velour

Eeerup... Eeerup... Eeerup...

Fuck! It is so damn cold. After two and a half weeks of work, I’m still not used to getting up this early. For the last four years I’d rarely rose before eight. This was the second day in a row. Still almost dark.

The uniform is black, so my shirt goes on inside out—barely noticeable in my state of quasi-awareness. All I know is that I’m in no shape to face the day. My body is sore and all my muscles flex with the cold, rusty, ache of an ancient barn door. I hope it’s an easy move today.

Traffic’s not bad. Probably because it’s too early for the heavy rush. The nine-to-fivers are almost an hour behind me. Driving to their temperature-controlled offices and their mindless, tedious tasks.

Two moves today. First time that’s happened. I guess it’s about time. All the guys warn me about summer and how busy it’ll become. Moving with Johnson though and he’s a douchebag.

The load goes well. I guess I was doing alright. No complaints were heard from the customer and James was making some pretty decent conversation. I’m moving their television on the unload when I get the sense that shit is about to hit the fan. I can’t tell if my hands are still gripping the television’s bottom, but I feel it slipping down my forearm. “Hey Johnson. Hold up a second. I need to take a break and put this thing down. My hands are killing me and I’m losing grip.”

“Just keep going. We’re almost in the house...” He starts, before I lean down and put my end down. Fuck him. My right forearm is threatening to tense and tighten until I grip my own wrist.

“Do you need any help?” Comes the customer’s brother.
“No. I just need a quick break ’cause it’s slipping...”
“Well, I can grab it if you need...”
“I should be able to get it. I don’t know if you need to help...”
“It’s no problem. I helped get the boxes over here the other day. Let me grab some shoes.” He darts up the stairs enthusiastically.
“Yah, sure... I’ll be...” I trailed off on my way to the truck to stretch my forearm and grab something small while Johnson and Brother place the TV.

Three seconds later there is a shrill yelp, followed by a satisfying thud. I should be more concerned.

On the obligatory walk toward the noise I put on my most sympathetic face. “What happened?” I ask, as if I didn’t know the jackass had just dropped it, misjudging the weight. He is nursing his right foot. Johnson is still holding the television up with the other end resting on the fourth stair. I stifle a reflex-laugh.

Oh shit. The customer’s wife is coming down the stairs—dressed to the nine in a velour jumpsuit. As we set the TV in its place on the stand, she starts to huff. I can almost hear the ridiculous bitching being sorted and refined behind those dull eyes. Those eyes are fixed on the jagged plastic edge of the missing right corner. Her face starts to flush a strange shade of violet. Maybe the brown of the velour creates that hue. “You’re going to pay for that right?” She says, remarkably calm.

“Well I’m sure we can work something out.” I reply on my way out the door. We still have smaller furniture to get in and the second move. I wasn’t about to listen to the box go off on me for a half-inch worth of plastic her brother-in-law broke.

The rest of the truck went quickly, but I continued to hear mutterings from Wife. As we finished, Customer started to feel the pressure that only a married man knows. He wanted to talk to the office. He wanted to strike a deal. He was weak-willed and pathetic. He was paying me to move his shit. I didn’t say anything.

“Don’t worry about it,” James consoled, in a way. “She’s just a bitch and wants something extra.”
“I know. I didn’t even move the piece. I just needed a break before the second set of stairs. The brother-in-law’s the one that fucked up, but he’s not going to pay so they have to come after us.” Why do I talk like an uneducated factory drone around this guy?
“The office will handle it.”

-----

We’re the first ones back. I guess that’s not surprising, we were the only truck that left. Within thirty seconds of walking in the back door and through the warehouse, I was explaining my side of things to Gregg.

The customer was claiming I couldn’t lift the TV and that I spent fifteen minutes in the truck. As these were both lies, I think I’m justified in wanting to take Wife’s head by the tussled blonde ponytail and left-foot it through imaginary uprights from fifty yards. The visual resulted in an immediate smirk. Maybe I’m just an asshole.

When I get rich, I’ll be one of the nice ones. One of those people everyone wants to spend time with. I’ll be a great and generous person. People will envy me. I’ll marry a sexy piece of ass who enjoys philosophy and finances her own binge shopping. I’m lying to myself. It suppresses the rage building at the back of my shoulders and base of my skull. I fantasize of my future wife’s sweet ass while stuck in traffic on the drive home. I hate traffic.

tolerate

“No society has ever gotten more tolerant. They just change targets.”

