... One Year Later

You know those TV shows and movies where the story leads up to a dramatic cliffhanger and the screen blacks out and the legend "One year later ..." appears.  (Alternately, writers use the "24 hours earlier", "One year earlier", etc.)  I've always felt that device is some thing of a cheat.  Like the filmmakers didn't exactly know where to take their story after building it up to a dramatic point; they seem to have decided, "Hell let's skip ahead a year and fill in the details as we go along".

While I think it's something of a cheat and cliche when used in film/TV, wouldn't it be cool if you could use that device in real life?  Magically skip ahead X amount of time to a given point in your life where everything has turned out fine.  I wish I could have done that over the past year.  You see, while you might view Halloween as a time to trick or treat, I'm afraid it marks a bitter anniversary for You Humble Narrator.  It was about a year ago that I became homeless.

Yes, things certainly did build up to a climax:  I succumbed to major depression, lost most of my possessions and money (not to mention my pride), was evicted from my apartment and literally wound up on the streets of Las Vegas with no where to go.  (If you'd like to read my tragic tale in detail, please refer to earlier posts of this blog entitled "HINJFCA"; you'll learn what the clunky acronym stand for.)

During the past year I traveled a path I could have scarcely imagined. I arrived at the Salvation Army of North Las Vegas with less than $100 to my name (if not for the generosity of a cousin I would not have had even that much).  I encountered circumstances and people I had only read about or seen portrayed in the media.  I effectively became part of a shadow society of beggars, drifters, and malcontents.  I sometimes marvel that I didn't simply fall in with many of those who have chosen to take their chances on the streets.

You might not believe how easy it is to make the choice to simply abandon society, cast away responsibility, and lose yourself in the anonymity of the streets.  All it takes is for a person to lose so much that making the effort to regain it isn't worth the effort.  Many have chosen to find comfort in the filth and danger of the streets.

During the past year I was a client in the SA vocational program.  I worked in food service for the first time in my life.  I went to culinary school and learned basic cooking and garde manger (well, sort of).  I made friends with people I would have not long ago deemed as undesirable:  Ex-cons, junkies, thieves of all sorts, hookers, and those with questionable mental stability.  I tried to learn as much as I could from them and about them.  In some ways, I think the process helped me learn about myself:  That I wasn't as fucked up as I feared I was.

Time made events into a kind of blur.  I applied for and was accepted for a job at the Grand Canyon, where I presently live.  I think the change in atmosphere from the urban jungle of Vegas to the rugged landscapes of the GC have acted as a tonic of sorts.  For whatever reason I've felt revitalized since coming here.  The work is somewhat tiresome but it's easy to save money, and I don't feel the day to day pressures of living in a large city. I like many of the people I've met here, especially those from overseas.  The atmosphere is, overall, agreeable.  I actually grew up in a village; now, decades later it seems I have found some degree of peace in another village some 7000+ feet in elevation.

 The experience of the past year has been humbling to say the least. I could never have guessed these events would have taken place in my life.  In some ways this experience has served as a time of re-examination and reassessment.  It has made me appreciate the things I previously took for granted.  In some ways it feels as though I have been broken down piece by piece, atom by atom, into my base elements.  And slowly, piece by piece, atom by atom, I am being reconstructed, re-forged if you will, into something new; hopefully into something better than before.

There are any number of lessons I could take away from this experience.  Here's one:  I guess if you really want to survive, you'll find a way to survive.  Forces unseen will somehow come to assist you if you really want to survive.  I say this because there was a time in the past year where I wasn't sure if I did wanted to go on.  I only wanted everything to go away;  I wanted the pain to go away.  Instead, the pain got worse. But I survived it; I'm still surviving it.  So somehow, at my core I guess I did really want to survive after all.

I'm still here.

Canyoneering 3 -- Trapped With Tourists

While they provide profits for Xanterra (and put money in the employees’ pockets), tourists are often viewed by we employees as a necessary evil.  Sometimes their innocent ignorance can be amusing:  I’ve lost count of the times I’ve been asked – in all seriousness – whether they can ride an escalator or elevator to the bottom of the GC (personally I think it would be a good idea).  Or the many times I’ve been asked if it’s okay to feed the squirrels, deer, elk, etc. – this despite the fact that signs warning against this practice are posted everywhere.  Still, people can’t resist feeding these animals and are often bitten or otherwise wounded by the ravenous creatures.  For the record, National Park Service Rangers hand out stiff fines to those caught in such practice.

A common annoyance is the habit of tourists to clog the narrow roadways of the GC while they stop to take pictures of the local wildlife.  People can’t seem to get enough of seeing the elk and deer in particular.  Since I see these animals every day (and night), the novelty is lost on Your Humble Narrator.  Trust me, once you’ve nearly collided with a massive elk, they quickly lose the cute and cuddly factor. 

A common sight where I live

While tourists can occasionally be annoying, there are some benefits to having them around.  As noted, without their presence, we’d have no paychecks.  But I find it interesting to meet so many people from around the world, even if it’s only for a few moments. And because they're usually on vacation these folks are usually in a good mood (usually). You also tend to note their food preferences if you work (as I do) in a restaurant.

Many Asian tourists (from Japan and China mostly) seem to favor spaghetti and meat sauce.  Brits, Aussies and Kiwis seem to favor beef, like pot roast or Salisbury steak (which I tend to regard as a glorified hamburger).  Germans tend to order ham steak or fish.  The French are over the map when it comes to their culinary preferences.  Interestingly, the French tend to order a lot of French fries, (frite or pomme frite as they call it).  I wonder if French fries should be called American fries in France.

