The difference between a cement plant and a prison

I took my car to a new mechanic last week. I have had several bad experiences trying to maneuver through the male dominated world of the auto shop. Being a woman, with some automotive life experience, I expect to be ripped off or dismissed by the knowing, macho types that car culture often attracts. As I stood waiting in the steamy, crowded office, papered in Lamborghini (or as Otis “Half-Eaten” calls them, Lambos) posters the main mechanic talked with some old guy with like the worst B.O, ever. When he left, I started telling the mechanic about my car issues. He was a big, hulking guy. He looked Middle Eastern in the way that my dad did, which is to say, probably not Middle Eastern, but from somewhere close by. He was wearing dirty coveralls (natch) and was probably around fifty. He listened and handed me the paperwork to fill out.

He says to me as I’m doing this,” That old man, he comes here a lot. He smells so bad. His car is so filled with garbage that it’s hard for us to work on it. Poor, poor man, I think he’s very depressed. Both his sons died of AIDS. It’s very sad.”

That is one monologue that I did not expect. And the caring manner in which he related it, it was heartfelt and intimate, two things I also didn’t expect to encounter at the auto shop.

The universe is still expanding and exploding which according to Big Sur and I guess science and stuff, causes the world to be entropic, often negative, and chaotic. But, lately I have been surprised by open, generous, caring people with expansive energies and although the world still contains all those explosive characteristics, I’m experiencing a lot of the other stuff too.

checking the pulse at the welfare office part II (the weirdening)

Actual dialogue at the welfare office this morning.

Scene: generic government office 3/4 full. Two middle aged women sit and fill out forms together while the stink of booze rises off of them. It's 9:30am on a Wednesday.

Woman 1: "Wild Child, what's your real name?"
Woman 2: "Shirley."

Checking the pulse of the welfare office

Today I had the delight of visiting my local welfare office. You hear a lot about those places, but it isn’t like what you think. Or maybe it is. I won’t pretend to know what you think. I guess I know two opinions folks have on the welfare office although people probably have others as well. One is it’s a sad place where useless/dangerous people who have too many kids go, to get free stuff. The other is it’s a sad place where sad people go who have not had the privileges the rest of us have had, to be demeaned while they get free stuff for their multitudinous children.

Now, I guess I am finally one of the privileged. I certainly am solid middle class at this point in my life. However, most things in my life are qualified. For instance, I have a graduate degree but it’s from a state school. I’m a homeowner who only got there the old fashioned way (people died). Maybe I can’t believe I had the luck to be solid middle class so I’m trying to tear it down. Don’t know….

Anyway, I do think I have a unique vantage point. When I was in high school we donated our couch that we had been using every day, because someone gave us a newer one, and when Goodwill came by, they wouldn’t take it because it was too fucked up. In years prior, I didn’t have a winter coat and it was pretty cold where I lived. One of my best friends lived behind the impound lot in a trailer with six siblings. Man we had some good times breaking into those cars. Around this same time, I took my first overnight train ride, on the Orient Express from Venice to Paris. I guess my point is I’ve pretty much seen both sides of things and I know enough to know that what most folks think about class issues is usually simultaneously right and wrong.

Let me interject one moment to say that I’m not going to say why I was at the welfare office but I will say that I was referred to them to check into a situation. It was my intention to be honest and see if they could help me. I actually did tell the person who interviewed me that I considered myself middle class, so I wasn’t trying to scam.

When I walk in, there is a metal detector. I am asked to empty my pockets into a dirty, plastic bin. The security guard goes through my purse. I walk into the main room where there is a bank of windows behind bulletproof glass facing a bunch of plastic chairs all stuck together, DMV style. It looks like a boring George Tooker painting. If you don't know his paintings go google right now. I'll wait for you.

There are two armed guards giving everyone the stinkeye. There is a small T.V. area where kids can go hang. The kid's T.V. is behind bulletproof glass. You know how grumpy those welfare kids get when they run out of those big cheese blocks. They don't get bratty, they get shooty. In spite of all this security, no one looks particularly scary. It’s mostly moms and old people in a rainbow of colors. I’m not the only white person there.

I wait in the customer service line, explain my sitch, and am sent to another line. I explain my sitch again, the woman asks me to fill out a form, which I do. She gets irked because I didn’t bring my social security card. I apologize and tell her that I wasn’t told to by the person that referred me. She is speaking through one of those mics and keeps not speaking directly into it so I keep asking her to repeat everything. She is getting increasingly annoyed. Then she turns off her mic ( I can still hear her but it’s muffled) and starts giving her co-worker the business. “When we all work together thing go smooth, when you send everyone to me, it doesn’t go smooth”. Stuff like that. The co-workers are staring blankly at her. This makes me feel better because I know her annoyance is generalized. It’s not personal. When we finish our business, I smile and say “thank you”. She seems to appreciate it.

I wait in the rows of sticky chairs and read my book. Kids run around me laughing and playing. It takes about half an hour for them to call my name. I go though a door into a labyrinth of blank cubicles for my interview. The woman I speak to is thorough, professional, even kind. She explains how the system works. It’s pretty complicated and confusing. We schedule another appointment in order to give me time to gather information.