Is that a call for more tolerance? It seems defeatist, but realistic. Tolerance doesn’t exist. Tolerance is only the lack of motivation to act on prejudices or the fear of backlash. Acceptance should be the goal of any society, but we’ve never had that. We “tolerate” other races because most of us, the white folk, in a Christian country, the most powerful on earth, don’t see the point in throwing hate speech at the minorities.

We don’t hate black people. It’s impolite. We economically exclude them from the better parts of our cities and send the lowest paid, least motivated teachers to their schools. Educated black men and women are still seen as the exception. We don’t hate the American Indian. They’re mentioned in passing as alcoholics and greedy casino owners, but why toss hate speech at them when we’ve already destroyed their culture and stolen their lands? It seems rude. Asians Americans aren’t seen through contemptuous eyes because China is still too small a global player and the Japanese were herded into camps only sixty years ago. It’s too soon.

Mexicans and various other races are no threat to us or have similar enough cultures to the point we don’t notice a difference. We live together without, generally, major issues. The isolated noose hanging in trees is passed off as a prank and slurs are dismissed. Racism has been reduced to economic ceilings, residential zoning and educational rifts for these cultures. In this great melting pot nation of ours, we have a new target.

That quote comes from a transcript of Glenn Beck’s program. It is one of hundreds of examples of how our country’s racism now points to the Muslim population. More precisely, the miniscule fraction of their population that is “radical Islam.” We don’t attack the population as a whole, but their extremists, because we avoid being racist. What we say and what we mean are two different things. Christians are not separated into factions. Whether extreme or progressive, he or she is a Christian. We speak of a Muslim division, but they’re still seen as a united, opposing front. The linguistic gymnastics have little effect on the intended meaning.

The commentary within that transcript defends the advertising of an anti-Muslim film as free speech. The “truth” of radical Islam’s quest to kill us—meaning the American, white people—is affirmed numerous times. The host and guest have no doubt in this fact. They don’t take time to acknowledge the opposite perspective. If that poster, or that advertising, or that film, were trumpeting the “truism” that republican extremists meant to kill liberals or if it, shown at conservative Princeton, called for the killing of Republican party members, it would immediately be labeled hate speech. There would be dozens of uproarious calls for removing the film and its advertising.

It’s not attacking the Republicans, the Christians or the conservatives. It’s attacking a demonized and poorly-understood sect, Muslims, so advertising can be as intense and grotesque as deemed persuasive. It furthers the divide between cultures. It segregates a community. It is derogatory and mean-spirited while ignoring the views or opinions of those mentioned. Thus, any backlash to it’s promotion is an obvious attack on free speech. When a homosexual group complains about a slanderous or derogatory remark in the media, the same argument is generated. Why is it that a host can, rightly, be suspended for a racial comment, but those opposing a racist, unrealistic, generalized advertisement are immediately trying to strip us of our rights?

Those that call for open dialog here, don’t intend to have one. They crave their minority, extremist views be heard. They feel that, though most of the thoughtful population disagrees with them and finds their beliefs distasteful, they are being smothered. They use ridiculous examples of how campuses are being controlled, as if they haven’t been for centuries. The “don’t tase me, bro” guy and an incident with Alberto Gonzales are referenced.

The tased guy was disruptive and disrespectful. He resisted the calm attempts to quiet him. He was shutting down the open forum and preaching his views. When he was, finally, taken by force out of the room, he resisted again. He fought with the guards and they were forced to subdue him. His video was posted and now he sells t-shirts emblazoned with his infamous catch-phrase. He should have been maced, clubbed, and dragged out. Then those in charge should have announced the reopened discussion to boisterous applause.

Alberto Ganzales is a war criminal and an enemy of the state. His ambiguous definitions of torture and reinterpretation of clear laws are in direct defiance of what this country stands for. He has opened the doors to a fascist shift that may or may not take place. The incident at the University of Florida could have been troublesome, but if he wasn’t assassinated, he wasn’t adequately punished.

