When we last saw our hero, he assumed he was riding toward Little Rock and pondering contact possibilities. In reality, he would awake in the hamlet of Searcy, AR, nowhere near Bill Clinton's old whorin... er... stomping grounds. Devin had decided to bypass it via my old friend from last summer in Asheboro, NC: US-64.
I scoped out the unfamiliar Walmart parking lot area, then Chris and I stopped into IHOP to feed ourselves and our cells. From there, it was a pleasant couple of hours riding thru back country Arkansas toward West Memphis, then across my Rubicon into "The East". I always get an odd feeling crossing the Mississippi, it's a much different world on the Memphis side, at least to me. I then repeatedly mocked Chris's goofy notion that we were now on the "east coast".
We needed veggie so, once thru the city, Devin chose an area to scavenge where Chris and I paired up for the now- familiar routine of chatting up eateries. We are quite good at this, as you can imagine, and after perhaps an hour, we hit the used- grease motherlode at The Cajun Catfish Company, a swanky seafood place.
The manager was all about bio- diesel and, more importantly, they had a FULL dumpster full of nearly pristine oil. In addition, there was ample space out back to park the bus and do our thing. The weather was perfect, sunny and in the mid 70's, and once we got going, the whole process was fun. The people we chatted with through the course of the day were all friendly, and some quite amusing. Particularly Bob at "Bob's Place". He reminded me of the owner of "The Country Bunker" in the Blues Brothers. Was that character's name Bob, too? "Well, I sure would appreciate it..."
We filled the tank and all the spare receptacles at the Cajun Catfish Company, and got back on I-40 in good spirits, happy to be in Tennessee, and making arrangements to meet up with Kim and her boyfriend when we got to Nashville to stop for the night. It was a great day... and then...
Flashing lights.
Leif had passed an unmarked cop parked in the median. We noticed them, and commented on the fact that they were gawking madly at the bus as it passed. The pullover was half- expected... what happened next was a disgusting display of misplaced power, paranoia, and pathetic futility... all under the guise of your "safety and security."
The reason given for the pullover was that they "couldn't read the dirty license plate", which is Piggie for "we think you look suspicious." If you're over the age of 15 and believe differently at this point in your life, please go away. Then keep going...
Chris has already provided a rundown of the details, so I'll try to conserve space, but it entailed having all of our IDs pulled, being interrogated (complete with poorly- veiled threats), then pulled off the bus to sit on the side of I-40. All with the machismo that even Pancho Villa would find better suited to a frat house.
I've discussed my disgust for these arbitrary, Gestapoesqe "I don't like your look" searches, and at length with Chris, Shalain, and Kim before. I see them as the primary, singular example of un- Americanism; abuses of authority. The one thing that anyone living in this country should be immune from, based on (what used to be) our ideals.
It occurred to me to ask, forcefully, WHY they were running my ID. What cause did they have to search me? My blood was boiling rapidly, but quickly realized that these weren't ordinary highway cops. These were drug- hunters looking for traffickers. To my amazement, and perhaps everlasting shame, I managed to keep my mouth shut. I answered their questions, and sat on the ground watching in quiet rage as Devin signed a search consent, they brought in the dog, then proceed to literally ransack the bus. All for NO real reason.
Amerika, I love ya!
As bad as this was for the rest of us, what they did to Leif was unconscionable. He suffers from Social Anxiety Disorder so naturally stammers a bit, and gets visibly perturbed when he's nervous. These investigative "geniuses" thought they were REALLY onto something while all four loomed over him, in ATF/ tactical- ops looking outfits complete with sidearms on display, asking him why he was "so nervous." Mocking him. I still don't have the words to tell you how disgusted I was, and still am. I've never had a great admiration for cops, due to my own "adventures in justice", but this was something different; it had a sinister, authoritarian stench to it.
Of course they found nothing, much to their obvious chagrin. They seemed perplexed as Scooby Doo bounded off the bus to play with his handler next to the highway, while the rest of The Corp of Futility had finally had enough and told us we were "free to go". They were going out of their way to let all of us know that Snoopy had snooped out a baggie that had "once had held pot, he'll find anything!" Obviously Blondie's sniffing powers were something to behold. Yeah, that's amazing... except Wonderpup and his Band of Merry Fascists missed the jarful of weed, sitting in plain sight, next to the driver's seat. I had to laugh when a certain, distinct smell made it's way to the front as we approached Nashville.
So... consider all the shady ethical examples presented by Tennessee's Finest. THEN consider that they missed the very thing they were after? THAT'S the illusion of safety & $ecurity that erodes freedom and liberty. Maybe you Tea Party people should start there rather than with approved- party dialectics.
We all felt quite violated after this, and tried to console Leif who was feeling guilty and was obviously traumatized after the way they tried to humiliate him. I've grown quite fond of him. He's a gentle, good- hearted person who's just uncomfortable and nervous in his own skin at times. He most certainly did not deserve that.
The next few hours to Nashville were a bit edgy. I set up a place to meet Kim and Chad on the far NW side, keeping in mind that we ALL needed a drink or ten.. .
Travel stories and the occasional rantings of an evolving cynic who's simply in search of a little human authenticity. Tales include hitching across the Rockies with an eventual cop-killer, a weekend with a terminally-ill billionaire, meeting my siblings for the first time, trips to Mexico, and scores of random people from Mass.-Slab City-Chiapas who are often even more interesting...for better or worse!
Showing posts with label Kim. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Kim. Show all posts
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Thursday, August 21, 2008
8/21/08: NC-Three Steves, Titus, and a Gun
The drive from Nashville to Knoxville was smooth, although the decision was not! Kim & Rich did not seem to care where they dropped me off. So, for 
some reason, I initially decided on Chattanooga, but five minutes after we left I had second thoughts, thinking the Appalachian Trail may be an appealing option once I neared Asheville. Therefore, Knoxville it was.
I slept a good part of the way, while Kim snapped pictures and Rich drove. We got to Knoxville in mid-afternoon, then found a decent truck stop where they could drop me off. We milled around a bit then began the process of saying goodbye.
I still had the Canadian Flag on the backpack, and a guy who was walking inside made a funny comment about it as he walked by. Not rude, just obnoxious. That was my first indication that the symbol of our northern neighbors may not attract the same affection as out west.
We took pictures, chatted, then when Kim & Rich finally got in the car to leave, the guy who commented on the flag, now back in his truck in the next parking place, asked me what I was up to. He had overheard the exchange and become interested in what I was doing. About the time that Kim and Rich had backed their car up, Steve had offered to take me about 60-miles up the road, to Newport. I hadn't even left the sidewalk and had a ride.
Oh, Happy Day!
I glanced at Kim’s face and saw something akin to amazement. Or, was it fear? I’m not sure, but I got a kick out of it. She had been expressing misgivings about just ‘dropping me in the middle of nowhere’, and I was glad she saw I wasn't stuck. I loaded the pack into the bed of the pickup, and waved once more to Kim as they drove off.Steve was middle aged and in the passenger seat of the truck and, judging by the equipment in the back, I used my Superpowers of Deduction to reason that they were heading home from work. His son was driving, also named Steve (Stephen). He was not there when his dad offered the ride, but seeing a stranger in the backseat did not faze him. We were quickly back on I-40 & heading east toward Newport, and ultimately for me, North Carolina.
This was the weekend of the NASCAR race in Bristol and I believe that Stephen was having visions of battling Darrel Waltrip for the checkered flag which, in his mind, seemed to be waving at the Newport exit since he drove 90mph the entire way. He was not reckless; just in a hurry. I was happy to be making good time toward Asheville.
Steve Sr. sat in the passenger seat drinking Bud Lights the entire way, with me resupplying from the cooler next to me in the back seat. He
seemed to be quite interested in my travels and I tried my best to describe them but the time off the road, which by now was more than a month, had stilted the easy- conversationalism I'd tapped into out west. That was clearly apparent to me, but I doubt that he noticed anything. He went on to tell me that they were from Michigan, from the Algonac area, and that they had relocated to Tennessee after the construction industry dried up, along with everything else in Michigan. They simply could not survive up
there anymore and were doing only slightly better in Tennessee.
It was a pleasant, and thanks to Jr., quick ride to the Newport exit. Steve Sr. told me that I was now in the Appalachians, and with the ‘hill folk’, which immediately conjured up images of "Deliverance."
*C’mon Squeeeeal!* eh, H. H.?
I didn’t envision a canoe trip through the mountains, so I let this little glimpse of "Rebel Hell" fade away.
The Steves dropped me at a little gas station and were quickly on their way. I went to refill the water bottle, not having any idea how long I’d be waiting, and quickly learned another difference between east and west: getting water. The entire way--California, Oregon, Idaho, Wyoming, Colorado--never do I recall being charged for water. Ice? Once. Water? Never. The truck stop in Knoxville had charged something like $0.35, and this gas station had only a sink to use. The “pay or fill up in the bathroom” theme would continue throughout.
Asheville was my goal for the day and only another 40-50 miles down I-40. I had been optimistic that I would get there since everyone I had talked to, and everything I had read, indicated that Tennessee was good for hitching. North Carolina? A bit shadier on the praise, while the inhabitants of Georgia and South Carolina were supposedly a folk not yet informed that the Civil War had ended, or that the slaves had been freed. Mississippi? I already knew that to be fact!
