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 4: Sh*tfaced & Painless

If you couldn’t tell by the calendar, you can definitely tell by the weather:  The seasons have turned and winter has arrived here at the Grand Canyon.  The past few days have been overcast, cold and windy; today is no exception.  The forecast has been calling for a 50% chance of rain/snow, although no precipitation has fallen thus far.  Perhaps it’s because of the elevation here, but the winds seem especially sharp and piercing, and it seems to hit from all sides.  Then again, maybe I’ve been too spoiled by the comparatively milder climate of Las Vegas, where I’ve lived for more years than I care to relate.

Anyway, that’s the weather update.  Since I live in a world-famous national park, I thought I’d take a moment to let you know all the great things we employees do to entertain ourselves here.  Let’s see … many people watch DVDs, drink, hike around the GC, drink, go for long walks, take the area tours, watch TV, eat, drink, surf incessantly online, drink, engage in photography, ogle tourists (females in my case), attempt to annoy the local four-footed wildlife, and did I mention drinking?

Yes, boozing, partying, and getting completely shitfaced tend to be popular pastimes here at the GC.  And that’s because, believe it or not, there’s really not a whole helluva lot to do here.  Once the novelty of sightseeing and hiking wears off, we employees – or at least Your Humble Narrator – are faced with the reality of living in what is essentially a small, remote village that offers very little in the way of diversion, entertainment, or flat out fun.  Hence drinking and partying are there to fill the need.  Indeed, it’s no mystery that AA has its own chapter here, and it is (reportedly) well-attended.

 

(Given the lack of activities here, I sometimes wonder why the GC doesn’t experience a baby boom of sorts; making babies is one form of diversion that never seems to go out of style.  Maybe the government puts contraceptives into the water here.)

Road Trippin’ to Flag

At any rate, YHN is neither a drinker nor smoker (of any substance), so that puts him especially at a loss.  It also leaves me with that above-mentioned form of diversion as a means of entertainment; now if I could only find a willing partner.  The sad truth is that civilization lies approximately 80 miles to the south of GC in the bustling metropolis of Flagstaff, AZ.  I say this sarcastically, of course.  While it’s a nice enough college town, Flag is fairly small in size and provincial in attitude.  Normally I wouldn’t give Flag a second thought.  But compared to the dearth of activities and products available in GC, this small town might as well be NYC or LA

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If you don’t have a car (like me) you can take a shuttle from GC to Flag at the rate of $25 – each way, and that includes an employee discount.  The cheaper alternative is to take advantage of twice-a-month shopping trips sponsored by the GC Rec Center: $15 round trip.  I’ve done this a few times, but there are disadvantages.  You must abide by their schedule and itinerary; it usually involves stops at Walmart, the Flagstaff Mall, and assorted grocery stores. 

Sometimes your roadmates are less than desirable types who like to talk (or fart) nonstop. Sometimes you might get squished while sitting between two weight-challenged behemoths who refuse to shift position.  On the plus side, I’ve managed to get haircuts and eye exams during these trips.  As you might expect the attractive price makes these trips very popular.  Since the van can only accommodate 10 people, the trips fill up fast.  And the trips might not be scheduled on a day you can take off.  Nonetheless, this is the most cost-effective way for GC residents to do their shopping in the big city.

Another way is to simply travel to Flag with friends who have wheels.  I’ve also done this on occasion.  The driver will usually request $10-15 from each passenger for gas money.  My experience has been the following:  I’m crammed into a small car with 4-6 people making the trip.  Most of the people are chain smokers (another popular activity in the GC) and I have to hold my breath most of the trip.  My fellow passengers are often, for whatever reason, of the nerd-geek variety.  That means a lot of sci-fi/Star Trek/Star Wars, etc. references.  It also means a lot of computerese techno-babble that sounds like a foreign language after a time

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Then there seems to be the requisite wigger of the bunch; that is, a suburban white kid who has adopted a lot of urban hip-hop slang into his vocabulary.  Thus, I hear stuff like, “Yo, when we gonna jet this bitch?”  Or, “What up with that, yo?  Why you gotta be a nigga about it?” or somesuch.  Sometimes it’s amusing, while other times it sounds hopelessly pathetic.  Of course, there is something of an age gap between YHN and his fellow passengers.  I might have a few years (okay, decades) on these guys, after all.  But really … What is up with that, yo?

