Holding Up During A Government Shutdown

So you've no doubt heard all about the federal government shutdown. Yes, there are far-ranging effects and impacts that will ripple out from the deadlock in DC.  Naturally, the most important question you're asking yourself is How, exactly, does all this affect Your Humble Narrator?  Well, read on and I'll try to give you some insights into life in a national park during a government shutdown.

Realize this is my first experience of being directly affected by the gears of government grinding to a halt (and being caught in the gear teeth).  In the past I had always joked, "Hell, even if there is a government shutdown ... how can you tell the difference?"  Realize, too, that the Grand Canyon is more than a mere national park ... It's considered on of the Seven Natural Wonders of the World.  As such, the GC receives on average approximately 5 million visitors annually.  As you'd expect all those visitors generate a lot of noise and traffic; indeed, the clots of tourists jamming the narrow sidewalks and crowding the cafeterias, restaurants and buses can become downright frustrating.

So the second thing you notice upon park closure is the sudden quiet that falls over the area.  Once guests were barred from entering, the GC and its small community (GC Village) quickly resembles a ghost town.  The sidewalks are bare.  The shuttle buses have stopped running, leaving only sparse local traffic on the roads.  The majority of restaurants, gift shops and other businesses have been shuttered.  And because of the sudden quiet, the deer, elk and other creatures native are less shy about moving about the park.  Kind of ironic in that all these animals are on display and there's no visitors here to see them!

Sign(s) of the times

By the way, the first thing you notice is the sense of disbelief among the employees that the GC was actually closed for business.  I doubt anyone here seriously expected the government shutdown to occur. (As one co-worker eloquently stated:  "There's no way they'll shut this f**kin' park!"  Well, live and learn.) So it's taken a few days for the realization to settle in.  And that begs the question. How are we settling in?

The first day of closure (Wednesday October 2) actually occurred on a payday.  So for the first night there was a lot of partying.  Regular readers of this blog -- both of them -- might recall the circumstance in which most of us workers live:  In dorms, usually two in a room with communal bath and showers.  While the housing provided by our employer Xanterra are certainly cost efficient, it also presents its share of challenges ... you might say you get what you pay for.

A quick recap on the subject:  I've never been a fan of roommates to begin with.  Many of your dorm mates tend to be, unkind as it may sound, challenged either physically or mentally.  There is a lot of alcoholism and drug abuse in the dorms.  Many of the workers are culled from the streets (as in homeless) and often bring their unhygienic habits and oddball behaviors with them.  Because of this, bedbugs are rampant in the dorms, along with a lot of shouting and yelling (usually an outgrowth of these guys talking to themselves)  Many of these people have difficulty with the English language, either because of speech impediments or too many missing teeth.

This portion of the South Rim Trail is usually packed with visitors

So back to that first day.  A lot of these guys blew their paychecks on booze and other illegal substances, which kept them partying until the wee hours.  I that heard a few fights broke out and National Park Service rangers had to be called (a common occurrence -- at least the rangers are still on the clock)  The following nights have gotten quieter; I expect many of the partyers are running low on cash as so many of them seem to live paycheck to paycheck ... and there are no cash loan companies up here.

On Thursday (October 3), Xanterra took a neighborly step in announcing free meals for its employees (breakfast, lunch, dinner) and suspending dorm rent for three weeks.  The meals are served in one central location (Maswik Cafeteria) as other facilities have been closed.  It's over a mile away from where my dorm is located but the weather is brisk and clear these days and I don't mind walking.  Besides, it's free food, right?  I've tried to take as much advantage as possible of the offer.  (Interestingly, I've heard complaints from co-workers about the limited menu and lack of 'acceptable substitutes' available.  I reiterate:  it's free food.  Besides, they set up free wi-fi and resumed limited shuttle service for employees.

The cafeteria was packed the first couple days but attendance seems to be falling; maybe the novelty is fading or people are getting tired of the food.  Or it could be that people are just getting antsy at having to adjust to a strange reality:  Trapped in a limbo of being out of work while still being employed.  Along that line, there was a recent meeting about how to file for Arizona unemployment benefits if the shutdown keeps dragging on.