Because of the glut of foreign tourists, there are of course many different accents one must decipher; that’s when the visitors speak English at all.  Often there is a tour guide conducting groups of 10 to 50 people through the cafeteria, and they must translate everyone’s order.  This can take some time as you might imagine.  It’s especially annoying when one tour bus after another unloads dozens of hungry, tired visitors, each convinced that theirs is the only order that matters.  Adding to the aggravation is the habit of these tour guides to blast their comments through personal PA systems that makes the café echo with ear-splitting feedback.

 For the most part, the process runs smoothly although it can look like organized chaos to an onlooker.  Only once have I (nearly) taken offense to a customer’s attitude.  I won’t mention his nationality, but he was an older fellow, obviously impatient or preoccupied.  I asked him twice if I could help him but he didn’t respond.  On the third attempt, he snapped, “No I do not want your help!  You do not understand your own English?”  I desperately wanted to tell the old bastard to go f**k himself, but what can you do.  (Pardon my French)

The Yavapai Canyon Cafe, where toils Your Humble Narrator

While I’ve ragged a bit on the tourists, let me mention one distinct advantage to having them in the GC:  The many beautiful women who make the journey to see America’s massive hole in the ground (so many jokes there, make your own).  To me, the ladies are a far more interesting natural wonder than the Canyon itself.  Indeed, Your Humble Narrator is known to flirt with some of these ladies (lightly flirt that is; no grist for the sexual harassment mill from yours truly).  My favorite line to use is the following:  “Oh, you’re from (insert country here)?  Tell me, are all the women from (country) as beautiful as you?”  Has that line actually worked?  Ah well … as they say, that would be telling(!)

So if you’re planning on visiting the GC, don’t let my prickly comments dissuade you from stopping by.  You – and your cash – are always welcome.  And if you’re a beautiful lady from overseas of the USA or wherever, you are strongly encouraged to make the trip and stop by the Canyon Café at Yavapai Lodge.  Your Humble Narrator will be at your beck and call – and if you’re lucky, you just might get his private tour (as in a tour of his privates).  A low-class comment to be sure ... but that’s a specialty of mine.

Canyoneering 2 -- Beautiful Places On Earth

FYI:  Xan (from Xanadu) + Terra (Earth) = Xanterra

If you’ve seen the 1987 film “Matewan” you might recall that the story involved a group of coal miners who lived in a ‘company town’.   That is, they lived in housing provided by the company.  They shopped in stores owned by the company.  They were paid in scrip that could only be used within the limits of the company’s town.  In a sense, the miners had become victims of circumstance, owing their livelihood (if not their existence) to the all-powerful Company.  (If you’ve not seen the movie, it’s worth your time to see it, imo.  Follow the link(s) provided here and in the first line of this paragraph.)

There’s a parallel between the circumstances of the Matewan miners and the employees of Xanterra here at the Grand Canyon.  Let me be clear about a few things:  Xanterra pays its employees in good old-fashioned US greenbacks, not scrip.  People are free to come and go as they please.  Xanterra doesn’t ‘own’ the GC; the federal government owns the land which it operates through the National Park Service.  The company operates restaurants and hotels (concessions) by right of being the highest bidder to offer such services.  In fact, there are other companies here that operate other services.  An example would be DNC (Delaware North Companies) which operates the Park’s General Stores.

The parallels I speak of have more to do with the practical side of living and working in the GC.  All the housing for Xanterra employees is provided by the company.  As I explained in a previous post, almost everyone here shares living accommodations.  This can be a one or two bedroom apartment with up to 10 people in a unit, or Trailer Village where I live in a tiny, cramped room.  Most male employees will stay in the Victor Hall dorm while females stay primarily in Coulter Hall.

The cost of housing for shared accommodations is very cheap, no more than $16 a week, including utilities.  In fact, the cheap housing is a reason you can actually save a fair amount of money despite the near-minimum wage salaries.  It’s also a reason many people elect to follow the lifestyle of staying in the parks; it’s not unusual for employees to transfer from one park to another every 6 months or so.  You can find plenty of people who have done this for decades.  Interestingly (to me anyway), many of these folks look like burned out hippies and they all seem to be devoted NPR listeners.  Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

So most Xanterra employees live in company housing (including managers who qualify for separate apartments offered at impressively low rents taken directly out of the paycheck).  We employees also tend to eat at the company-owned restaurant and cafes on the property.  Foodstuffs can be bought at the General Stores, but the prices have horrendous markups since they cater to tourists as much as residents.  (And since it’s not owned by Xanterra, there is no employee discount).  We generally receive 50% off food prices at the company owned restaurant.  Given that prices are high to begin with (a hamburger  - no sides – will run at least $6 plus tax), it makes our cost only slightly less outrageous than it normally would.

There are no fast food franchises like McDonalds or Wendy’s inside the park.  Those establishments can be found in the neighboring small hamlet of Tusayan (pronounced, ‘To-Saigon’) the so-called gateway to the GC.  You’ll find a number of hotels in the area along with a gas station, several small restaurants and bars.  You’ll also find the same high prices found in the GC.  Even Mickey D’s is uncommonly expensive there.  (Several co-workers who moonlight at that McD’s say they constantly have field questions from angry tourists demanding to know why they have no Dollar Menu .)  There’s also a general store; but since it’s owned by DNC it has the same high prices as its counterpart in the GC.  If you live here you’re caught in a different type of tourist trap:  You’re a resident paying hugely inflated tourist prices.

The General Store -- with Major Markups

I’ll have more to say concerning the tourist trade in the next post.  In the meantime, you know the old saying, “Can't live with ‘em, can’t live without ‘em?”  That pretty well sums up the employees’ attitude toward the tourists.