Every generation has had their ambiguous, inflated enemies. The Greeks had the Persians, the Romans had the Barbarians, and the American colonists had the Indians. F.D.R. had the Japanese, Johnson had the Vietnamese, Reagan had the Russians and now Bush has the Islamists. If we continue this polarized and inflammatory dialog, the rest of the world will have the Americans.

dazzle

Before there was the worship of many gods. A god for the sun, a god for the sea, a god for the earth. The environment was respected. It was the giver of life. The elements were precious. Peoples were primitive and combative. Some sacrificed others, there was war, but they made some of the advances we take for granted today.

Then there was the All-Powerful being. The gods merged to One. He was vengeful and cruel. Those that believed in Him feared and respected Him. He created the sun, the sea, and the Earth. His people were chosen and entitled. They fought to protect their homeland and then prayed and prepared to regain it once it was lost.

The All-Powerful had a Son. He was born and lived, was persecuted, and was killed for our sins. He was a scapegoat for the sins of those before Him and those the followed Him. The All-Powerful became calm and generous. Those that followed the Son had a sense of entitlement. They spread their message and entire empires converted to their beliefs. There was manifest destiny; there was genocide; there was great power for the few and persecution for the rest.

The stories told of His life have been stretched, spliced, and manipulated into the most popular book ever written. The key points of his life, when they fell in the course of a year, were shifted to take the place of pagan celebrations that preceded Him. His words were misconstrued, His message lost. His followers celebrated the Son’s birth and His death. He was worshiped on par with the All-Powerful. He was respected and miraculous. He has been forgotten.

The holidays meant to celebrate His life are now filled with cards for those we barely speak to, obligatory presents for those we care for, and time spent, sometimes begrudgingly, with kin. We sing re-worked carols that fill us with the warmth and nostalgia of the days gone by, but don’t appreciate the happiness therein. We buy material goods to feel better.

The seasons change. Snow covers the litter, rain washes away grime, sunlight sustains life, and the decay of fall sparks the cycle anew. Fires wipe away entire swatches of forest and fertilize a new generation of woodland. The Earth remains, ever changing, erasing the scars of the past and cutting new pathways.

It has survived, grown, and rejuvenated hundreds of times and will continue doing so after we’ve destroyed ourselves. Mountain ranges erode, rise, and crumble, always in motion. Rivers speed up, slow down, meander, carve, and flow continuously from higher altitudes to lower ones. Hundreds of species fall into the dust of history and hundreds more are created as the changing earth requires adaptation to sustain.

The heavily-marketed holiday, filled with half-hearted words and empty gestures, meant to celebrate the birth of the Son of the All-Powerful who gave us everything we now take for granted, will disappear with us. Corporations stretch the holiday season beyond the point of meaning, striving for profits, exploiting goodwill, and catapult us closer to our demise. The gifts given to us by the All-Powerful, or the sequence of incredible events that led to our existence, depending on your beliefs, will remain.

drive

It was almost five hours on the freeway. For hours there were monotonous lane changes, mile markers, and billboards. A river or two were crossed, an orange moose was passed and more than three hundred miles were traversed. The resorts sprang from forest nothingness a few hours in. The construction, bringing traffic to one lane for a few miles at a time, would slow things down at a different mile marker each trip. The turns were mechanical and mindless.

There was the truck, mounted vertical with its engine to the ground, on the right. There was the giant mouse on the left. There was the Bog. There was the turn just before Madison. There were the state roads for more than an hour. There were the downtowns of a few different small towns. The speed limit changes, fifty-five, sixty-five, forty-five and thirty.

When I drove, I’d be in my own world. The iPod going through three or four CDs worth of music. The tank of gas emptying. The odometer ticking by rhythmically. The speedometer needle dancing between seventy-five and eighty-three. Other times, on the bus, I’d sleep or read for long stretches, paying little attention.

Trips were limited almost exclusively to the weekend and my mind would wander to the plans therein. There were always too many to fit, with too many people to see. I was exhausted on the trip back almost every time. By the time I was resting in front of the television, I was already looking forward to the next trip.

It’s different now. The drive is only fifteen minutes and less than a dozen miles. I know the roads just as well, but I’m on them only a short time. The anticipation is there, but relief comes sooner. The construction is shorter and avoidable.

There’s the lake on the right. There’s the Russian Art Museum on the left. There’s the Harriet Tubman statue on the left. There are a few stop signs and a couple stoplights. After exiting the freeway, the speed limit is thirty. There’s Famous Dave’s on the right. The landmarks, miles and cars are few. I can avoid the traffic by departing sooner or later. I can make the trip more often and for no reason beyond boredom.