Your Humble Narrator seems to be a bit lonely these days

If you remember the 1978 film "Days of Heaven", one of the characters remarked that she's "been thinking what to do wit' (her) future".  I think that quote applies to many of us here in the GC.  Particularly as this federal impasse persists, I'm examining my options.  While many here pass the time arguing about who's to blame (Republicans, Democrats, etc.) it's all a moot point in my opinion.  The fact is, Your Humble Narrator is losing money every day and, frankly, misses the routine of going to work.  If nothing else he has discovered how important a regular routine is.

What happens in a closed community like this is that you tend to see the same faces over and over.  That happens even when things are operating normally.  Now, with the majority of hourly workers left with nothing to do and nowhere to go, those faces are in your face constantly.  You see them in the cafeteria, in the dorm, in the rec center, and so on.  Apply this to dealing with those *ahem* eccentric dorm-mates I earlier mention and you can connect the dots:  Familiarity breeds the utmost contempt.

Hopefully there's some brighter days ahead!

The free food/free rent deal is good for three weeks.  I asked one of my managers what happens if the government shutdown goes on longer than three weeks.  "Then they start laying off managers" was the reply, and that's bad news for hourly employees.  Only essential services and workers would remain, and that would likely be comprised of skeleton crews.  Hopefully, there'll be some progress in reopening the national parks and we can all get back to work.

For now, there's a lot of people holding their breath because they've got families to feed and bills to pay. About the only thing that's certain right now is that despite how events turn out, the Grand Canyon will still be here.  At least you can count on that.

Unless the government shuts it down ...

Canyoneering X: Adapt And Overcome

It's a funny thing about human nature.  It seems that no matter how bad things get, or how good things get, we usually manage to adapt to the situation.  I mention this because it's been nearly a year since I arrived in the Grand Canyon.  At the time I wasn't sure if I could last one month, let alone an entire year.

As my readers (both of them) might recall, I was recovering from some major disruptions in my life:  Major depression and, more seriously, the homelessness that resulted from said condition.  Despite the sudden shift in lifestyle -- going from being a successful, self-sufficient professional voice actor to being cast adrift in the street and finally washing up on the shores of the Salvation Army -- I found that, somehow, I could adapt to the situation.  To be honest, I admit this with a mix of pride and horror.  Yet it might explain how many people seem to stay mired in desperate situations:  Somehow they adapt, and eventually accept those circumstances in which they find themselves.

In my case, I knew I wanted to turn things around.  So to an extent I couldn't accept certain adverse circumstances.  I expect that's what led me to follow through with SA's rehab program and continue through with this gig at the GC.  Still, I found myself settling into the everyday routines of SA and their classes.  I seemed to adapt and accept everything that came with it.  Indeed, Your Humble Narrator came to accept things which, in his former life, would have too extraordinary to fathom:  Being friends with ex-cons, druggies and oddballs of all sorts would be an example.

And along with that acceptance came a kind of subsumption in terms of attitudes and emotions.  When I first arrived at SA I was emotionally numb and oblivious to the 'personal static'' that surrounded me (and surrounds all of us in our own orbits).  By that I mean the everyday interference of events ranging from the personal (dealing with friends or loved ones), to the professional (dealing with co-workers or deadlines) to the relatively minor (dealing with the asshole at the grocery store who insists on pushing a a full cart through the 10-items-or-less aisle).

At first I ignored all that stuff.  Gradually, it seemed to filter into my awareness.  Then as now, I find myself paying attention to all that static.  Including but not limited to all the attendant gossip, petty jealousies, backbiting, hand-wringing, disappointments and other manner of distraction that goes along with living our everyday lives. In a sense, I guess you could call it a return to normalcy, as it involves a kind of social interaction and communication.  Maybe all that distraction is necessary to function in our society.