It’s not unusual for employees to spend a few nights in Flag, just to get away from the confines of the GC.  It’s odd to use the word ‘confines’ when referring to a landmark that stretches some 277-miles but it’s amazing how claustrophobic the park can seem at times.  And it’s not just the park, but the living arrangements which enhance that discomfort. 

Unless you’re in a management position here, you will have a roommate.  Rest assured, you will get sick of seeing their face, hearing their voice, etc.  Their very presence seems to be a violation of your personal space.  In my case, I have a middle-aged roommate who seems to love his room – he never fucking leaves the place during his time off.  His leisure activities seem to be downloading crap off the internet, blasting music, snoring loud enough to rattle the windows, and of course drinking (mainly Fosters big cans, it seems).  That's when he's not moping about his glory days or bitching incessantly about his job.  Remind me to write a post on this guy:  He redefines the term “Buzzkill”.

For my part, I spend very little time in the room.  It’s too small, and like I say the roommate is always hanging around there (which is weird because he actually has a vehicle).  During my time off  I tend to walk a lot, go to the library, the Rec Center, or do whatever I can to avoid  that room.  I mainly need it for sleeping, shaving, showering and … well, that other essential bodily function..

Other options for employees escaping the park include Williams AZ, about 35 miles away, and Tusayan which is right outside the park.  It’s also where many park employees moonlight at local hotels and fast food joints.  Williams is interesting because employees can get a free train ride there from the GC; that catch is, you must stay overnight before returning.  Tusayan is interesting because ... well, nothing comes to mind at the moment.  Anyway, that's some of the stuff we do to amuse ourselves here at the big bad GC.

And if all else fails, there’s always drinking.  Or did I mention that?

... 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.

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(!)

HINJFCA 34: Backtracking Part 2

In all honesty, It was difficult to say goodbye to Salvation Army. While they are sometimes viewed as a bunch of naive do-gooders ringing bells at Xmas and doling out soup and secondhand clothing, I know that's a gross misrepresentation.  I found the staff there to be frank and straightforward when informing clients of what was expected of them.  Their judgment could be harsh but I never felt it to be unfair.  Many clients who found SA too strict or unreasonable simply didn't want to comply with the rules or responsibilities they agreed to in the first place.

In my time there they gave me a place to stay, fed me, clothed me, sent me to culinary class and gave me some sense of direction and purpose when it felt I was ready to check out of this life. And while it was never smooth sailing, I must credit SA with helping me to reinstall a sense of discipline and restore a sense of structure to my life. The fact that I wanted out of there is actually a mark of success in my opinion. The clients who got comfortable with that lifestyle were the ones who often got kicked out and returned to street life.

It reaffirmed for me the fact that you can't help someone who really doesn't want to be helped. SA offers so many people the chance to change their lives, yet so many people seem to resent the effort. And it's usually because those people don't want to follow rules or guidelines. They don't want to give up their booze, drugs, or other addictions; they don't want to change.

At any rate it gratified me to know that many people there appreciated my efforts and considered me a good worker. It actually made the goodbyes more difficult. There are several people at SA that I will always respect, and I do miss them. Oddly enough, I miss arriving in the SA kitchens at 4:45am and drinking the too-strong coffee, and shooting the s**t with some of the guys. I honestly never thought I'd feel that way.  What I wouldn't give to hear the 70-something F growl in his NY accent, "I'm takin' a f**kin' break and havin' a f**kin' cuppa f**kin' cawfee and there ain't f**kin' s**t you can do about it!" Always understated,that guy.

Anyway it was time to move on, and after a few days of homesickness (or should that be 'homeless-sickness?') I settled into my new routine at Grand Canyon National Park. As your humble narrator is getting lengthy again, I'll wrap up by saying this: I think homelessness is as much a state of consciousness as it is a physical condition. I can best explain it with a great quote (from whom I forget): “I've been broke but I've never been poor. Being broke is a temporary condition. Being poor is a state of mind.”

Make of that what you will.

Next time: New Faces! New Places! New Adventures! Same old Humble Narrator!