These were the thoughts as I left the gas station for the ¼-mile walk to the on- ramp. I was in another world; one more familiar than the west coast, and not all of it triggered positive recall! I was rather anxious to see how things would go as I sat down, lit a cigarette, and tried to refocus my mind to ‘Road’.
I didn’t even get to finish the cigarette.
As I was sitting there in the muggy 90-degree sun looking for aspirin, a red pickup hauling a trailer loaded with welding equipment pulled over and asked where I was headed. I told them Asheville, using the ‘underselling’ technique, and they told me to hop in. THIS would be an interesting ride!
Titus, 22, and Stephen (yes, another one), 30, were from central Kentucky, and on their way to Winston-Salem, NC for work. They assemble water towers all over Kentucky, Tennessee, and NC, and were due in Winston that night.
*C’mon Squeeeeal!*
Stephen: a southern caricature. Picture a well dressed, well groomed, racist, xenophobic Larry the Cable Guy. The perfect redneck (his description) stereotype, with such a thick drawl I could understand only half of what he said before I adjusted. And man! He loved to talk. Maybe that was why Titus was so quiet? Couldn't get a word in! As we passed into North Carolina, I began to discover why Stephen was so chipper. Care to guess?
Yep.
Bud Light.
At this point, he was pounding ‘em at a rate of two every five minutes. And yes, I WAS keeping track; again I was the server! Perhaps this is the key to hitching down south.
As we approached Asheville, I began to feel much more comfortable. Just some good
ol’ boys…never meanin’ no harm. Had been in trouble with the law since the day they was born? I’ll never know, but they reminded me of my youth and the people from around Hilltucky. They threw around ‘nigger and fag’ like I throw around the word “I”.
“I “sat in the back, and enjoyed the stereotypes displayed before me. Stephen would shout out the window, “Take that nigger to jail!” one minute, then talk about Jesus and his Christianity the next. And no Hippie, I didn’t say anything to them about it. And no, I didn’t get out of the truck. This was priceless!
Shortly before Asheville, Titus asked me if I was riding with them all the way to Winston-Salem. The beauty of “underselling”: It gives YOU a way
out if the rides are unbearable, and it does not obligate the driver to take you far if they are nervous about picking you up. It then gives you the chance to sell yourself; show them that you are not going to be asking for money, cigarettes, food...whatever.
And to let them see you don’t smell like pee. Hear that Hippie? Try NOT to smell like peeee! (Upward inflection on pee)
Now, the hippies amongst us may ask, “Todd, why didn’t you speak up, or get out of the truck when you heard the racist comments?” (Up- inflections on “up”, “truck”, and “comments". Fun, eh?) There was another reason, beyond entertainment value. They had been laying down heavy, not so subtle hints that if I were to try anything, like pulling a knife, that they could “take care of business”. I had no interest in pissing off two Kentucky rednecks while riding in their truck through the Appalachians. Dig? Besides, I enjoyed the observer role to this point, and we were getting along just fine. Why rock the boat?
Allow me to now share why you don't rock it: Just past Asheville, Titus pulled what looked like a .44 pistol from between his seat and the console.
Awwwwww… Todd’s first gun pulling!
He did not pull it out for any purpose, other than to let me know it was there, and I never saw it again after he put it back, which was immediately. Strangely enough, this did not bother me. Then again, why would it? Just reminded me of Hilltucky. I knew that these two had no problem with me, and were not going to rob me. (HA! Rob me of what? Cliff bars?) What I found comical was that these two tough guys, as it turned out, were more afraid of me than I had been of them! The thing that, apparently, gave them the courage to stop in the first place was the two redneck staples: beer and guns.
After at least ten beers, Stephen took the wheel and from there the ride was great. Everyone relaxed, discarded the fronts, and somehow I was able to coax them out of their redneck, bravado dress up. Well, almost. We began talking about things like trust, fear, and how people should treat other people; the golden rule. Amazingly, they are BOTH passionate about these things, and the Bible began to come up over and over again.
God n’ Guns.
It struck me how ironic these ‘values’ sounded coming from a guy who had been yelling “Take that nigger to jail!” shortly before.
It is really a cultural thing, isn’t it? I have said it 1000 times, and seen it first- hand: they breed it into them. Therefore, Hippie…if I may return to this for a moment...all ‘taking a stand’ may have gotten me is thrown out of the truck at best, and pistol-whipped at worst. By keeping my mouth shut, I got some insight into their world, their outlooks (right or wrong), their disconnect, and it set a nice foundation for the major theme of North Carolina. Religion and its hypocrisy.
Do I have ANY hippies left by now?
The ride ended nicely, and they were treating me like an old (white) friend by the time they dropped me at a Holiday Inn Express in Winston-Salem at about 9:15. I came away thinking that these men were indeed good people. Despite the drunk driving, the gun, innumerable racial slurs.
It was late; I was out of practice. Late at least to be hunting a nest in an unfamiliar, urban area. I called Laina then found my way to the old standby: between the exit ramp and highway. It wasn’t perfect, but it was rather isolated and it felt good to be back on the ground again. Strange.
I had realized early on that I was not feeling entirely connected to what I was doing. I missed the excitement of new experience. I laughed quietly in the first Stephen’s truck when I realized how things had changed. I was getting through this day solely on experience. In California, the first days were navigated by blind excitement. I’d rather have the excitement! I attributed this to being off the road for so long, and hoped it would return soon.
And, by the way, where the hell was I going? How far I had unexpectedly come affected that. I had hitched a new personal record 270-miles on Thursday: I'd neither expected nor planned for that. I had planned to use the time around the NC border, near Asheville, to get my bearings and plot a route. I had done very little homework on Winston-Salem, or even I-40 beyond Asheville. I did not realize, to my utter shame, that there was a mini metroplex beginning with Winston-Salem and including Greensboro and Raleigh-Durham.
That damn ‘P’ word rearing its head again. No hippie, not “Progressive”! "Plan". (Ha!)
some reason, I initially decided on Chattanooga, but five minutes after we left I had second thoughts, thinking the Appalachian Trail may be an appealing option once I neared Asheville. Therefore, Knoxville it was.I slept a good part of the way, while Kim snapped pictures and Rich drove. We got to Knoxville in mid-afternoon, then found a decent truck stop where they could drop me off. We milled around a bit then began the process of saying goodbye.
I still had the Canadian Flag on the backpack, and a guy who was walking inside made a funny comment about it as he walked by. Not rude, just obnoxious. That was my first indication that the symbol of our northern neighbors may not attract the same affection as out west.
We took pictures, chatted, then when Kim & Rich finally got in the car to leave, the guy who commented on the flag, now back in his truck in the next parking place, asked me what I was up to. He had overheard the exchange and become interested in what I was doing. About the time that Kim and Rich had backed their car up, Steve had offered to take me about 60-miles up the road, to Newport. I hadn't even left the sidewalk and had a ride.
Oh, Happy Day!
I glanced at Kim’s face and saw something akin to amazement. Or, was it fear? I’m not sure, but I got a kick out of it. She had been expressing misgivings about just ‘dropping me in the middle of nowhere’, and I was glad she saw I wasn't stuck. I loaded the pack into the bed of the pickup, and waved once more to Kim as they drove off.Steve was middle aged and in the passenger seat of the truck and, judging by the equipment in the back, I used my Superpowers of Deduction to reason that they were heading home from work. His son was driving, also named Steve (Stephen). He was not there when his dad offered the ride, but seeing a stranger in the backseat did not faze him. We were quickly back on I-40 & heading east toward Newport, and ultimately for me, North Carolina.
This was the weekend of the NASCAR race in Bristol and I believe that Stephen was having visions of battling Darrel Waltrip for the checkered flag which, in his mind, seemed to be waving at the Newport exit since he drove 90mph the entire way. He was not reckless; just in a hurry. I was happy to be making good time toward Asheville.
Steve Sr. sat in the passenger seat drinking Bud Lights the entire way, with me resupplying from the cooler next to me in the back seat. He
seemed to be quite interested in my travels and I tried my best to describe them but the time off the road, which by now was more than a month, had stilted the easy- conversationalism I'd tapped into out west. That was clearly apparent to me, but I doubt that he noticed anything. He went on to tell me that they were from Michigan, from the Algonac area, and that they had relocated to Tennessee after the construction industry dried up, along with everything else in Michigan. They simply could not survive up
there anymore and were doing only slightly better in Tennessee.It was a pleasant, and thanks to Jr., quick ride to the Newport exit. Steve Sr. told me that I was now in the Appalachians, and with the ‘hill folk’, which immediately conjured up images of "Deliverance."
*C’mon Squeeeeal!* eh, H. H.?
I didn’t envision a canoe trip through the mountains, so I let this little glimpse of "Rebel Hell" fade away.
The Steves dropped me at a little gas station and were quickly on their way. I went to refill the water bottle, not having any idea how long I’d be waiting, and quickly learned another difference between east and west: getting water. The entire way--California, Oregon, Idaho, Wyoming, Colorado--never do I recall being charged for water. Ice? Once. Water? Never. The truck stop in Knoxville had charged something like $0.35, and this gas station had only a sink to use. The “pay or fill up in the bathroom” theme would continue throughout.