Here in the GC there has been much to adapt to as well.  The 7000+ feet elevation, the relative isolation of the park itself (nearest 'major city' Flagstaff being 80 miles away), and ... another collection of oddballs, weirdos and freaks who inhabit the dorms provided by Xanterra.  It's no secret that many of these guys (and gals) exhibit any and all manner of social improprieties.  This can be evidenced by maladjusted behavior ranging from profane and/or physically violent outbursts in public (one cook, when dealing with an elderly customer, called her a "sack of shit")  to extreme partying in the wee hours or using their rooms as a toilet.  Their social skills are so lacking you might say they have a social disease -- so to speak.

In the dorm where I live, we have a guy who apparently showers 6 times a day (while having loud conversations with himself) and another guy who takes around 45 minutes to rinse and gargle (again, several times a day).  Another guy limps around with a hideously deformed foot (which looks leprous) and whose job description must include sitting around all day and blasting music as loud as possible, because that seems to be all he does -- and of course he's my next door neighbor.

Many of these guys like to bitch and moan about how unfair Xanterra is and how much they hate their respective jobs.  Interesting, because most of those whiners have been there for at least 3-5 years. I and others have conjectured that many of these oddballs probably can't cope with the outside world.  So they hole up in the GC where can find a community of similar eccentrics (to use a kind term) and where their quirks are tolerated, to a degree.

So I've learned to adapt to that as well.  And to be honest it can be fascinating.  Where else could I find such a collection of guys who look like they wandered straight outta Middle Earth?

Canyoneering 9: Active Effects

No sooner did I title the previous installment "Winter in the Rearview Mirror" than we got hit with a late blast of snow and sub-zero temps.  To be sure, Your Humble Narrator was not pleased at the prospect of digging through the white stuff and slipping yet again on icy pavements.  Yet, the sudden storm lasted only half a day and all snow and ice were melted away within 48 hours.  Now the Grand Canyon appears to be in springtime mode -- I think -- with high temps in the 60-70s range and clear, sunny skies.  At any rate, the deer and elk seem convinced of nice weather; herds of the beasts are popping up everywhere I look.

Business has been picking up lately as well.  In my capacity as a Banquet Steward I'm seeing many more tour groups arriving regularly for breakfast and dinner.  The job basically entails setting up and breaking down eating areas for the guests.  We also bus tables, serve coffee/tea, and refill water.  I was recently cleared to run a cash register for the purpose of overseeing a cash bar run on the premises.  Given that I've never run a register in my life and will be dealing with weary, booze-craving tourists, I'm curious to see what happens.

Being a BS (as such) isn't the most difficult job I've had.  As far as day jobs go, it's fairly routine and sedate. There's a lot of detail work, such as setting tables, changing linens, restocking items, and so forth; simple enough but can be very time consuming.  Preparations for the next days events are usually completed the night before.  The work can be tedious but the gratuities help me maintain my interest.  To be sure, however, there is a lot of manual labor involved with this gig.

We must carry large tables and chair up and down stairs.  We must push and transport food and utility carts loaded with dishware and utensils to and from our serving area to the El Tovar Hotel where the items are unleaded and reloaded.  In this higher elevation such exertion can take its toll on YHN.  Indeed, I make no bones about the fact that I am no longer a young man.  I figure such physical strain as this job entails would mean a year at most serving as a BS.  After that, many of my favorite body parts may cease to function properly.  Hopefully, that will give me the time necessary to reach my savings goal and push on.s

I admit that I have of late been thinking more often about leaving the Grand Canyon.  The strange thing is that  I have an odd sense of regret at the prospect of departing.  You see, I actually do like it here ... well, sort of.  The place offers some majestic scenery, to be sure.  And I like the wide open spaces, the sharper air, and the sense of freedom such a huge national park offers.  Still, the GC as a working/living environment offers some unique challenges.  There are a number of, shall we say, unique personalities with which to contend.

The shorthand would be to say the employees comprise a lot of freaks and geeks.  A fairer assessment might be that many of the employees here are lacking in the social graces.  Such people seem to have trouble with holding casual conversations  or managing to maintain their composure when dealing with higher-stress situations.  Other people have a tendency to act unnecessarily rude or say inappropriate things (especially bad when dealing with the public.  There's a lot of partying that goes on in the dorms, mostly drinking to excess, to the point where National Park Service rangers (the local police force or Barney Fifes as they're referred to here) are called to quell the disturbance.

