paisleypiper's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- democracy and benches Benches and Democracy Today I spent my lunch hour at the county tax office because I never received a bill for my personal property tax. Well, not receiving the bill only served as a the beginning to highly complex situation I'm not qualified to explain. All I know is that my job was to wait. When I first arrived and got myself collected after going through the security check point, I stood in line to leave my name and sit in a chair with fellow residents all engaged in some sort of property tax activity. I sat and sat. People walked in and out, slowly, methodically, dragging the world or at least the weight of it behind them. I kept thinking of this student who was in the office earlier today (this being my lunch hour adventure) who quoted the movie FIGHTCLUB, "we have no great war, no great depression -- our great depression is our lives," and telling the esquire and the community liaison that that is how his fellow students feel. I think I was a little shocked because this triggered an outpouring of sympathy from my colleagues that resulted in opportunity. What happened next was interesting -- both the esquire and the community liaison sort of gave me a look which caused me to make up that somehow they thought all young people were superior to the thirty-something crowd. The way they looked at me as though they had this knowledge that was going to give them an edge; they were in touch with the grail of youth. It makes me want to see the movie so I can understand the context. Or at least the expressions in their eyes. The way these two baby boomers (well, one just a year or two older than and one just a year or two younger than)bonded over this shared truth. It made me understand that in order to deliver a message in this office, one needs to be trim, gorgeous, male, well-dressed and young. What a cliche. Yesterday I sat in a meeting in which I was told that people my age and younger finally were getting over hoping for equal treatment and opportunity in the workplace. That women, thank goodness, were coming to their senses and understanding that they need to go on with their lives. What can you do? Certainly women could never get away with saying "our great depression is our lives" as we sit here in a log jam. Did I mention that I am on-strike today? Yes, the local paper quoted some moron state representative who equated gay marriage with marrying one's relatives (in this state that must still be a sore spot -- that close relatives are not allowed to marry). Since I work for the state, in a sense, I'm having an afternoon strike. So, I sat there at the county tax office, in the makeshift waiting room, thinking about all of this -- the conversation overheard with the student, the conversation from yesterday, the article in the paper -- and memorizing the details of the waiting room. The light pink walls that highlight some portion of the granite and marble floors, the buzz of the florescant lights, the people around me, the way the chairs were crammed in and make for more seating. When I was a child I equated democracy with benches. Everywhere official I went, there were benches. Even this office once had benches. To me, being an American meant sitting on a bench near a fellow American. The benches were wooden, uncomfortable, enduring and cold. And they never seemed to get shaggy or old. Churchlike they offered a place to pray for a favorable outcome. Train-station-like they offered a place to stretch out. Always a bit uncomfortable because the concept of the bench is to accommodate more people, different shapes and sizes. We have arm chairs now because we no longer like each other. We all face forward in the tax waiting room, watching the slow, mumbling, clerk as he clicks his computer mouse. We watch him interact with his beige computer monitor and talk to people without looking into their eyes. Finally, after an hour, my last name is called and I procede back to the next set of desks. Everyone wants me to sit down, as though offering me a seat is their most precious form of customer service. I'm struck by the amount of clicks they need to click with their mice to accomplish anything -- how little the clerks use their keyboards. We talk about my situation and all of the stange things that have happened and soon enough my problem is resolved. The printer begins spurting out paper and the clerk signs all of the papers to show that this is a conclusion to another string of strange events. I notice how little my car is worth, probably even less than the amount because last night I parked under a huge shade tree. I still can't get over how benches are disappearing from our civic buildings, replaced by arm chairs. I can't say that I mind the disappearance of benches. It's just an observation. Nothing more. I've fit myself back into the office and the afternoon. I spent thirty minutes just now with a political science student who seems to think that it is her job to make opportunities for herself. She seems to think that if she works hard that she will make it in the world. What I remember about being young is the realization that I was in charge of my attitude and I was keeper of my own determination. I remember being afraid of that -- that somehow my survival had to do with how hard I worked and what my attitude was. I remember just wanting a chance to make a connection and get ahead. I hope this student finds her chance, builds her network, and never thinks that her great depression is her life. I can only hope that the part that didn't make it through the student's speech to the esquire and community liaison is the part about fighting and struggling and going after something. Still need to see the movie -- I'm curious to know the source and context for the quote. When I look at the newspapers, I can't help but think that our democracy has been benched. It's time to get it back into the game.
2:19 p.m. - 2004-04-02 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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