Asheville was my goal for the day and only another 40-50 miles down I-40. I had been optimistic that I would get there since everyone I had talked to, and everything I had read, indicated that Tennessee was good for hitching. North Carolina? A bit shadier on the praise, while the inhabitants of Georgia and South Carolina were supposedly a folk not yet informed that the Civil War had ended, or that the slaves had been freed. Mississippi? I already knew that to be fact!
These were the thoughts as I left the gas station for the ¼-mile walk to the on- ramp. I was in another world; one more familiar than the west coast, and not all of it triggered positive recall! I was rather anxious to see how things would go as I sat down, lit a cigarette, and tried to refocus my mind to ‘Road’.
I didn’t even get to finish the cigarette.
As I was sitting there in the muggy 90-degree sun looking for aspirin, a red pickup hauling a trailer loaded with welding equipment pulled over and asked where I was headed. I told them Asheville, using the ‘underselling’ technique, and they told me to hop in. THIS would be an interesting ride!
Titus, 22, and Stephen (yes, another one), 30, were from central Kentucky, and on their way to Winston-Salem, NC for work. They assemble water towers all over Kentucky, Tennessee, and NC, and were due in Winston that night.
Titus was a quiet guy, but you could tell that when he had something to say, he’d say it and mean it. He was seemingly content to observe me and go from there, striking up occasional conversation, but I was in the same 'look & see' mode he was. These two made me a bit edgy, especially after I let it slip that I was a “Yankee”, and Titus glanced at Stephen with what seemed to be an inside thing.
*C’mon Squeeeeal!*
Stephen: a southern caricature. Picture a well dressed, well groomed, racist, xenophobic Larry the Cable Guy. The perfect redneck (his description) stereotype, with such a thick drawl I could understand only half of what he said before I adjusted. And man! He loved to talk. Maybe that was why Titus was so quiet? Couldn't get a word in! As we passed into North Carolina, I began to discover why Stephen was so chipper. Care to guess?
Yep.
Bud Light.
At this point, he was pounding ‘em at a rate of two every five minutes. And yes, I WAS keeping track; again I was the server! Perhaps this is the key to hitching down south.
As we approached Asheville, I began to feel much more comfortable. Just some good
ol’ boys…never meanin’ no harm. Had been in trouble with the law since the day they was born? I’ll never know, but they reminded me of my youth and the people from around Hilltucky. They threw around ‘nigger and fag’ like I throw around the word “I”.“I “sat in the back, and enjoyed the stereotypes displayed before me. Stephen would shout out the window, “Take that nigger to jail!” one minute, then talk about Jesus and his Christianity the next. And no Hippie, I didn’t say anything to them about it. And no, I didn’t get out of the truck. This was priceless!
Shortly before Asheville, Titus asked me if I was riding with them all the way to Winston-Salem. The beauty of “underselling”: It gives YOU a way
out if the rides are unbearable, and it does not obligate the driver to take you far if they are nervous about picking you up. It then gives you the chance to sell yourself; show them that you are not going to be asking for money, cigarettes, food...whatever.And to let them see you don’t smell like pee. Hear that Hippie? Try NOT to smell like peeee! (Upward inflection on pee)
Now, the hippies amongst us may ask, “Todd, why didn’t you speak up, or get out of the truck when you heard the racist comments?” (Up- inflections on “up”, “truck”, and “comments". Fun, eh?) There was another reason, beyond entertainment value. They had been laying down heavy, not so subtle hints that if I were to try anything, like pulling a knife, that they could “take care of business”. I had no interest in pissing off two Kentucky rednecks while riding in their truck through the Appalachians. Dig? Besides, I enjoyed the observer role to this point, and we were getting along just fine. Why rock the boat?
Allow me to now share why you don't rock it: Just past Asheville, Titus pulled what looked like a .44 pistol from between his seat and the console.
Awwwwww… Todd’s first gun pulling!
He did not pull it out for any purpose, other than to let me know it was there, and I never saw it again after he put it back, which was immediately. Strangely enough, this did not bother me. Then again, why would it? Just reminded me of Hilltucky. I knew that these two had no problem with me, and were not going to rob me. (HA! Rob me of what? Cliff bars?) What I found comical was that these two tough guys, as it turned out, were more afraid of me than I had been of them! The thing that, apparently, gave them the courage to stop in the first place was the two redneck staples: beer and guns.
After at least ten beers, Stephen took the wheel and from there the ride was great. Everyone relaxed, discarded the fronts, and somehow I was able to coax them out of their redneck, bravado dress up. Well, almost. We began talking about things like trust, fear, and how people should treat other people; the golden rule. Amazingly, they are BOTH passionate about these things, and the Bible began to come up over and over again.
God n’ Guns.
It struck me how ironic these ‘values’ sounded coming from a guy who had been yelling “Take that nigger to jail!” shortly before.
It is really a cultural thing, isn’t it? I have said it 1000 times, and seen it first- hand: they breed it into them. Therefore, Hippie…if I may return to this for a moment...all ‘taking a stand’ may have gotten me is thrown out of the truck at best, and pistol-whipped at worst. By keeping my mouth shut, I got some insight into their world, their outlooks (right or wrong), their disconnect, and it set a nice foundation for the major theme of North Carolina. Religion and its hypocrisy.
Do I have ANY hippies left by now?
The ride ended nicely, and they were treating me like an old (white) friend by the time they dropped me at a Holiday Inn Express in Winston-Salem at about 9:15. I came away thinking that these men were indeed good people. Despite the drunk driving, the gun, innumerable racial slurs.
It was late; I was out of practice. Late at least to be hunting a nest in an unfamiliar, urban area. I called Laina then found my way to the old standby: between the exit ramp and highway. It wasn’t perfect, but it was rather isolated and it felt good to be back on the ground again. Strange.
I had realized early on that I was not feeling entirely connected to what I was doing. I missed the excitement of new experience. I laughed quietly in the first Stephen’s truck when I realized how things had changed. I was getting through this day solely on experience. In California, the first days were navigated by blind excitement. I’d rather have the excitement! I attributed this to being off the road for so long, and hoped it would return soon.
And, by the way, where the hell was I going? How far I had unexpectedly come affected that. I had hitched a new personal record 270-miles on Thursday: I'd neither expected nor planned for that. I had planned to use the time around the NC border, near Asheville, to get my bearings and plot a route. I had done very little homework on Winston-Salem, or even I-40 beyond Asheville. I did not realize, to my utter shame, that there was a mini metroplex beginning with Winston-Salem and including Greensboro and Raleigh-Durham.
That damn ‘P’ word rearing its head again. No hippie, not “Progressive”! "Plan". (Ha!)
I kid the hippies. Think they get it? Me neither.
I updated my journal then passed out, electing not to use the bivy. It was a beautifully warm, muggy night as I was dozing off so I did not even bother with the sleeping bag.
I should have bothered. I froze, and woke the next morning to the horrific realization that I had slept nearly on top of a spider den! Wouldn't be the last time that happened...
LESSON: Find the campsite BEFORE dark!
Lesson my ass. I never do that.
I updated my journal then passed out, electing not to use the bivy. It was a beautifully warm, muggy night as I was dozing off so I did not even bother with the sleeping bag.
I should have bothered. I froze, and woke the next morning to the horrific realization that I had slept nearly on top of a spider den! Wouldn't be the last time that happened...
LESSON: Find the campsite BEFORE dark!
Lesson my ass. I never do that.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
8/18 Nashville- McCandless
Yet another day of unbearable excitement, the kind that makes for compelling travel- writing. I left Kim's house.
WooHoo!!
We transferred home- base from Kim's to Rich's place in Goodlettsville (NE of Nashville). They both had to work, so I hung out with McCarty and did more 'research' on Chris McCandless, looking for more detailed information that may indicate, as I've long suspected, that there is more (or less) to that story than that peddled by Jon Krakour. Always seems to be the case.
I did not realize it at the time, but it happened to be the day, August 18, that they estimate he died. Of simple starvation. There are aspects of this story that, when you think about them, simply do not add up.
It is quite suspicious that Krakour would fail to mention in the book that McCandless DID have a map, instead of cleverly saying "... if he had had a good map." Alternatively, Sean Penn failing to fully- disclose his employment history on the road. Penn conveniently omitted how long he actually worked at McDonald's in Bullhead City, AZ (not Burger King), and glossed over the fact that he worked with Westerberg long enough to earn $1,000 AFTER he'd met 'Ron Franz', and immediately before he set off for Alaska.
These are NOT minor details or meaningless omissions. McCandless has reached Anti- Capitalist Cult Status in no- small part because Krakour and Penn "took the liberty of bullshitting you.”
The fact strikes me that there are legions of kids whose ideas are coming from his "story". They are burning their money and social security cards, and chopping up their credit cards (not a bad thing). Then they are trying to live on dandelions because they are trying to emulate what amounts to a fairytale.
