man to pay for his life; to provide for his family and give them a bit better than he had coming up. I felt far sorrier for this guy than I could ever for Miss Rehab. Yeah, I fully understand that a whole lot of bad, bad direction has made her the person she is today. I fully understand that in many ways the society, schools, government etc. have failed her and her children but, I can’t help thinking about that guy and a whole lot of others like him who have tried and more times than not succeeded in making good choices. His good choices have resulted in barely making it himself while supporting a system that believes in redemption/rehab. What about him? He gets to hump for his good choices. She on the other hand gets to blow the money obtained from a nuisance lawsuit while at the same time create “bills” she won’t be held responsible for. Yes, indeed I know that life is not often fair but, I still ask, is this situation fair? I believe that we are a society and as such should care for those who either temporarily or permanently cannot care for themselves but, where should the line be drawn? If your life sucks and you are handed $30,000., and you do not use it to move your life forward; should those of us who are pushing forward each day be responsible for your bad choices? I say, no, no, no.

A Little Squirrelly

Around 2:30 in the afternoon yesterday, the electrical power went out. The cooking gas stayed on but, the electrical power was out. The house alarm kept making this horrific screeching noise to alert me that it was off line. The nearest neighbor across the street was not affected. The problem seemed to be contained on my side of the street. After a couple three hours the power company came out to alert all involved that they need a bigger truck and would be right back. They said that the problem would take a couple hours to fix and to be careful with candles and “oh, by the way… squirrels had angrily attacked the transformer which knocked out the power.” They of course needed to replace said destroyed transformer thingy.

Roughly three hours came and went before the bigger truck with the replacement part returned. They made quick work of things. The process took roughly 30-40 minutes. The interesting story here really is how I spent my time in the dark.

After making a cup of tea and a peanut butter sandwich for dinner, I then allowed my mind to roam pondering the possibility that this was personal and the squirrels had it in for me. You see the inset photo I took a while back is key here. A bit earlier I had watched that same squirrel along with a friend rip a hole in the neighbor’s garbage and remove that very same half full (and it was half full and not half empty) Dorritos bag. They both dragged the bag around to my door where they proceeded to party. The second squirrel was camera shy and scurried away when I began to snap the shots. Eventually, the second squirrel dashed off and I tossed the Dorritos bag. A short while later three bewildered looking squirrels appeared to be glaring at the door. In the darkness I wondered if they wanted revenge and putting the power out was their first step. I even texted Dr. M and Dr. D who both suggested comical solutions being unaware of my true peril. One even suggested an appetizing dinner might be in the offing. Anywho, having exhausted my unrealistic fears I moved on in ridiculous thought.

I wondered how squirrels who acted so well, “squirrelly” in the yard and on the fence could shimmy up a utility pole and chew around live power lines until they had destroyed things and power was out? These same squirrels knew how to make a party with popular munchies but, at the same time could not get across a roadway without becoming pizza. What a curious lot. They were indeed crafty. This led me full circle to my belief that they were coming for me; then the lights came back on.

Sign of the times?

I spent last weekend putting together a proposal and contract for a new client. It all went smoothly and I was pleased as to how things came together. I felt certain the client might be please too in that I believed I had attended to and anticipated every detail or question. We were to meet Monday morning at ten- thirty.

Late Sunday evening after I had put everything in cover folders and then in my bag for the next day, it occurred to me that a certain document while not totally necessary, might be handy for the presentation. I found the document I wanted and giving it the once over thought that by adding a sentence it might be clearer. I had the document saved on a flash drive and came up with the bright idea that I would get downtown early, correct the copy on a computer at the main library, and then get myself a cup of coffee at the Starbucks across the street from where I was meeting the client. I have this thing about being on time. There at the coffee shop I could read through everything again and be over-prepared as I am oft to do.

Imagine my surprise when I entered the main library and walked over to the elevators that would have taken me to the upper floors where most of the internet and word processing computers were held. There were what appeared to be stanchion ropes surrounding off the area in front of the elevators. From the ropes hung a few signs that read something about the upper levels being closed to the public until 11:00am and that only library personnel were allowed to go up there before that time. Huh? I stepped closer not believing my eyes. Really, the main public library in this town is not open to the public until 11:00 in the morning? That couldn’t be, I thought as I stood in disbelief. My head swarmed with the implications of this policy. Was this everyday or just Mondays? What does that say about a town that cannot or cares not to have its main library open until half the day is over? All of my questions would be soon answered by a woman at the check-out desk.

The woman at the desk appeared either horribly disinterested or more than a little sedated. Apparently, the 11:00a.m. policy was for every day of the work week. That library branch was not opened on weekends. Also, I learned that the first floor where books could be checked out and many new titles were shelved, was however open at 9:00a.m. each weekday. The more incredulous I felt I was projecting, the more I felt responded to as if I had just arrived from another planted and asked to be taken to her library leader. She looked at me as if I were the oddest thing she had ever seen and offered no apology. Get with the program homeboy, this bi*ch be closed up in here; I am of course wildly paraphrasing. Feeling as if my head was going to spin off in a second or too, I gave the attendant a hard stare certain that I would detect the circuitry behind her eyes. I could not detect any and decided coffee was my best option.