I tend to turn a blind eye and/or deaf ear to a lot of the nonsense that goes on around here. After all, I've encountered many of these types of misfit personalities before, at Salvation Army.  The difference was that the characters there weren't allowed access to booze.  And there was much less tolerance for aberrant behavior than what Xanterra tends to exhibit.  Still, to my employer's credit, they do have a zero tolerance policy on alcohol and drugs.  If an employee tests positive during a random check (or upon any suspicion), that employee is summarily discharged on the spot.

If you recall the TV show Green Acres, and the town of Hooterville with all its oddball characters, you'll have some notion of the people you deal with here in the GC.  And if you recall big city Oliver Douglas's (Eddie Albert) frustration and exasperation at dealing with the small town yokels, you might have some idea of how I feel when dealing with some of my Xanterra compatriots. All that's missing is Arnold the Pig (although we do have Bucky, a domesticated mule deer who roams outside our dorm).  Now, if only I had a hot Hungarian babe, I'd be set!

At any rate, I do feel the desire for civilization puling at me ever more frequently.  I do miss the voiceover work I left behind in Vegas.  In a sense I've started a new career -- perhaps even a new life -- here in the GC.  And you know something?  It can be a good career, and a good life.  But I don't know if it's necessarily my career or life.  Were I a few decades younger, maybe so.

At this point, I find it rather late in life to make a true career switch into the food/restaurant industry.  Sometimes it feels as if I've made a detour in my life, a temporary stopping off point.  Maybe it's been necessary to gain some perspective; to take a breath, one might say.  Interesting, because I seem to have garnered a rep here for being a good co-worker, easygoing, with a sense of humor.  My performing background has allowed me to easily converse with guests and I've even thrown in a few celebrity impersonations (people tend to like my Sean Connery bit).  I've met many people from all over the world, and made a number of friends in the process.

Yet I'm still chafing to get may to my real career(s).  I've taken a small step, in managing to re-establish some of my writing contacts.  The lousy Internet service here in the GC kind of puts a stopper on that, however.  Still, it's been nice to resume some of my former work, if only on a small scale.  Baby steps, I guess.  But the time is coming for me to take a leap out of the Canyon.  Funny, because I initially intended to stay here for six months, maximum.  In all honesty, YHN finds that leaving the GC is a decision he is not so anxious to make.

Canyoneering 8: Winter In The Rear View Mirror

Well, I'm nothing if not consistent in my tardiness regarding this blog.  Just noticed that the last time I posted was the end of December.  At that time the Grand Canyon was in its Arctic tundra phase:  Snow, ice, overcast skies, ice-cold winds whipping right through you. All the cold weather crap I've always striven to escape.  Still, the months rolled over, the season changed and somehow I managed to survive the winter.  Maybe that Midwestern hardiness got me through the tough times.  Whatever, it seems that the GC has entered spring time mode, and not a moment too soon for Your Humble Narrator.  Save for a last blast of snow and frigid temps a few weeks ago, winter is likely done.  (Hopefully, this isn't famous last words concerning the cold weather.)

The GC has got spring fever; that is, we've been hit with a sudden influx of tourists thanks to spring break.  After those winter months where the park was essentially deserted, it now bustles with people from all over the world.  That means congestion:   crowds everywhere and their kiddies running amok all over the damn place.  It's really kind of a shock, almost like an invasion of our privacy; after all, we basically had the park to ourselves over the winter.  Now we have to share it once more with these characters and put up with their crowds and noise and constantly asking us where the restrooms are?  (I'm often tempted to answer, "Follow your gonads" to that last.  Either that or suggest they go au naturale like the deer and elk and just do their biz in the woods)  But of course we must tolerate them, because they not only bring their annoyances but also their cash.