The full story would indicate that he failed at living sans- cash. Why else would he have worked so much, if as Emile Hirsh says in the movie, he "didn't need money"? Is making Quarter Pounders THAT satisfying? A question Penn chose not to address when he almost deleted one of the more interesting aspects of the book: Bullhead City. Did McCandless conclude that living without money was either impossible, or just not worth it?
I wonder if he experienced a bit of the frustration I did, and in the end concluded that it best to "invert" the system. Working just enough to provide necessities, while eliminating the 'illusory' necessities (comforts) as time went by.
Maybe he got to the point where he was frustrated by a lack of ability to be as self- sufficient as he would like, and decided Alaska was the place to go to get that knowledge. Or die trying.
Believe me, this is NOT just idle speculation for speculation's sake, although we obviously will never have any way of knowing. I have experienced similar thoughts and frustrations, and find it maddening that these 'entertainers' intentionally ignored them, needlessly corrupted a story that would have been just as remarkable on its own, then marketed it (Krakaur) as fact. Creating the mythical- superhero living out the Heroic Epic helps sales.
I doubt McCandless had any preconceived ideas about becoming a poster child for anything. He did what he did because he felt it was the thing for him. I have never seen the actual journal entries published-- anywhere, and know of no one who has. Why? What I do know is that, if my thoughts are correct, it could have served as a better example than propping the kid up as some sort of superhero, whose Kryptonite happened to be bad roots. This is why I've tried to include as much of the not- so- flattering reality as I could!
Hero worship and idolization is folly. For whatever reason, we seem to need examples of people who do amazing, almost impossible things. We need to look up to people who accomplish things we believe we could never do, then deify them as means to an excuse as to why WE should not even try. "Only ‘Saints & Superheroes' accomplish anything worthwhile."
Santa Clausification.
I've been guilty of this as much as anyone, but the more I learn about these prestigious pedestal- occupants, the more I see that, with few exceptions, they belong right down here with the rest of us. We all have doubts, faults, neuroses, hypocrisies, and skeletons in the closet. No one out there is superhuman. HOWEVER, if that is true, then we all have the SAME capacity to accomplish 'great things' anyone else has.
Why do we never hear about our idol's shortcomings? Struggles in the beginnings of whatever the endeavor of choice? Why are we so 'crushed' when we do? Why do we never hear about King's depression? Plagued by self- doubt and needing members of his staff to push and encourage him; remind him that he WAS indeed right? Martin Luther King Jr.? DOUBTED HIMSELF?? Wow.
I cannot get past this. Why? Is it because if we take away their perceived 'superpowers', we are left with the stark reality that we too are capable, and perhaps that injects uncomfortable senses of responsibility, to ourselves, that would be more comfortable to avoid?
Heroes are fabrications. In my not- so- humble opinion, we should view them as examples of ourselves, complete with OUR faults, but the ability to transcend them. I doubt that most even thought about transcending shortcomings. Most, I suspect, are driven by something they simply 'must' do. They probably had no choice but to follow it. Is that superhuman- courage? Or something else?
Who knows, but do me a favor? Consider pulling your heroes back from their pedestals. Try being your own.
That was pretty much my day. Not much for singing happy- songs, but interesting nonetheless!
I decided to go to a Tennessee Health Care Campaign meeting with Kim on Tuesday evening, so I would be staying until at least Wednesday. I really wanted to see what exactly was going on at a grassroots level, but not optimistic that I will come away happy. I hope there is something more than "progressive", idealistic chit- chat and something that resembles courage; or at least a little anger!
Friday, August 15, 2008
8/14/08 Nashville: Kim
Kim and I decided to tour a bit of downtown Nashville and have a 
beer while we caught up. She knew of a quiet little bar off the main- drag, and it was one of the few bars left anywhere where you can still smoke while you drink your damn beer! What a privilege!I gave her the quick, encapsulated version of what happened with the job in Santa Fe, and touched lightly on how everything tied into what I have been doing since May. Then it was her turn.
Many people have commented to me personally, including Kim, about my conversation with Ciel back in Idaho, and the talk I had with Pat in San Luis Obispo. These, so far, were the two people that have had the greatest effect on me on this trip. Kim is a powerful combination of the two. While her story isn’t as ’tragic’ or ‘dramatic’ on a personal level as Ciel’s, it is perhaps more intense to me because of the combination of factors; factors that not only make a person feel for her but, if you’re empathetic, will take you on an express trip to White Rage. It did me.
Kim and I first met in 1994 as classmates at Specs Howard School of Broadcast Arts, in Detroit. We were VERY different people.
She has always been the type who refused to follow the crowd or to fake an effort to fit in. She was not ostracized by any means; rather her own separate little entity, peacefully coexisting next to the herd. I was a bit the same although, since I was still firmly entrenched within Camp Budweiser, and in the embryonic stages of figuring out who I was, I had my little circle to which I played to feed my need of approval.
Kim adamantly chose not to, and had a quiet, humble self- assurance about her. You could just tell that she was one of the more ‘solid’ people you would meet, and considering where I was in my own life and where I‘d ultimately go, that GREATLY appealed to me. We became good friends much to the amazement of our other friends. They just could not understand it.
Kim also was, and is still, a remarkably talented voice. Between the two of us, we swept the major class- awards as “Best Newscaster” (Kim) and “Most Entertaining Air Personality” (me). She has the best pure- voice of anyone in our class, and I was certain that SHE was going to be the one who went on to do something in radio, if anyone. I mean, in a perfect world she SHOULD have. Life has a funny way of getting in the way of our grandiose plans and visions. Fair is a quaint, outdated concept--- like religion.
The last time we saw each other was in Detroit in 1995, after I had worked one of my last games at old Tiger Stadium. We met at a bar with friends then sat in her parking lot until sunrise, just chatting-- and again-- much to the amazement of her roommate!
We quickly lost touch, as often happens, especially before the Internet Infestation, and didn’t talk again for 11 years when, in 2006, she found me on a networking site. We chatted off and on, and did the ‘we should get together’ stuff, but never did. She had told me that she had had some health problems, been divorced, and indicated that things had been challenging, but never really elaborated until
However, in May of 2003 at the age of 30, she began to develop problems with blood clots in her entire right leg. A massive clot, from hip to ankle, hospitalized her in Intensive Care for about 10 days. After using blood thinners and catheters to clear the immediate danger, the doctors performed surgery to insert stents that, hopefully, would prevent future clotting. This happened literally FIVE days after she and her husband had moved from Nashville, TN to Lexington, KY. She had left her job in mid- April in anticipation of the move, and was now left with COBRA. The hospital’s financial coordinators gave Kim a good indication of what was to come when, upon discharge, they demanded she expedite the process of initiating COBRA, i.e. “PAY COBRA,” so that the hospital knew they were going to be paid. “Glad you’re alive. Pay us.”
She had hoped that the move to Lexington, closer to her husband’s family, would help her marriage, but the move began with her spending six- weeks recovering from surgery at her in- law’s home. During this time, she obviously could not work, and was struggling to pay COBRA’s premium.
Eventually Kim was added to her husband’s insurance, and thankfully, the group- policy could not deny new- additions due to pre- existing conditions. Kim eventually got back to work in Lexington, a 6-week temporary job as an assistant in a dental office, followed by a permanent position doing the same thing in another office. Pearson & Justice, DMD. The irony would be rich… She was with this DMD for nearly two- years, and had been there for 21 months when the next major hospitalization occurred.
All along, since the initial surgery, she had been experiencing nearly constant pain and swelling in the leg. In June of 2005, Kim’s sister had a heart attack and she flew back to Michigan from Lexington to be with her family. The night she arrived, she went directly to hospital to see her sister, and went on to her parent’s house for the night. She had been experiencing greatly intensified pain for the 2-3 hours before arriving at her parent’s house, but had attributed it to the traveling. After relaxing off her feet for a couple of hours and realizing the pain had not relented, she realized that she had trouble. She called her primary doctor in Lexington at about 10pm, and he told her to get to the ER immediately. Her parents put her in the car, and took her to the same hospital in which her sister, their daughter, was recovering from a heart attack.
The diagnosis was not good for her leg. The stents had failed within the first six- months, and the surgery had weakened and damaged her veins to the point where further procedures would not be an option. Bypassing an area that large was out of the question, and since the scar tissue from the last surgery compounded the clotting, operating again would only make the situation worse. As things stand now, the only treatment is maintenance; blood thinners. They also told her that if the circulation problems and clotting continue, amputation was, and still is, a real possibility.
At the time of the trip back to Michigan, she was employed nearly two- years with the dentist in Lexington, and insured. The procedure in Michigan was covered; however, she had a $1,000 deductible. Kim was treated at a metro- Detroit hospital, Oakwood in Dearborn who, the morning after her admittance, ordered to stay OFF her feet while she was in the hospital. The stay would ultimately last 10- days, but the next morning and even though they knew she was insured, the financial people informed her if she could not pony- up the $1,000 deductible, she would have to LEAVE immediately and seek treatment at another facility. A facility that would treat life- threatening conditions regardless of ability to pay, unlike Oakwood, apparently.
Human Kapital.