When my dad came to America he got off the boat in New York. He was given fifty dollars by a Jewish charity because he came over here with a bunch of people who had been in concentration camps. He tried to explain to the charity that he wasn't Jewish and hadn't been in those camps. just a regular prison camp. They told him to keep it anyway. When he was finally offered a job in California he had doubts about moving to such a far off place. The woman who interviewed him for the job took him to the window and showed him a homeless man people were stepping over, in the street. She told him that in America, you had to make the most of your opportunities because no one including the government had your back. He took the job.

It wasn’t terrible advice. It’s mostly true that if you have to rely on the government you are in a pretty bad place. They will barely keep you alive. The barest bare minimum. But navigating the system wasn’t as bad as you would think either. From what I saw, there were everyday people (maybe with more neck tattoos than usual) being ushered through a regimented process with dignity and kindness.

Mail Bag

Hello,

I am Oliver N'goran from Cote d Ivoire and I am contacting you because I need your help in the management of my inheritance my father left for me before he died. Please there is Reason for this letter, I will wish that you will read and reply me urgently. You may be surprise why my mail, but I feel it is better to approach you to sort a way forward for my life. The lost of my parents have traumatized me and expose me more about inhumanity among men,

All my father s assets has been forcefully taken away by my uncles and my life is in Danger, I can not take any action now because i'm afraid of been harmed as God has saved me from his den. Before the death of my father, I gained admission to read Medicine at the University of Cocody and could not complete this program due to these problems.My father disclosed to me about his treasure at point of death that worth $6.5 M USD (Six Million , Five Hundred Thousand dollars.) in a domiciliary account with a bank in Cote d ' Ivoire which I am the next of kin.My father was a very rich cocoa farmer and he was poisoned by his business colleagues, which I have my uncle as a prime suspect following his actions since the death of my father.

I want you to stand as my appointed guardian and beneficiary to enable you receive the money in your country since I am only 19 years not up to the age signed with my father in the bank in case of death to release the money for me. This is basically on arrangement. To enable me have the fund as it is the only possible means for the bank to release the Money to me. Please below are three major reasons why I contacted you. 1) I need your assistance to provide a bank account where this money will be transferred to.2) You will serve as the guardian of these funds until I finish my studies to join you.3) You will make arrangement for me to come over to your country after the money has been transferred to you. The agreement states that I have to be 25 year old.

I can not wait for this time, because my uncle want to kill me to have all my father properties for himself, Please this will be done very fast as I have all the relevant documents and I have gone to the bank for the Transfer, so I will be waiting for your mail for us to process fast. Waiting for your response

Thanks and God Bless You.

Oilver N'goran.

______________________________________________________
Dear Oliver,

Great to hear from you. Wow! You certainly do have a lot of problems. Maybe I can be of help. First of all, God doesn’t live in a den. He lives in a lair, silly. Second of all, I don’t know what the study of “reading medicine” entails, but it doesn’t sound like it will help the 13% of your country’s population that is HIV+. Wouldn’t your time be better spent planning a coup or something?

I’m sorry to hear that your father died and that your uncles poisoned him! That’s going to make the holidays really awkward, I’ll bet. I wouldn’t celebrate at their house. Lord only knows what they put in the turkey! Ha ha.

I think it is really cool that your father was a cocoa farmer. Was there a lot of chocolate in your house when you were growing up? I’m allergic myself, but I do love it. Like I always say, “chocolate doesn’t make the world go round, but it sure makes the trip worthwhile”. Yum!

Sounds like you are in a bit of a financial pickle. I would love to help you, but I have had some pretty crazy bank issues myself. I accidentally wrote some checks without “sufficient funds” and when I told the bank people my checkbook had been stolen, they didn’t believe me! It turns out that fraud charges can follow you from state to state. I was told that I can’t use the banking system for five years, at least not under my real name.

Also, I would love to have you come stay with me and hear all about your weird customs and the cocoa farm and all, but I kind of already have company. Her name is Denise and we are in love. We met one night when I was kind lonely and driving around. She got into my car to um, do business and I took her home with me. We have been together ever since. And even though we argue sometimes, with her pleading to, “please untie me and let me go” and "this dark crawlspace is no place to keep a human being” it’s never that serious. There are always going to be disagreements in a relationship. But I do think the added stress of a houseguest would not help our relationship. Also, I wouldn’t want you to judge our alternative lifestyle. I hope you understand.

Oliver, I am rather concerned about this Danger you speak of. Your uncles sound ruthless and bloodthirsty. While these are traits I admire, I do want to help you defend yourself against them. Here’s what I think you should do:
1. Invite them over to dinner
2. Tell them you are turning the properties over to them in return for your life
3. When they are leaving, kill them! Now that would be turning the tables on the situation, don’t you think?

I doubt anyone would blame you. They did murder your father and they never helped on the cocoa farm. Also, isn’t your country one of those dangerous, overpopulated, fly soaked ones? No one will probably even notice.

In conclusion, I really hope everything works out for you, Oliver. Please write me back and let me know how it all turned out. Also, thanks for writing. I feel like we have known each other a long time and it is very exciting to have a pen pal from somewhere so exotic! Well, I gotta go, Denise is screaming, I mean calling.


Toodle loo!

Steve Coffin