All the way over to the coffee shop I was livid. “What kind of a friggin’ town is this” I even once asked aloud. How incredibly embarrassing that this town is building a multimillion dollar bus shelter to put all of the poor under one roof but, it can’t find the resources to keep the main branch of its public library open. “This is absolutely nuts” I thought. What does this say to visitors and potential business concerns that might be looking for a thriving community to work, play and prosper? I’ll tell you what it says. It says that we are a town of dullards and those libraries with all they hold, with all they offer to enhance the lives of young and old alike are not at all important to us. It says that we in a word suck! It says that we have no important priorities. It says that we are misguided and have paved a road to our own demise. It says that I am perfectly justified in being very ashamed.

The client presentation went well. I verbally added what I needed to the missing document and none were the wiser. After the meeting I went back over to the library to try to print out a copy again. (I don’t have the best memory and have found it a great idea to always do things when I think of them when I can). Here’s what happened. I got off of the library on the third floor. I walked over to the internet computer reservation desk and followed the instructions there. A slip of paper was spat out of the little machine informing me that I had a 35 minute wait for the next available computer. This was too long so, I thought I would go one flight up and just use the word processing computers and get it done. I told the woman at the desk there my dilemma. She told me that I could not use the word processing computers while I still had a reservation downstairs for the internet computers. I looked over my shoulder and directed her to notice that the six or eight computers for word processing were not in use. Not one person was there. I told her again that the work I need to do might take all of 60 seconds if I am slow. No, sir, “It is library policy.” If I were two years old or mentally challenged I might have interpreted her smile as empathy or even sympathy. I started to tell her of my ordeal earlier in the day and thought better of that. I then went down to the third floor picked up a copy of Advertising Age, Architectural Digest and Harpers. I sat and read trying to calm myself for oh, thirty five minutes.

What would you do?

Picture this… Syracuse, you’re a poor but honest writer taking a morning stroll. Before you on the sidewalk is a very large woman’s wallet. You pick up the wallet and inside you find someone’s life. There is a sum of cash; roughly six or eight credit cards; driver’s license; insurance cards etc. It contained all the stuff that creates and oh SH*T moment when they are gone altogether. The woman on the license did not look familiar or happy and the street address I had never heard of. As I stood there I looked about to see if there was anyone who resembled the woman in the photo. I was standing in front a vacant store front and the insurance office next door did not appear open. I had a few thoughts here…

My first thought was to touch the wallet as little as possible in that I had no idea how it got there. As you may all have learned here, I am indeed part germaphobe, part conspiracy theorist. Had the owner actually dropped it or was it dropped by a stick up man or something? My over-active imagination wandered further down stupid road to; maybe it was set there by the producer of one of those “moralistic” television shows and there were a dozen or so people watching me hoping I’d stripe the thing of its contents and make a go for it. Then they could appear telling me what was going on and condescend like Mrs. Greenwood in the second grade. To this day I still maintain that I did not drop a cleaned eraser on the way for the storage cupboard. No matter, I also quickly pondered whether or not it was like that “Bait Car” television show where the police leave a running SUV in the hood and wait for someone to get in and then arrest them. I guess those weird thoughts should have been dismissed but, they weren’t. I looked across the street and saw a Veterinarian’s office and a mailbox next to that. I walked over and stood staring at the opened wallet in my hands. I wondered what I would want someone to do if they had found my life encased in faux leather. I also thought of karma.


It then occurred to me to take the thing home and search for the owner. I had an address and name. I then had the overwhelming thought that people suck. What if I called up and the person accused me of not returning all of her belongs or that she had more than a couple three twenties? In case you have not noticed, people see windfall opportunities everywhere. I actually felt bad for thinking these thoughts. In the old days the first and only option would have been to personally return the lost wallet. This is now entirely too risky. So here’s, what I did…

I smeared my prints where I had held the wallet and then dropped it in the mailbox. I looked about for Allen Funt or some such reincarnation and then crossed the street again and continued on my way. I was sad.

Rational Thinking

I usually reserve this spot for humor and other items/things that make me scratch my head. Now, this incident certainly made me scratch my head. Earlier today I was accused of "thinking like a white person." I immediately knew what that person meant and was a tad offended. Here's how all of this got started: As I was dressing, I watched the local news out of one corner of my eye. A particular story seemed interesting to me. Later on I relayed to someone the story of a local liquor store that was robbed; the robber took a sum of cash and a bottle of champaign. I imagine that the bottle was to celebrate his victory over oppression? That was sarcasm for my new readers. Well, I continued my commentary adding that people seem surprised that small businesses and other services leave the city. I added that businesses like mom and pop setups are particularly vulnerable to stick-up bandits in that it is difficult to watch their shops and help real customers at the same time. Criminals can make quick work of these places where the register is not usually far from the door. What solicited the mean spirited comment was my statement that people tend to think of their and their family's safety over service to their communities. I made that comment without judgment. If they cannot run a business without a better than even chance of having their earnings taken from them, they most likely see no other choice other than to close down shop and move on to a safer venue.