Let’s see if we understand this, shall we? One minute the doctors forbid you to WALK due to concerns that these clots could break free and find their way to your heart or lungs, and the next morning the same medical facility’s Ministers of Finance tell you to leave, DESPITE THE DOCTOR’S DIAGNOSIS, and simply due to FINANCIAL CONCERNS? Really? Where do we live? Still think ‘you’ are a priority, beyond that portfolio?
Kim and her mother of course challenged them on that point, but their response was that ‘maybe the other hospital would send an ambulance’ for her. Luckily, her mother was able to cover the deductible, but was on a fixed income being retired. How many of ‘us’ have $1,000 lying around? If you do, let me know and I will set up a Pay Pal account.
Remember Dr. ‘Justice’ and Friends?
This is a small office in Lexington that employs LESS than fifty people. The Family Medical Leave Act does NOT protect their employees. The FMLA protects your job if you are hospitalized long- term. It also provides maternity- leave time for husbands, and protects family members who need to provide care for terminally- ill family members, among other things.
Yeah, pure Socialism.
She was, according to their- own reviews and "ambiguous" other little things like promotions and regular- raises, an exemplary employee prior to this surgery. However, when her doctor refused to provide a conjecture- driven date for her return to work, they began to conjure up stories about fading productivity, a deteriorating attitude over time… blah blah blah... It reminded me of the feces I was force- fed when I was read the Terms of My Termination last year. Find that loophole, Skippy…
They terminated her. With the job went her insurance. This was her Rubicon, although unlike Caesar, she did not choose to cross— they threw her. In addition, it was NOT cliche' boogie men like Wal Mart, AT&T, Comcast, even Halliburton, doing the tossing. She was tossed by a LOCAL, small business who simply wanted to be rid of her health issues and felt no guilt or obligation to protect her access to insurance, nor her income.
Human Kapital.
Hey Hippies… Pay more to buy local? Why is that again?
My dealings with and conversations about these idealistic, local, "small businesses" have been as bad as with any corporate entity. The problem, as it pertains to dealing with the Human Kapital phenomenon, is NOT just fighting corporatism; it is fighting Predatory Capitalism in general and being particularly fierce with those that disguise themselves as some throwback to a ‘better America”. Many want to throw us back to the time before Organized Labor .
So again Hippies, fill in the blanks: F_ _ K Y_ _!!
But, back to Kim.
The doctors discharged her after 10- days, and Kim returned to Lexington toward the end of May. Dr. "Justice" and friends immediately terminated her, and her insurance was history by the end of June. Six weeks later, she and her husband separated and she would file for divorce toward the beginning of ’06. With no job and her marriage ending, Kim returned to Michigan, and its wasteland of a job- market, at the end of July.
Luckily, she had family to fall back on, but the condition with her leg makes sitting, standing, or walking for long periods impossible. She needed to work, but imagine trying to find a job and telling the HR- drone that you cannot sit, stand, or walk for 8- hours. What exactly are you going to do? They, in theory, created “Disability” for exactly this!
When we reconnected in May of 2006, she was living in Michigan and working for a bank doling out mortgages. The pain in her legs, coupled with (I like to think anyway) that she has a soul led her to quit the bank in January of 2007, in favor or a serving job at Red Robin in Brighton. Serving appeared to be the most physically- tolerable option. Sitting all day with her leg bent is the absolute worst.
From January ’07 until July, things were going pretty well. She was working full- time, had moved out of her family’s place to her own apartment and finally felt like her life had restarted. Her divorce had become final in October of ’06 and she was single again. Life was good, except for the fact that Red Robin’s insurance did not take effect for six- months, and getting COBRA from her time with the bank would have cost $400 a month. She was uninsured. Uninsurable. She had made dozens of calls to independent insurance companies trying to get coverage, but they ALL refused-REFUSED- to cover her at all because of her medical history.
Things were fine, but that peace was obviously fragile. It was broken in July, when the clotting issues resumed. She went to the ER to discover that she had a newly- formed clot, and two of the former obstructions had recurred. Again, not much they could do. They kept her in the hospital for about two days while they administered some intense blood- thinning medication that could lead to bleeding.She got rather lucky this time, because the University of Michigan Health Care System has a charity fund set up that was able to defer the cost of the latest hospitalization.
On August 1, she finally got coverage through Red Robin, but after being off work with no disability coverage, she actually had to pay Red Robin’s insurance premiums out of her OWN POCKET. Because she was off work, and there was no institutional protection, there was no 'check' from which to draw money. Try to figure that one out.
After a month recovering, she tried to go back to work with the same workload, 40+ hours a week, but it was physically impossible. This forced Kim to cut back to 25 hours a week, losing the income, but keeping the insurance.
The loss of income of course led to the loss of other things. She could no longer afford her apartment and was on the brink of eviction when she gave it up and moved in once again with her brother. She was unable to keep car payments up to date, and had to give up her vehicle.
Recap:
- * Loss of ½ of her income
- * Loss of home
- * Loss of car
All having NOTHING to do with laziness or a refusal to work. Exactly why, in theory, they created "Disability."
Kim had tried to avoid filing Disability despite the fact that she appeared, on the surface, to be a case study on who SHOULD get it. She told me that she had a difficult time accepting the fact that she is literally unable to work the hours that it would take to be on her own. Eventually, after a lot of wrangling and discussions with family, she relented and filed in September 2007. Of course, the State contested and denied the Disability claim. Twice. She is on her third appeal now. She was put through the process of having to list EVERY job she had EVER had in an effort to calculate how much TAX REVENUE she had provided the State so as to determine whether or not she was ‘qualified’ to receive Disability. It seems as though they are solely concerned with how much you have fed The Pig, rather than how ‘disabled’ you are. The first questions they ask pertain to your work history; not your health.
Human Kapital.
Ultimately, Kim may lose her right leg. There is nothing more that the doctors can do for her. Surgery will now do more harm than good. Like Ciel, and like the Kim I knew in 1994, she is amazingly positive, although she admits that she has fought bouts with depression. Even with health coverage through the most expensive procedures, she has accumulated in the neighborhood of $100,000 just in medical debt, which comes complete with calls from collection agencies. Not only that, but consider the lost income, which has led to an inability to provide a home for herself, and until recently a car. She also has her old apartment complex coming at her trying to collect for her breaking the lease.
Health problems? Fuck you. Pay me.
She is a very gifted writer and still a tremendous public- speaker, so a Tennessee health- advocacy organization approached Kim about becoming a spokesperson. I have tried my best to encourage her to that, and her fighting spirit is refreshing, but the fact that the 'system' would like to throw her away boils my blood. I cannot express how much anger I was feeling while Kim was recounting her story at that bar, then again when I essentially interviewed her over the weekend. It was the kind of anger where even I was at a loss for words, which if you have read enough of these, you KNOW is nearly impossible; I have had suffcient time to recover.
*** RAND ADVISORY*** (Not Quite a Full Rant)
Still wonder if I’m just paranoid? Remember the phrase “Human Kapital.” This is YOUR system at its finest: Humanity with a Price Tag. Your WORTH as a dignified human being IS in direct correlation to the numbers on that pay- stub, right next to the word ’tax’.
However, what if you are 35 years- old and cannot work 50- hours a week?
Should we be content to be treated as a "peasant- class" while living in the richest country the world has ever known? Compliant while they presume to define us as the “Plebs of New Rome?” Passive while the economic, political, and social elite happily throw us to the streets to fight for the rats? What is our crime? Simply losing the ability to generate their wealth through our labor?
The poor and powerless have LONG since known the score, and the rules of the game. The difference is that today, the system is creating a greater number of plebeians. The "proletariat" is growing, and injustice is beginning to spread far beyond Blacks in the projects; Mexicans in the barrios… it is coming to your neighborhoods. Noticing the foreclosure signs multiplying in your neighborhoods? Rest assured, before long it will come to YOUR family too. God help you if it's you yourself.
The poor and powerless have long since known the score, and the rules of the game: Step into the “justice” system; do it with NO money. Try suing to get what is rightfully yours after you have been “loop- holed. “ No money for the lawyer? Fuck you! Don’t have the money to file the suit? Fuck you! Falsely arrested and need ADEQUATE representation? Fuck you; take what we give you, and be happy for it! Want REAL justice? Fuck you, get a REAL job!"
Am I paranoid? Just cynical? Lose your insurance & get sick. I dare you. Prove me wrong. Have some sweaty, greasy, little predator (henceforth known as ’Skippy’) find that loophole and fire you when your body makes it impossible to work.
Talk to Kim. Is she paranoid?
Talk to Pat. Is he just cynical?
Talk to my 70- year old mother.
Talk to any one of the millions just like them. Are they ALL paranoid? Or just... whiney?
Justice may be blind; that bitch sure can count.
*** END RANT ADVISORY *** Brought to you by Blue Cross/ Blue Shield
The Disability appeals process is still going on, and Kim relocated to Nashville early this year simply because she wanted to; she has had a bit of an awakening. Somewhere along the line, after all of the health problems, and fighting this ‘system’ to get what her taxes legitimately SHOULD have provided her in order to SURVIVE with a shred of dignity, she has realized what’s important. She has decided to ENJOY life. She wanted to live here, so she is.