YHN has been keeping busy over the past few months.  Indeed, where many of my Xanterra brethren carp about the lack of hours during the slow season (anywhere from 5-10 hours a week is not uncommon; one guy got a paycheck totaling $20; it likely cost more to print the check)  I've logged 30-35 hours per week and experienced a fairly minimal drop in pay.  Much of this is due to my 'multi-tasking':  In addition to working for the banquet/special events department, I also take advance dinner reservations and tackle  hosting duties for the El Tovar dining room (which happens to be located in the fabled El Tovar Hotel, imagine that).  Dinner reservations aren't bad since I wear street clothes; hosting duties require we wear the penguin suit:  White tux shirt with bow tie and black pants.  Remind me to post a pic sometime; people tell me I look like a maitre d'.

Even though banquets require a lot of physical labor, I prefer it to my other chores since the activities can vary.  Sometimes I'm preparing room for various functions; other times I'm driving around like a delivery guy.  Hell, I even deliver cakes around the park, usually only for corporate events -- they add gratuities in as well. The hosting duties can be interesting but I couldn't do it full time:  Too much standing around.  Plus, when they get busy -- as they are now -- the restaurant managers call me in to help the bussers prepare tables.  I can do it, but he bussers can be a surly lot.  They often view my assistance as an accusation that they aren't doing their job fast enough.  But I'm diplomatic about their often-resentful attitudes:  Fuck 'em.  If you don't want me around, then do your goddamn job better.

Like all restaurants, the ET dining room assigns numbers to all their tables, and each are has a section number.  It's incumbent upon the servers, bussers and hosts to know all these numbers and locations.  In the beginning I was so turned around it's a wonder I didn't seat people on the roof.  Nowadays YHN has a pretty good grasp of all these tables and sections.  Even so, I can get turned around.  Sometimes when I make a mistake, I simply blame the guest:  "Oh, they should have gone to table 25?  Well, they said they preferred table 61."  (which is actually on the opposite side of the restaurant)  The lead host, who actually orchestrates all the seating assignments, rarely takes issue.  It's commonplace to take a guest halfway to their table before they complain for a different table.

You see, the ET dining room has 9 tables that are actually against windows that overlook the South Rim of the GC; these are the coveted view tables that everyone desires.  Understandably, if people travel from around the world to eat at the ET dining room, they want the best view possible.  Curiously, this attitude holds true at night as well.  I say 'curiously' because at night you cannot see the canyon at all.  All you can see is the reflection in the window of the restaurant.  Yet, evening guests will still demand a view table when all they'll be able to see is their own reflection.  Go figure.

Hosts will work either an early shift (6:30 am-2 pm) or late shift (4:30 pm-10 pm).  Depending on the guest volume we can be cut loose earlier, which is often the case.  I prefer mornings because the overall vibe is more laid back.  Evening can get intense, due to all the dinner reservations creating a time crunch. (reservations aren't required for breakfast or lunch at ET)  When someone arrives at 8 pm for their table and the guests from 7 pm are still lolling about, there's not much you can do but put that party @ 8 on a wait list -- which usually provokes impatience, annoyance and/or outright hostility.  (They could always take my approach:  Give the lollygaggers the bum's rush and toss 'em into the canyon.  Bet people would finish their meals quicker then!)

One of the things I do like about my job is meeting so many people from all over the world.  Recently we've had workers arrive from Ecuador, Thailand and the Philippines (the largest contingent).  In the next few months the Europeans and Chinese will land upon our shores.  A Filipina girl named L recently joined the host staff.  While she's a bit sketchy on her duties, she's very nice, very cute -- and very young at a mere 19. Nevertheless, she and I are friendly and like to joke/flirt with each other.  Indeed, YHN was getting some, shall we say, provocative thoughts about L after she complimented me:  She said, "I think you must have many girls who like you.  You are very nice looking."  Ah, what a coup!  I was feeling rather good about myself when she offered this follow up:  "You are like my father."

It hit me like a spray of cold water on a pair of dogs humping.  Ah, I guess it had to happen some day, a comment like that.  Still, there might still be something salvageable here.  I'm like her father?  Maybe I'll adopt her.

