I tell you I don’t get it.
Where is this great depression? Yes, I know the statistics. Yes, I know unemployment is up…house prices are down…blah-blah-blah….
But that’s what happens when house prices are too high. They go down. And when the price of labor is too high, then it has to come down too.
I know this sounds heartless, but it’s not. I have nothing but a bleeding heart for suffering folks. I’ve seen them. Not all of them are starving on the streets of Calcutta. One was an old lady, middle-class, shut away in a tiny room in a senior citizen’s home with her threadbare nylon nighties and a photo of her English teacher son who’d come by to see her three years before. Her smile was always extra bright and cheerful. Come again, she told me the Christmas I stopped by with my dog, and she hobbled carefully to the door to see me out. She didn’t know me from Eve. But I hadn’t seen my own mother for about the same length of time and it was a kind of guilt visit. Many months later she threw herself out of the window of her tight little studio and broke into two on the compound wall. I know, because I was getting out of my car when it happened. I thought it was some kind of large bird until the pieces bounced on the ground.
So yes, people suffer.
But right now, I’m not seeing suffering. Not where I live, anyway.
I’ll tell you what I’m seeing.
Yesterday, I needed someone to fix a bath tub that wouldn’t drain. I called around. I got answering machines. The first call back came two hours later. If people needed to work so bad, you’d think I’d have been flooded with calls. And when they called, you’d think they’d have time free for a simple drain job that needed a plunger and some elbow grease. No. They were all busy doing something else or didn’t do small jobs or didn’t come out to the city or didn’t work for less than $100 minimum.
In twenty-five years of working, I’ve never had the luxury of telling my boss that I needed hundred bucks to roll out of bed. I told them there’d be more work, regular work, bigger jobs if they’d only show up. No dice. The cheapest guy charged $50. That is, if it was a simple job. If it took a bit longer, it would be a $100. Meanwhile, the guy whom I usually use wasn’t even around. He was too busy taking his son to school and getting high after that. Where did he have the money to get drunk on a regular basis? Don’t ask me. I drink water. Can’t afford any bad habits these days.
It was the same in Florida, when I was there. Had a guy come over to sell me a software program. He was unemployed he told me. On disability. I couldn’t help squinting and looking him over. Whatever disability he had hadn’t got in the way of his appetite. He was a cool 300 pounder. I asked him what the matter was. A bad back he said. But when he walked over to pop the program into the machine, his walk was perfectly good.
I know about bad backs. My dad was laid up with a bad back once. For two days. A slipped disk. He was in agony. Couldn’t move an inch. Needed to be fed in bed. He still walks with a slight stoop. Never took a day off before or after. Still, I’m a soft touch. I showed the guy some exercises he could do. And a simple diet. I worked it out on paper, how many calories, how many pounds. It was the weight that was killing him, not his back.
He had only a very cheap health insurance policy he told me. I haven’t carried insurance for the last several years, so I told him, you don’t need it, I showed him the sites I used to self-medicate. He was interested and wanted to learn more.
It was all the fault of the bankers, he said, the way things were. I agreed. They’d moved all the jobs to China and ruined the job market. The government ought to do something about it.
I asked him how he managed. He said he’d had to cut back. He could only eat out twice a week and even then it was at a cheap diner. He couldn’t afford more than 20 bucks for each eat out. I said that was plenty. I was getting pretty heartless by then.
He lived with his girlfriend in her house that she owned. She was retired but ran her own business on the side. Between the two of them, even with his disability, they had about 2500 bucks coming in every month. In Florida, you can rent an apartment for 500 bucks, a decent house for 750. That’s 1750 left over. They had no kids.
I said, can’t you start your own business on the side? He was a trucker. I asked if he’d been laid off. He said no, he quit. They weren’t paying good any more. They wanted to give him 15 bucks an hour and the benefits weren’t much. But starting a business was too hard because of all the regulations. It was 5000 for the license if you wanted to pick people up from the airport and drive them back into town. I said what about being a courier. Take stuff back and forth for businesses. He said, it’s an idea. I said good luck, stay in touch.
After that, I walked across to the post office to pick up some stamps. On the way, I noticed a thrift store with some nice plastic organizers. I’m a sucker for plastic organizers so I went in. You could buy a whole furniture set for under 100 bucks. Cooking vessels for 50 cents a piece. A shirt in perfectly good condition was a buck fifty.
There was a Salvation Army round the corner from the store. They were collecting cans of food to give away.
I drove to the local Walmart. Eggs were still around a buck. After searching a bit, I could find a loaf of bread for 89 cents. Flour was still cheap. There were deals everywhere, some good, some great.
Most of the people shopping there weren’t middle-class. No yuppies, for sure. They were definitely lower middle-class or “poor.” You could tell they were “poor” because they were overweight..or, if they were thin, they were overdressed. The poor women I saw all seemed to have on shiny new clothes. Lots of sequined string tops, bright flip-flops. Their finger nails had different shapes and their shopping carts were bursting with brands. Not cheap stuff either. Meat, cheese. No cabbage and potatoes or rice and beans. That was on my shopping list, not theirs.
Cell phones were all over the place and people chatted on them as they wheeled their carts out to their cars.
The chat – accompanied by gull-like shrieks – didn’t have much to do with the economy or hard times or starving. It was – girl, you gotta see this movie….hey joey, you gonna stop by after the game?…
That’s the great depression in America.\
Afterword:
I am posting some comments I got as soon as I wrote this rather mild criticism of the exaggerations surrounding the ongoing “depression.” The comments were sent to an earlier post about BP, but were rather obviously a response to this post, because there was nothing in the BP post to provoke anyone. I assume he’s someone – probably unemployed himself- who doesn’t like my characterization of the “poor” I’ve run into so far.
Since he actually has a net connection and can type, he must be one of the more literate among his peers, although I can’t say I like his style. Maybe he could get a gig at Rolling Stone. They seem to like that gonzo business.
So much for the sainted working class. This specimen is probably being fed and housed at tax-payer expense. Your tax-dollars pay for his internet connection and anonymizer. I must say, there are times I think the environmentalists are perfectly correct about the human species. I know arthropods with more dignity than this. But he does prove my point about the working class. It’s been corrupted by subsidies.
We’re ruled by two pathologized classes – one at the top….and one at the bottom.
Anyway, here’s my response:
Dear Mr. “N*****”,
Assuming that is your name rather than a nom-de-plume of questionable taste, I would suggest you address your objections – such as they are – to the appropriate post, which I’m assuming is “The Great Depression, American Style”.
I assume that is what has provoked your ire.
I normally don’t allow obscenities but on the assumption that this is the maximum of your expressive capacity, I’ve made an exception in your case.
Based on your rather colorful self-description, i would advise seeing a doctor asap.
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Comments can be seen at this post:
BP Oil Spill: Ten Horrifying Facts