Kim is doing her best to make the most of what she has. She has pointed out, and it is obvious, that she is one unlucky- hiccup away from being homeless. She was lucky to find a friend who lets her stay and works as much as she can, serving at Red Robin again, although working more than two days in a row is nearly impossible. These are not the only health problems that she has had, but this is enough for this space.
After a bit of reflection, everything has became a bit clearer. How EVERYTHING seems to be connecting. I’m beginning to see, and more importantly UNDERSTAND the patterns of these ‘coincidences’, inner- turmoil, disgust, the intense and long- term allergic reactions I have always felt toward illegitimate, assumed authority (both moral and otherwise) AND how these things seem to dovetail with some of the experiences I have had; the people I continue to meet and connect with. The conversations I continue to have with people who actually have something important to add to this tapestry.
Yes, I was indeed supposed to come here. I just do not have any clue as to what I am supposed to DO with all of this! I sense that it is all tying together; even the stuff I cannot talk about here. Rest assured, you will most definitely hear about THAT… eventually.
Later Thursday night we chatted over a few more drinks after we got to their place. It was amazing in that, as different as we may have been 14- years ago, how similar we have become and for completely different reasons. It seems to be truth: Though the rivers change course sometimes, they, ultimately, do reach the sea… if you are willing, or forced, to follow them.
beer while we caught up. She knew of a quiet little bar off the main- drag, and it was one of the few bars left anywhere where you can still smoke while you drink your damn beer! What a privilege!I gave her the quick, encapsulated version of what happened with the job in Santa Fe, and touched lightly on how everything tied into what I have been doing since May. Then it was her turn.Many people have commented to me personally, including Kim, about my conversation with Ciel back in Idaho, and the talk I had with Pat in San Luis Obispo. These, so far, were the two people that have had the greatest effect on me on this trip. Kim is a powerful combination of the two. While her story isn’t as ’tragic’ or ‘dramatic’ on a personal level as Ciel’s, it is perhaps more intense to me because of the combination of factors; factors that not only make a person feel for her but, if you’re empathetic, will take you on an express trip to White Rage. It did me.
Kim and I first met in 1994 as classmates at Specs Howard School of Broadcast Arts, in Detroit. We were VERY different people.
She has always been the type who refused to follow the crowd or to fake an effort to fit in. She was not ostracized by any means; rather her own separate little entity, peacefully coexisting next to the herd. I was a bit the same although, since I was still firmly entrenched within Camp Budweiser, and in the embryonic stages of figuring out who I was, I had my little circle to which I played to feed my need of approval.Kim adamantly chose not to, and had a quiet, humble self- assurance about her. You could just tell that she was one of the more ‘solid’ people you would meet, and considering where I was in my own life and where I‘d ultimately go, that GREATLY appealed to me. We became good friends much to the amazement of our other friends. They just could not understand it.
Kim also was, and is still, a remarkably talented voice. Between the two of us, we swept the major class- awards as “Best Newscaster” (Kim) and “Most Entertaining Air Personality” (me). She has the best pure- voice of anyone in our class, and I was certain that SHE was going to be the one who went on to do something in radio, if anyone. I mean, in a perfect world she SHOULD have. Life has a funny way of getting in the way of our grandiose plans and visions. Fair is a quaint, outdated concept--- like religion.
The last time we saw each other was in Detroit in 1995, after I had worked one of my last games at old Tiger Stadium. We met at a bar with friends then sat in her parking lot until sunrise, just chatting-- and again-- much to the amazement of her roommate!
We quickly lost touch, as often happens, especially before the Internet Infestation, and didn’t talk again for 11 years when, in 2006, she found me on a networking site. We chatted off and on, and did the ‘we should get together’ stuff, but never did. She had told me that she had had some health problems, been divorced, and indicated that things had been challenging, but never really elaborated until
However, in May of 2003 at the age of 30, she began to develop problems with blood clots in her entire right leg. A massive clot, from hip to ankle, hospitalized her in Intensive Care for about 10 days. After using blood thinners and catheters to clear the immediate danger, the doctors performed surgery to insert stents that, hopefully, would prevent future clotting. This happened literally FIVE days after she and her husband had moved from Nashville, TN to Lexington, KY. She had left her job in mid- April in anticipation of the move, and was now left with COBRA. The hospital’s financial coordinators gave Kim a good indication of what was to come when, upon discharge, they demanded she expedite the process of initiating COBRA, i.e. “PAY COBRA,” so that the hospital knew they were going to be paid. “Glad you’re alive. Pay us.”
She had hoped that the move to Lexington, closer to her husband’s family, would help her marriage, but the move began with her spending six- weeks recovering from surgery at her in- law’s home. During this time, she obviously could not work, and was struggling to pay COBRA’s premium.
Eventually Kim was added to her husband’s insurance, and thankfully, the group- policy could not deny new- additions due to pre- existing conditions. Kim eventually got back to work in Lexington, a 6-week temporary job as an assistant in a dental office, followed by a permanent position doing the same thing in another office. Pearson & Justice, DMD. The irony would be rich… She was with this DMD for nearly two- years, and had been there for 21 months when the next major hospitalization occurred.
All along, since the initial surgery, she had been experiencing nearly constant pain and swelling in the leg. In June of 2005, Kim’s sister had a heart attack and she flew back to Michigan from Lexington to be with her family. The night she arrived, she went directly to hospital to see her sister, and went on to her parent’s house for the night. She had been experiencing greatly intensified pain for the 2-3 hours before arriving at her parent’s house, but had attributed it to the traveling. After relaxing off her feet for a couple of hours and realizing the pain had not relented, she realized that she had trouble. She called her primary doctor in Lexington at about 10pm, and he told her to get to the ER immediately. Her parents put her in the car, and took her to the same hospital in which her sister, their daughter, was recovering from a heart attack.
The diagnosis was not good for her leg. The stents had failed within the first six- months, and the surgery had weakened and damaged her veins to the point where further procedures would not be an option. Bypassing an area that large was out of the question, and since the scar tissue from the last surgery compounded the clotting, operating again would only make the situation worse. As things stand now, the only treatment is maintenance; blood thinners. They also told her that if the circulation problems and clotting continue, amputation was, and still is, a real possibility.
At the time of the trip back to Michigan, she was employed nearly two- years with the dentist in Lexington, and insured. The procedure in Michigan was covered; however, she had a $1,000 deductible. Kim was treated at a metro- Detroit hospital, Oakwood in Dearborn who, the morning after her admittance, ordered to stay OFF her feet while she was in the hospital. The stay would ultimately last 10- days, but the next morning and even though they knew she was insured, the financial people informed her if she could not pony- up the $1,000 deductible, she would have to LEAVE immediately and seek treatment at another facility. A facility that would treat life- threatening conditions regardless of ability to pay, unlike Oakwood, apparently.
Human Kapital.
Let’s see if we understand this, shall we? One minute the doctors forbid you to WALK due to concerns that these clots could break free and find their way to your heart or lungs, and the next morning the same medical facility’s Ministers of Finance tell you to leave, DESPITE THE DOCTOR’S DIAGNOSIS, and simply due to FINANCIAL CONCERNS? Really? Where do we live? Still think ‘you’ are a priority, beyond that portfolio?
Kim and her mother of course challenged them on that point, but their response was that ‘maybe the other hospital would send an ambulance’ for her. Luckily, her mother was able to cover the deductible, but was on a fixed income being retired. How many of ‘us’ have $1,000 lying around? If you do, let me know and I will set up a Pay Pal account.
Remember Dr. ‘Justice’ and Friends?
This is a small office in Lexington that employs LESS than fifty people. The Family Medical Leave Act does NOT protect their employees. The FMLA protects your job if you are hospitalized long- term. It also provides maternity- leave time for husbands, and protects family members who need to provide care for terminally- ill family members, among other things.
Yeah, pure Socialism.
She was, according to their- own reviews and "ambiguous" other little things like promotions and regular- raises, an exemplary employee prior to this surgery. However, when her doctor refused to provide a conjecture- driven date for her return to work, they began to conjure up stories about fading productivity, a deteriorating attitude over time… blah blah blah... It reminded me of the feces I was force- fed when I was read the Terms of My Termination last year. Find that loophole, Skippy…
They terminated her. With the job went her insurance. This was her Rubicon, although unlike Caesar, she did not choose to cross— they threw her. In addition, it was NOT cliche' boogie men like Wal Mart, AT&T, Comcast, even Halliburton, doing the tossing. She was tossed by a LOCAL, small business who simply wanted to be rid of her health issues and felt no guilt or obligation to protect her access to insurance, nor her income.
Human Kapital.
Hey Hippies… Pay more to buy local? Why is that again?
My dealings with and conversations about these idealistic, local, "small businesses" have been as bad as with any corporate entity. The problem, as it pertains to dealing with the Human Kapital phenomenon, is NOT just fighting corporatism; it is fighting Predatory Capitalism in general and being particularly fierce with those that disguise themselves as some throwback to a ‘better America”. Many want to throw us back to the time before Organized Labor .
So again Hippies, fill in the blanks: F_ _ K Y_ _!!
But, back to Kim.
The doctors discharged her after 10- days, and Kim returned to Lexington toward the end of May. Dr. "Justice" and friends immediately terminated her, and her insurance was history by the end of June. Six weeks later, she and her husband separated and she would file for divorce toward the beginning of ’06. With no job and her marriage ending, Kim returned to Michigan, and its wasteland of a job- market, at the end of July.