Canyoneering 5: YHN, GCBS

So it's less than a week from Xmas and the Grand Canyon is looking like a winter wonderland.  Just when I thought the snow would bypass us (out of consideration of Your Humble Narrator's disdain for the white stuff) -- BLAM -- we get hit with 10+ inches of the crap.  And of course as temps begin to warm up enough to melt the snow we get another 3" last night.  Snow is one of the primary reasons I moved to Las Vegas.  I lived there for some 12 years without seeing a snowflake (just other flakes of the human variety); another dozen snow-free years would be more than welcome.

Not that YHN is a stranger to snow.  After all, I grew up in the midwest so I'm somewhat used to inclement weather.  But it has been difficult to readjust to maneuvering across slippery roads and treacherous black ice.  I've slipped and fallen several times recently trying to navigate slick surfaces.  I finally gave in and spent the $$ on some 'STABILicers' kind of like snow chains for your shoes.  Happily, I've not slipped or slid since; hell, I can traverse these Arctic conditions like a giant penguin!

It's very pretty ... Pretty damn annoying!

Perhaps it's due to the time of the season, but I find myself thinking about time and how it seems to constantly slip away.  Curious, because approximately a year ago at the Salvation Army time seemed to stand still.  It felt as if I'd never get out of there, like I could never break free of my circumstance.  Now, at the Grand Canyon, time has seemingly resumed its linear flow.  Yet even here, time can play tricks on you. Sometimes it feels as if there is no such thing as 'time' per se; at least not as something that can be measured or categorized.

One could argue that this very location is somehow timeless in and of itself.  Or perhaps it’s because we’re rather cut off from civilization; consequently, we often aren’t up to date with all the latest news from the outside.  Indeed, one temporal phenomenon that affects almost every employee in the GC is this:  We often have a difficult time remembering what day it is.  One day is essentially like the other within the park.  There are times when terms like “Monday,”  “Saturday,” etc. completely lose their meanings.  There are simply days and nights that seem to steadily dissolve from one to the other without regard for how we humans care to measure time.

What a roundabout way of saying it’s been a long time since my last post.  Here we are, very close to Xmas and 2013 and Your Humble Narrator has been in the GC for approximately six months.  Odd, because when I originally landed here from Vegas I intended to leave the GC sometime between Thanksgiving and Christmas.  Well, it looks like I’ll miss that deadline.  Indeed, I might be here in the GC for the time being.  So what happened?

I guess I’m experiencing what is a fairly common occurrence for many employees:  The GC grew on me.  Many people who have spent 5-10+ years in the park tell a similar tale:  They come here planning on staying for months and end up staying for years.  They find careers here; they marry and raise families here; they find a home here.  While it’s too early to tell if I actually want a career (or a family) in the GC, I think I have found a home, however temporary.

Remember, when I arrived here from Salvation Army, I was essentially homeless with maybe $75 to my name.  I had lost almost everything I possessed, found myself in situations I could never have anticipated; it was a classic ‘it-could-never-happen-to-me’ scenario – except that it did happen.  At best I could say that when I had a mid-life crisis, I had a mid-life crisis.  At any rate, I found myself hurtling through changes in lifestyle, attitude, and circumstance that left me in a state of bemused numbness.  And that’s pretty much how I felt when I arrived at the GC.

While I initially planned to save up just enough cash to return to Vegas and restart my former life there, something interesting happened.  I began to enjoy living in the GC, something I could never have anticipated upon arrival here.  I think it began with appreciating the immensity of the landscapes and vistas.  Then  there’s the small community here with people who are very friendly, helpful and outgoing.  And while I never imagined working as a ‘cafeteria worker’, I actually did begin to take satisfaction from performing the job, regardless of how menial and tedious it could be at times.

That’s something I find inexplicable; in the past I would have laughed at the notion of me working in such a job.  But while I was at SA I decided to use those experiences – as unfortunate as they may have been – as an opportunity to learn from my circumstances.  That meant learning the jobs, learning from bosses and coworkers and basically focusing on the job at hand (no pun intended).  I tried to learn as many details as possible about whatever gig I was given.  In a sense I was trying to focus on anything other than my shitty circumstances.