I was responded to with loud cries that suburban and rural communities experience robberies all the time. I was not denying that. What I was saying was that a sense of community coupled with a stronger police presence made other areas at least appear safer to a business owner. If you live in a place where you know the police personally and you feel that your customers are not just customers but also your friends and neighbors you naturally feel more committed to offering the service(s) that you provide. If you are robbed you feel more secure that the culprit will be found. The community might even drop a dime (quarter) to see that the robber is brought to justice. In the city we have become jaded, apathetic. We do not take the violation of that shopkeeper personally; we almost expect that he will eventually have trouble. We don't see it as our problem.

What I do not quite understand is how my position has anything at all to do with race. Wishing for a sense of community where people can live and work and run their business while feeling relatively safe, I cannot fathom as a "white" invention. I am however amazed that anyone (I do not believe that the person I was talking to has views different from a great many others) would actually try to justify a disinterest in their own safety and future by dismissing a kinder perhaps gentler world as race specific.

BTW, I might flatter myself but, I believe that I am a rational thinker and I do not believe that any particular race either invented or controls that.

"Somebody got kilt."

Stop me if you heard this one…

I live in a fairly nice area of a city. Like most cities these days this means that you are roughly a quarter to a half mile from dicey areas. I reside at the very top of a great hill. There are no neighbors directly across the street or to the right of the house and but one to the left. The next street down is a fully regular city block but, the two side streets rise to only allow for two properties at the top. There isn’t much traffic up there and it indeed seems like another world. It is only when I climb down the great hills for a block or two that reality slowly sets in.

This morning I walked along enjoying the morning sun and even humidity when I noticed cars parked on both sides of the street a short distance ahead. I first assumed that a nearby church was having yet another bake/garage sale. As I walked I noticed huge numbers of people on foot coming from the other direction as well as people getting out of cars and on bicycles. They appeared to be coming from as far as 3 or 4 blocks ahead. After I passed the church, I noticed its lot almost empty; no sale there. I then concentrated on the other side of the street. The nearest side street had several police cars in front of the Lutheran Church, my polling place. I started to walk faster as the crowd grew and people seemed fixated on that little side street. I overheard a grand woman tell another, “This is the work of the devil.” Experience has taught me that it is never wise to dilly-dally about when the devil has been busy. I walked faster.

As I walked, a kid of maybe 16 rode along side me on a rusty blue bike entirely too small for him. I turned and asked, “What’s going on over there?” “Somebody got kilt,” responded in a tone as if I had asked simply the time. I looked ahead and walked even faster. As I’ve said a couple times here in posts before, I am probably one of the few people around in our voyeuristic culture that turns for the opposite direct when he smells smoke or hears sirens. I have no desire to be an eyewitless (yeah, I meant that). And I have certainly no desire to become another “innocent victim” on the local news.

What is it about people that would make them venture out, most in their night clothes at nine on a Saturday morning to get a glimpse of tragedy? I guess I could go into a rant about instant “news” or reality TV encouraging 15 minute fame mongers but, I won’t because you’ve certainly heard those arguments. I will say that we are horribly desensitized when we have any need at all to be part of such an ordeal. At least a hundred or more people left the safety of their homes to see who got “kilt” and how. They will most likely spend much of the day sharing what they know or think they know about what happened. I wonder how many will use the incident as a spring board to take the details of what happened and use them to create a safer community? Unfortunately, a safe community seldom makes for interesting conversation at the bar or beauty parlor.

Props

As I walked along yesterday, a guy stopped me. He was carrying a two year old. I noticed immediately that the two year old was very cute. She was very well groomed but, had an odd look about her as if she were confused. The man carrying her was about 5” 8’ and maybe 125 pounds. He was a grimy as the child was pristine. He walked right in front of me such that I had to stop or stumble into him. He said, “Sir, I really need 60 cents. Just 60 cents to catch the bus… She is getting’ heavy and I don’t want to get caught in the rain again. (There had been a couple spotty flash showers yesterday that lasted no more than five minutes each.)

Before I could respond with my usual, “sorry,” the man adjusted his body so I could not see his face but instead a full view of the adorable confused looking child. I reached into my pocket without thinking and gave him all of the change there. I believe that it was about $1.50 or so. He thanked me without showing his face and moved onward. Still carrying the child he walked onto a small grocery store’s parking lot. I stopped and watched as he approached three other people getting out of their cars with the same tired “sixty cent” line. I’ve been duped as they say in the movies. The man had apparently borrowed the child from perhaps a relative as a prop. They were too different in their presentations to be related. “Granma, let me take little Mary for a walk…

I shared the story with a friend when I got home who thought me surprisingly gullible. He thought that I should have seen that one coming. I did not see it coming because I guess I am not as cynical as the world might believe of me, even though the same thing did happen to me about ten years ago in Rochester. What can I say? Small children and puppies still make me gush. Besides, I have always thought that we must do the right thing. If the right thing is not received well, then that is on the soul of the receiver, if he/she has one. We live in a society and it is our responsibility to recognize that we are not alone but, at the same time we do have to protect ourselves which is why I did not take my wallet out.