Luckily, she had family to fall back on, but the condition with her leg makes sitting, standing, or walking for long periods impossible. She needed to work, but imagine trying to find a job and telling the HR- drone that you cannot sit, stand, or walk for 8- hours. What exactly are you going to do? They, in theory, created “Disability” for exactly this!
When we reconnected in May of 2006, she was living in Michigan and working for a bank doling out mortgages. The pain in her legs, coupled with (I like to think anyway) that she has a soul led her to quit the bank in January of 2007, in favor or a serving job at Red Robin in Brighton. Serving appeared to be the most physically- tolerable option. Sitting all day with her leg bent is the absolute worst.
From January ’07 until July, things were going pretty well. She was working full- time, had moved out of her family’s place to her own apartment and finally felt like her life had restarted. Her divorce had become final in October of ’06 and she was single again. Life was good, except for the fact that Red Robin’s insurance did not take effect for six- months, and getting COBRA from her time with the bank would have cost $400 a month. She was uninsured. Uninsurable. She had made dozens of calls to independent insurance companies trying to get coverage, but they ALL refused-REFUSED- to cover her at all because of her medical history.
Things were fine, but that peace was obviously fragile. It was broken in July, when the clotting issues resumed. She went to the ER to discover that she had a newly- formed clot, and two of the former obstructions had recurred. Again, not much they could do. They kept her in the hospital for about two days while they administered some intense blood- thinning medication that could lead to bleeding.She got rather lucky this time, because the University of Michigan Health Care System has a charity fund set up that was able to defer the cost of the latest hospitalization.
On August 1, she finally got coverage through Red Robin, but after being off work with no disability coverage, she actually had to pay Red Robin’s insurance premiums out of her OWN POCKET. Because she was off work, and there was no institutional protection, there was no 'check' from which to draw money. Try to figure that one out.
After a month recovering, she tried to go back to work with the same workload, 40+ hours a week, but it was physically impossible. This forced Kim to cut back to 25 hours a week, losing the income, but keeping the insurance.
The loss of income of course led to the loss of other things. She could no longer afford her apartment and was on the brink of eviction when she gave it up and moved in once again with her brother. She was unable to keep car payments up to date, and had to give up her vehicle.
Recap:
- * Loss of ½ of her income
- * Loss of home
- * Loss of car
All having NOTHING to do with laziness or a refusal to work. Exactly why, in theory, they created "Disability."
Kim had tried to avoid filing Disability despite the fact that she appeared, on the surface, to be a case study on who SHOULD get it. She told me that she had a difficult time accepting the fact that she is literally unable to work the hours that it would take to be on her own. Eventually, after a lot of wrangling and discussions with family, she relented and filed in September 2007. Of course, the State contested and denied the Disability claim. Twice. She is on her third appeal now. She was put through the process of having to list EVERY job she had EVER had in an effort to calculate how much TAX REVENUE she had provided the State so as to determine whether or not she was ‘qualified’ to receive Disability. It seems as though they are solely concerned with how much you have fed The Pig, rather than how ‘disabled’ you are. The first questions they ask pertain to your work history; not your health.
Human Kapital.
Ultimately, Kim may lose her right leg. There is nothing more that the doctors can do for her. Surgery will now do more harm than good. Like Ciel, and like the Kim I knew in 1994, she is amazingly positive, although she admits that she has fought bouts with depression. Even with health coverage through the most expensive procedures, she has accumulated in the neighborhood of $100,000 just in medical debt, which comes complete with calls from collection agencies. Not only that, but consider the lost income, which has led to an inability to provide a home for herself, and until recently a car. She also has her old apartment complex coming at her trying to collect for her breaking the lease.
Health problems? Fuck you. Pay me.
She is a very gifted writer and still a tremendous public- speaker, so a Tennessee health- advocacy organization approached Kim about becoming a spokesperson. I have tried my best to encourage her to that, and her fighting spirit is refreshing, but the fact that the 'system' would like to throw her away boils my blood. I cannot express how much anger I was feeling while Kim was recounting her story at that bar, then again when I essentially interviewed her over the weekend. It was the kind of anger where even I was at a loss for words, which if you have read enough of these, you KNOW is nearly impossible; I have had suffcient time to recover.
*** RAND ADVISORY*** (Not Quite a Full Rant)
Still wonder if I’m just paranoid? Remember the phrase “Human Kapital.” This is YOUR system at its finest: Humanity with a Price Tag. Your WORTH as a dignified human being IS in direct correlation to the numbers on that pay- stub, right next to the word ’tax’.
However, what if you are 35 years- old and cannot work 50- hours a week?
Should we be content to be treated as a "peasant- class" while living in the richest country the world has ever known? Compliant while they presume to define us as the “Plebs of New Rome?” Passive while the economic, political, and social elite happily throw us to the streets to fight for the rats? What is our crime? Simply losing the ability to generate their wealth through our labor?
The poor and powerless have LONG since known the score, and the rules of the game. The difference is that today, the system is creating a greater number of plebeians. The "proletariat" is growing, and injustice is beginning to spread far beyond Blacks in the projects; Mexicans in the barrios… it is coming to your neighborhoods. Noticing the foreclosure signs multiplying in your neighborhoods? Rest assured, before long it will come to YOUR family too. God help you if it's you yourself.
The poor and powerless have long since known the score, and the rules of the game: Step into the “justice” system; do it with NO money. Try suing to get what is rightfully yours after you have been “loop- holed. “ No money for the lawyer? Fuck you! Don’t have the money to file the suit? Fuck you! Falsely arrested and need ADEQUATE representation? Fuck you; take what we give you, and be happy for it! Want REAL justice? Fuck you, get a REAL job!"
Am I paranoid? Just cynical? Lose your insurance & get sick. I dare you. Prove me wrong. Have some sweaty, greasy, little predator (henceforth known as ’Skippy’) find that loophole and fire you when your body makes it impossible to work.
Talk to Kim. Is she paranoid?
Talk to Pat. Is he just cynical?
Talk to my 70- year old mother.
Talk to any one of the millions just like them. Are they ALL paranoid? Or just... whiney?
Justice may be blind; that bitch sure can count.
*** END RANT ADVISORY *** Brought to you by Blue Cross/ Blue Shield
The Disability appeals process is still going on, and Kim relocated to Nashville early this year simply because she wanted to; she has had a bit of an awakening. Somewhere along the line, after all of the health problems, and fighting this ‘system’ to get what her taxes legitimately SHOULD have provided her in order to SURVIVE with a shred of dignity, she has realized what’s important. She has decided to ENJOY life. She wanted to live here, so she is.
Kim is doing her best to make the most of what she has. She has pointed out, and it is obvious, that she is one unlucky- hiccup away from being homeless. She was lucky to find a friend who lets her stay and works as much as she can, serving at Red Robin again, although working more than two days in a row is nearly impossible. These are not the only health problems that she has had, but this is enough for this space.
After a bit of reflection, everything has became a bit clearer. How EVERYTHING seems to be connecting. I’m beginning to see, and more importantly UNDERSTAND the patterns of these ‘coincidences’, inner- turmoil, disgust, the intense and long- term allergic reactions I have always felt toward illegitimate, assumed authority (both moral and otherwise) AND how these things seem to dovetail with some of the experiences I have had; the people I continue to meet and connect with. The conversations I continue to have with people who actually have something important to add to this tapestry.
Yes, I was indeed supposed to come here. I just do not have any clue as to what I am supposed to DO with all of this! I sense that it is all tying together; even the stuff I cannot talk about here. Rest assured, you will most definitely hear about THAT… eventually.
Later Thursday night we chatted over a few more drinks after we got to their place. It was amazing in that, as different as we may have been 14- years ago, how similar we have become and for completely different reasons. It seems to be truth: Though the rivers change course sometimes, they, ultimately, do reach the sea… if you are willing, or forced, to follow them.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
8/12/08: Ken Again - Colorado to Oklahoma
Eric and I were up and on our way at 9:30, running all over the Denver metro basically tying up loose ends. We stopped at a Sprint store so I could get a car charger for my cell phone so as not to repeat the events in northern California with Eric & Marine. The damn thing cost me $25 and I knew I would live to regret buying it.
The work- day was uneventful, and I heard from Ken at about 2:00 letting
me know that he was in Laramie, WY as we’d arranged the day before. Laramie is maybe 2 ½ hours from Denver, and now that I had a good idea of when he’d be in town, I could begin to plot a place to meet him.
I had hoped to be able to get to a convenient place on I-70, so he would only need to exit momentarily to pick me up, and then return immediately to his route. I was leery of that plan when, not knowing that part of Denver well, I couldn’t pinpoint locations that I was certain would be hassle- free. I decided on I-25 and 20th St., up the street from Coors Field, because it was maybe just ½ mile past the I-70 interchange, had a stop light, and he could just re-enter I-25.
Once that was set, I repacked again, foolishly
eliminating food and rearranging the pack’s balance for the hike, via Light rail, to 20th St. Eric and I settled up on money, and much to my dismay I was forced to evaluate just how much money I had spent while in Denver. It isn’t a pretty picture. After the rain fly, I was leaving with significantly less money than I should have been. The beer wasn’t THAT good.