So I think that philosophy carried over here to the gig at the GC.  Sometimes I actually looked forward to work.  I was content to be a line-server, and slop food onto plates.  Along the way I learned as much of the operation as possible – not just about  the Canyon Café where I worked, but about the entire Food & Beverage Department run by Xanterra Corp. here at the GC.  I found I liked talking with the guests and learning about where they came from.  I displayed a good attitude, never caused trouble and have never been late or called in sick.

Why do I tell you this?  Because I feel like patting myself on the back?  No, actually.  It’s because I believe these are reasons why I got the nod for a new gig here at the GC.  YHN has transitioned from working in the café to the position of ‘Banquet Steward’.  I’m now part of a crew that sets up a lot of special events here.  That includes anything from Xmas and holiday parties to political town halls and weddings.  It's also recognized as one of the more coveted (non-managerial) positions in the park.  I'll explain more about that in the next post.

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 1 -- Escape From Victim Hall

So it’s been a while since we last communicated.  Suffice to say, Your Humble Narrator has had no trouble staying occupied with stuff to do.  Indeed, since arriving in the Grand Canyon in June he has managed to scald his arm with boiling oil (much like the stuff you see in the medieval movies; in this case the liquid was contained in a deep fryer instead of a cauldron); had a brief affair with a female of the ‘foreign national’ persuasion (that being the politically correct term for our foreign employees); pissed off some Food & Beverage bigwigs by calling off a transfer to another restaurant in the park; and unknowingly walked headlong into a herd of elk during a midnight walk from work.

 

To the elk’s credit, they watched benignly as I panicked and galloped off in the opposite direction.  If I've learned one thing during my sojourn in the GC, however, it is to give these animals a wide berth.  Sporting deadly racks with points meant for impalation, the bulls are huge, appearing more like those Animatronic creations at Disneyland more than actual living, breathing creatures.  This being rutting season, they are more apt to charge humans than usual.  Let one of those monsters approach with its rack lowered and see how quickly your bowels and bladder evacuate themselves

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When I first arrived at GC it was summer, with highs in the 90s.  This was a welcome respite from the oppressive desert heat of Vegas, were highs usually hit 100 or more on a daily basis.  Thanks to GC’s elevation (7000+  feet) the heat is considerably tempered and rendered bearable.  But GC’s elevation works against it as well.  My first few weeks here I was constantly wheezing from the slightest exertion.  I was affected by fatigue and a case of diarrhea that stubbornly persisted.  I was told this was all ‘normal’; that it, my body was adjusting to the higher elevation.  Perhaps so; while I still get winded (the elevation can shift by 100s of feet depending upon where you walk) my other symptoms have vanished.

The higher elevation also means harsher winters.  I’m told conditions can get very nasty during the winter months, to the point where the park has actually been closed due to inclement weather.  I am also told the snow turns the GC into a true winter wonderland; that is, it’s a beautiful sight to experience.  I don’t doubt it.  I also don’t doubt that I had enough of the ‘winter wonderlands’ while growing up in the Midwest.  I’m not sure if I want to willingly put myself through snow and ice if I can avoid it.  Some people have fond winter memories of snow covered land and sipping hot chocolate on a frosty day.  YHN, however, recalls too many moments of slipping on black ice and cracking his ass … Or driving along on slippery streets and narrowly avoiding colliding with oncoming traffic.  Or … well, you get the idea.

Overall, I’ve enjoyed my time here.  The people are friendly, and the atmosphere is congenial overall.  Most of the people I've met are very gracious and easy to get along with. I've met a number of attractive ladies, too.  And there are many people here from overseas.  This is one of the high points in my experience here: I've always enjoyed meeting people from other countries and learning their cultures.  (I'm also curious as to their opinion of the USA and Americans in general).

