Mickey Z

Cool Observer

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Saturday, January 21, 2006

Taking a dump on the New York Times (plus: William Blum in the news)

Pumping up for Storytelling Saturday

But first: William Blum, best-selling author?
“If you thought Ward Churchill was despicable for saying the victims of 9-11 deserved their fates, wait till you get a load of Osama bin Laden’s favorite American author, William Blum.” Full article here: http://urlsnip.com/365456
Other articles:
http://tinyurl.com/865rt
http://tinyurl.com/7s3hk
http://tinyurl.com/b5s4r
http://urlsnip.com/357036

We now return to Storytelling Saturday:

Once upon a time...

Many years ago, I was employed by the Port Authority of New York and New Jersey...picking up garbage at LaGuardia Airport. Yes, I actually was one of those hapless souls carrying a red canvas bag and a long pole with a pointy jabber at the end to stab the debris I encountered. What made this gig particularly intolerable was cleaning up the massive taxi stand where the drivers would park their yellow death machines and wait like covetous vultures for the planes to land so they could prey on gullible tourists.

The worst part of this scenario was the portable bathroom LaGuardia Airport provided for the drivers. Once the undersized booth got slightly dirty, the cabbies would start relieving themselves outside of it—in public—on a pile of old newspapers. Now, don’t get me wrong, the idea of literally taking a dump on the New York Times has more than its share of merits...but this was not a political statement, my friends. Not by a long shot. Then, the next taxi driver to come along would impassively add to the burgeoning rankness with his own Burger King-inspired bowel. Needless to say, yours truly never went anywhere near this Superfund Site and I almost ended up in a fistfight with my boss when he demanded I clean it up. Fortunately, my reputation as a martial artist preceded me and that Port Authority lifer chose discretion over valor.

To deal with this pathetic job, I had an astounding number of scams to get over and not actually do much work. Ultimately, I fell into a smooth routine that helped get through this summer ordeal without breaking a too much of sweat. Every morning, I’d report to work, climb into a giant yellow Port Authority bus, and get myself driven to my very own workstation conveniently located on the outer reaches of the airport. Once there, I’d stroll around and do some negligible cleaning before making a beeline for the old Eastern Shuttle building. After hiding my conspicuous stick and bag, I’d buy two or three newspapers and enter the cafeteria to partake in an unhealthy breakfast. The next part of my diabolically uncomplicated contrivance was to locate a cafeteria table that effectively concealed my whereabouts.

After some trial and error, I was able to select the ideal table. It was strategically located near an particularly enormous column so when anyone entered the cafeteria, the only way they’d see me was if they walked into the joint about twenty feet and specifically peered around the column to look. So, I’d consume my over-priced breakfast and read my newspapers to get my daily dose of corporate propaganda. Often, I’d lay my overloaded head on the table like a nursery school student and take a mini-nap if the mood possessed me. At noon, I’d awake and stagger out in the summer sun to catch the yellow bus back in to the main office where I could punch out for lunch. Since I lived relatively close to the airport, I’d drive home to feast on a homemade lunch and wish my Mom luck as she’d leave to go take care of my grandfather for the afternoon.

After stuffing my smirking face, I’d set my alarm for 2:30 P.M. and fall soundly asleep for the next two hours. When that alarm would ring, I’d scurry out to my car and drive the few blocks back into the employee parking lot to wait for the yellow bus to bring back those of my co-workers who actually earned their pay each day. As the bus emptied, I’d slip out of my car, mingle with the exhausted workers, dump my uniform in my locker, and punch out for the day. Then, I’d get back in the car and head home. This scam lasted for a little more than two months...but I ended up getting transferred. My bosses knew I was screwing up but they just couldn’t ascertain how.

They got their retribution by assigning me to the George Washington Bridge to become a toll collector, but I quit that gig after a week. No way was I going to inhale exhaust fumes...eight hours a day, five days a week. I get enough of that as a lifetime New Yorker.