Eric and I said the goodbyes; I loaded the pack on my back, and set off.
For the first time in nearly a month, I was traveling again. Officially back on the road. There was no euphoria this time; no excitement for the unknown. I KNEW what to expect. In that sense, this phase, Phase #3, felt MUCH different. I was no longer the adolescent exploring the woods. I knew what was in the woods, how to handle it, AND I knew how what I would see from the woods would effect me. The lack of that excitement was a disappointment, and the fact that I was not experiencing the same energy- lift I had at the tracks after the Rockies game was surprising. It felt like I had just woken up in the bushes somewhere and was resuming the trip.
Go figure.
I decided to forgo paying the $1.50 fare for the ride to Union Station, remembering Thoreau’s “get what advantage of her” line in Civil Disobedience. I felt like quite the Anarchist as I rode the familiar route downtown. I was in a bit of a hurry, having spent more time chatting with Eric than I’d planned to and concerned about missing Ken in case he was early.
I got to I-25 & 20th without issue and planted
myself back in the old familiar spot: the ramp. I arrived at about 4 and as I waited, a panhandler returned with his handy little sign pronouncing his abstinence from both drugs and alcohol, saying he just needed “a little help“. Todd was skeptical.
The bum was not pleased by my presence. I wasn’t hitching, holding a sign; just sitting there. He must have thought that made him look bad because after five minutes or so, he shouted across the exit, “Are you just sitting there for the hell of it or waiting for a ride?” I answered that I was waiting for a ride, but his demeanor and blatant stares were by now bugging me. He was acting as if his urine-soaked Jansport book bag marked his “turf.“ He apparently didn’t hear me, or was feeling belligerent, because he asked again. This time I replied, “I love the fucking views here, I might just have to stay all night. Is that OK with you?”
Suddenly my presence seemed far less important. Funny how that works.
At 4:34, four minutes after he predicted, Ken pulled off I-25 to 20th St.
Our plan had worked perfectly. As I climbed in the cab, I saw my new ‘friend’s’ look of utter amazement. Here was a guy who had just been sitting there now climbing into a semi. Not so astounding, I know. But HE seemed to think it was. I just waved as we drove off.
Ken and I shook hands, I explained the situation with Dufus, and we quickly settled back into our roles from last month. We got reacquainted as I settled in for the ride to Limon, where he was going to stop for the night since he’d been driving from Idaho since 5am.
Shortly after I got in the truck, the indecision concerning my destination was resolved. Ken has a friend in Chattanooga, TN who wanted a ride to Tampa. I could ride to Nashville and see Kim, and he could pick Jay up a couple hours down the road. Simple. Easy. Go with it Todd… go with it.
I went with it.
We did stop at the Flying J on the far east end of Aurora, and the cashier asked Ken to take a box of urgently needed fuel tickets with him to Limon, since they were running out, saying we’d get free dinner in exchange for the box occupying his floor. Quite a deal.
The ride to Limon was typical eastern Colorado. Not a lot to see save some dramatic storm clouds on the horizon that got more intense as we moved further southeast.
We arrived at about dusk and feasted on
Steak and Salmon. The manager had apparently only intended to give us the soup n’ salad bar, but had neglected to tell Ken this before hand. That led to some mini-drama when we went to leave, but the acting manager handled it diplomatically.
We settled into the double bunked cab for the night and watched “10,000 BC” on his little DVD player
while I wrote in my journal. The dominant themes as I reflected on the past couple of days were the ‘coincidences’ and the fact that I was feeling very little emotion about being back on the road.
I also was encountering Che’s 'split moment' phenomenon; feeling slight melancholy about not returning home, and also fleeting, inconsistent excitement stemming from the recall of past experience; experiences that were precluded by similar circumstances and emotions. In short, I was having trouble unplugging from The Matrix, and reestablishing a solid connection with…you choose the term! It also dawned on me that today was the two month anniversary of leaving Santa Fe for Santa Barbara and I was heading even further away this time. Maybe #12 is lucky for me!
Ken and I set the alarms and got to bed ready for a day full of Oklahoma.
The work- day was uneventful, and I heard from Ken at about 2:00 letting
me know that he was in Laramie, WY as we’d arranged the day before. Laramie is maybe 2 ½ hours from Denver, and now that I had a good idea of when he’d be in town, I could begin to plot a place to meet him. I had hoped to be able to get to a convenient place on I-70, so he would only need to exit momentarily to pick me up, and then return immediately to his route. I was leery of that plan when, not knowing that part of Denver well, I couldn’t pinpoint locations that I was certain would be hassle- free. I decided on I-25 and 20th St., up the street from Coors Field, because it was maybe just ½ mile past the I-70 interchange, had a stop light, and he could just re-enter I-25.
Once that was set, I repacked again, foolishly
eliminating food and rearranging the pack’s balance for the hike, via Light rail, to 20th St. Eric and I settled up on money, and much to my dismay I was forced to evaluate just how much money I had spent while in Denver. It isn’t a pretty picture. After the rain fly, I was leaving with significantly less money than I should have been. The beer wasn’t THAT good.Eric and I said the goodbyes; I loaded the pack on my back, and set off.
For the first time in nearly a month, I was traveling again. Officially back on the road. There was no euphoria this time; no excitement for the unknown. I KNEW what to expect. In that sense, this phase, Phase #3, felt MUCH different. I was no longer the adolescent exploring the woods. I knew what was in the woods, how to handle it, AND I knew how what I would see from the woods would effect me. The lack of that excitement was a disappointment, and the fact that I was not experiencing the same energy- lift I had at the tracks after the Rockies game was surprising. It felt like I had just woken up in the bushes somewhere and was resuming the trip.Go figure.
I decided to forgo paying the $1.50 fare for the ride to Union Station, remembering Thoreau’s “get what advantage of her” line in Civil Disobedience. I felt like quite the Anarchist as I rode the familiar route downtown. I was in a bit of a hurry, having spent more time chatting with Eric than I’d planned to and concerned about missing Ken in case he was early.
I got to I-25 & 20th without issue and planted
myself back in the old familiar spot: the ramp. I arrived at about 4 and as I waited, a panhandler returned with his handy little sign pronouncing his abstinence from both drugs and alcohol, saying he just needed “a little help“. Todd was skeptical. The bum was not pleased by my presence. I wasn’t hitching, holding a sign; just sitting there. He must have thought that made him look bad because after five minutes or so, he shouted across the exit, “Are you just sitting there for the hell of it or waiting for a ride?” I answered that I was waiting for a ride, but his demeanor and blatant stares were by now bugging me. He was acting as if his urine-soaked Jansport book bag marked his “turf.“ He apparently didn’t hear me, or was feeling belligerent, because he asked again. This time I replied, “I love the fucking views here, I might just have to stay all night. Is that OK with you?”
Suddenly my presence seemed far less important. Funny how that works.
At 4:34, four minutes after he predicted, Ken pulled off I-25 to 20th St.
Our plan had worked perfectly. As I climbed in the cab, I saw my new ‘friend’s’ look of utter amazement. Here was a guy who had just been sitting there now climbing into a semi. Not so astounding, I know. But HE seemed to think it was. I just waved as we drove off.Ken and I shook hands, I explained the situation with Dufus, and we quickly settled back into our roles from last month. We got reacquainted as I settled in for the ride to Limon, where he was going to stop for the night since he’d been driving from Idaho since 5am.
Shortly after I got in the truck, the indecision concerning my destination was resolved. Ken has a friend in Chattanooga, TN who wanted a ride to Tampa. I could ride to Nashville and see Kim, and he could pick Jay up a couple hours down the road. Simple. Easy. Go with it Todd… go with it.
I went with it. We did stop at the Flying J on the far east end of Aurora, and the cashier asked Ken to take a box of urgently needed fuel tickets with him to Limon, since they were running out, saying we’d get free dinner in exchange for the box occupying his floor. Quite a deal.
The ride to Limon was typical eastern Colorado. Not a lot to see save some dramatic storm clouds on the horizon that got more intense as we moved further southeast.
We arrived at about dusk and feasted on
Steak and Salmon. The manager had apparently only intended to give us the soup n’ salad bar, but had neglected to tell Ken this before hand. That led to some mini-drama when we went to leave, but the acting manager handled it diplomatically. We settled into the double bunked cab for the night and watched “10,000 BC” on his little DVD player
while I wrote in my journal. The dominant themes as I reflected on the past couple of days were the ‘coincidences’ and the fact that I was feeling very little emotion about being back on the road. I also was encountering Che’s 'split moment' phenomenon; feeling slight melancholy about not returning home, and also fleeting, inconsistent excitement stemming from the recall of past experience; experiences that were precluded by similar circumstances and emotions. In short, I was having trouble unplugging from The Matrix, and reestablishing a solid connection with…you choose the term! It also dawned on me that today was the two month anniversary of leaving Santa Fe for Santa Barbara and I was heading even further away this time. Maybe #12 is lucky for me!
Ken and I set the alarms and got to bed ready for a day full of Oklahoma.
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