That said, there is a fair share of folks who seem to be socially awkward, or lacking in the skills of simple social interaction (conversation, for example).  I notice a lot persons might term geeks or nerds. To a certain degree I’m reminded of my time at the Salvation Army in North Las Vegas. While many of those fellow clients had quirks stemming from substance abuse or incarceration, they exhibited some of the misfit qualities I've noticed in certain employees in the GC. Like some of the people I encountered at SA, some of the employees here might be described as ‘characters’. 

 Now that term can have a positive or negative connotation, depending on the person referenced.  In this case let’s go with the latter def.  A case in point would be a roommate I briefly had.  This guy (who looked like a bony, nebbish Super Mario Brother) lived in Victor Hall, which is the main dorm for men at the GC.  Understand that all new hires will share either a dorm room or an apartment at first.  Only through job status or length of service can one qualify to live in an individual dwelling like an apartment.  (An example of job status would be this:  A cook has higher status than a busser.  When an apartment comes available, the cook has first dibs.  In terms of length of service, well the longer you work here, the more eligible you become.  Note this applies only to employees of the Xanterra Corp which runs the hotels and concessions at the behest of the US Park Service.  This is Federal land and companies like Xanterra bid for the opportunity to run such concessions.)

Anyway, back to the nebbish Mario guy:  He’s been working here for over 7 years; he qualifies for an apartment through length of service alone.  Yet he has turned down an apartment time and again.  He chooses to live in a small dorm room and put up with the excessive noise and partying for which Victor Hall is notorious (this building is often called ‘Victim Hall’ by the locals).  Enter YHN who was sharing a flat with 5 other guys when he first arrived.  Looking for more breathing space I decided to share the room in VH.  (Bear in mind I knew nothing about Mario’s background or rep as a nutcase)  The first thing I noticed upon entering the room was the impressive amount of trash strewn about the place.

All types of trash:  Papers, candy and burger wrappers, empty cereal boxes, notes, pay stubs, etc.  All types of crap to wade through because it was at least calf-high; Christ knows what was breeding underneath that mess.  His bed was a mess of filthy tangled sheets, next to which was a nightstand overwhelmed by all manner of electronic gadgets and wiring.  The set-up looked like a fire hazard to begin with.  Overall Mario and his garbage occupied approximately three-quarters of the room space.  YHN was left with just enough room for a dresser and a bed.  Thankfully, the room had a full size closet otherwise I would have had nowhere to store my stuff.

I met my roommate who, to his credit, was quiet enough.  So quiet that the most I ever said to him was ‘Hello’.  I tried to initiate a conversation but was met with a blank, wide-eyed stare so I gave up.  The skinny fellow seemed nervous and twitchy enough as it was; God forbid an attempt at common human conversation upset him – hell, for all I knew he was another John Wayne Gacy waiting for another victim.  I slept nervously the first few nights to say the least.

 

Asking around, I learned of Mario’s rep as a weirdo; apparently he says little to anyone.  Just goes about his job, keeps to himself.  Fine, but he also resists any suggestion that he clean up his act, so to speak.  When I mentioned the filthy living condition to the dorm  proctor or the Housing Director, they offered resigned sighs, rolled their eyes and said something to the effect of, “Oh yeah, that guy.  We sure have had some problems with him.”  So why not make him shape up or demand he take single housing if he wants to live like a slob?  But it seems the management is content to regard the guy as the neighborhood eccentric and slap his wrist on occasion.  If nothing else you can understand why no one (knowingly) wants to room with him.

After two weeks I had had enough of the freak.  As if by kismet, one of my former flatmates offered me a chance to room with him, and I jumped at it.  Located in an area called Trailer Village, it’s a really small room (in a trailer as you would expect) but does have a private bath and shower.  Better, I can actually tolerate my roommate despite his elephantine snoring.  Plus I’m within walking distance of my job, so it works out.  The only bad part is the overabundance of deer and elk all over the damn place.  The other day I opened the door and was literally face-to-snout with one of the beasts.  Oddly, I don’t find it as charming as do other people.

More dispatches next time.  Hopefully, that won’t be a year from now(!)