Recently, I was flown to Arizona for a job interview. The short trip and interview went well. I was impressed with the organization of the company, its employees, and Arizona on the whole. Although, travel is somewhat humdrum to me, with one exception. Meeting new, strange people is an experience like none other, and airplane travel nearly forces a person to do so.
The Beatnik: I found my aisle seat upon boarding the SkyWest Delta connection flight from Salt Lake City to Phoenix. To my wondrous surprise, I was greeted by a beatnik. Surely, he was born a few generations after the Beat Generation, but a beatnik he was indeed. His hair was rowdy and dirty and found its way onto my shoulder and arm on several occasions. His voice was soft enough to save every whale on the planet. His knowledge, a little outdated, he openly shared. He displayed his mp3 player with pride, a Microsoft Zune.
"I am a supporter of non-iPod mp3 players, and the Zune may be the best on the market," I said. He started spitting numbers, prices, and comparative data in my direction. Patiently, I awaited my turn, then, explained I had worked for a large media research company and had conducted a professional comparison of the two devices. For the first time, his mouth was visible through his curly, peanut-filled beard, he smiled. I listened to him tout the Zune the entire duration of the flight. We landed and he wished me a sincere good-bye.
Alim: The company for which I was interviewing was kind enough to pay for a rental car or taxi service. I chose the taxi. After the interview, I had several hours at my expense. I called a cab to drive me to Tempe in order to meet up with a friend. I waited on the curb and Alim picked me up. "Take me to this address, please," I said as I showed him a text message on my phone. He agreed. We discussed basketball, children, immigration, politics, employment, and life. Alim, an African-American from Los Angeles, is a father to an eighteen-year-old military man. He played collegiate basketball, drives a cab part-time, and was recently divorced. On the way to my destination, Alim found himself lost. He made me aware, knowing that I was a complete stranger to the area, and deliberately stopped the meter.
Finally, we arrived and Alim agreed to pick me up two hours later in order to drive me to the airport. He trusted me with his personal cell number, and sure enough, he picked me up promptly after the call. On this ride, he shared with me the following story:
I learned my lesson of honesty years back. Getting ahead in life isn't about money or prestige, it's integrity. I was driving a cab one day and the guy in the back left his wallet. I took the wallet to the police, but I took the $150 and told them I had found it on the street. Three months later, I was on a bus on my way to workout. It was hot. I took off my hat and put my keys and wallet in it. I stepped off the bus without my hat, keys, and wallet. So, of course, I tried stop the bus. It didn't work, so I jumped in a cab and said, "I'll give you twenty bucks to drive and stop in front of that bus when it makes the next stop." Long story short, I waited for the passengers of the bus to step off before I stepped on. I found my hat, keys, and wallet ... less my $500 in rent money. I wasn't mad, I didn't curse. God taught me a lesson, and I learned it.
Which is greater: the man in a taxi on his way to an important board meeting or the taxi driver? It is difficult to appreciate in a world so full of depreciation, but it is possible. In fact, it is necessary. Flannery O'Connor was right, A Good Man Is Hard to Find, but I found two in the most unlikely of places.
May 3, 2010
Apr 26, 2010
The Best Policy
When I was a kid, honesty reigned supreme. It held the final say in nearly all of life's circumstances. When I was a kid, integrity meant telling the truth even during times of struggle. It meant coming clean when pleading the fifth was more convenient. When I was kid, trust was greater than love. "You have my word" was as good as a stiff handshake and steady eye contact. When I was a kid ...
I remember the day I became a man. The world has a way of teaching that never lets me forget. I was completing a math assignment in Mrs. Burton's class. We had been working on some principles new to me, and I wanted to master them. Then, Mrs. Burton returned our assignments from a few days prior. A friend of mine received a "C" on his graph assignment and came to me for consolation. "I'll never become a doctor with grades like this," he said. I tried to comfort him, but I felt something strange. I kept a stern look on my face, but my belly warmed, my pulse quickened, and my body smiled. "It's OK," I said to my friend as I placed my hand on his shoulder and turned my eyes away from his, "You're gonna be just fine." I glanced at my graph assignment as I continued to speak to him, and the "A+" stared back at me bold and red. I felt happy.
That day in Mrs. Burton's third grade class is the first time I can remember feeling good about another man's disappointment. It was the day I became a man like all the men in our world, selfish and artificial. It was the day I began to fight my natural man.
Today, right now, I am unemployed. I apply to several jobs every day. Many people reply to my applications and promise interviews, emails, phone calls, and follow-ups. Rarely do they hold to their word.
Q: What has happened since the early 90s when I was a kid in the third grade? A: Economics, inflation has caused man to depreciate.
If there were only more children in this world and fewer men.
I remember the day I became a man. The world has a way of teaching that never lets me forget. I was completing a math assignment in Mrs. Burton's class. We had been working on some principles new to me, and I wanted to master them. Then, Mrs. Burton returned our assignments from a few days prior. A friend of mine received a "C" on his graph assignment and came to me for consolation. "I'll never become a doctor with grades like this," he said. I tried to comfort him, but I felt something strange. I kept a stern look on my face, but my belly warmed, my pulse quickened, and my body smiled. "It's OK," I said to my friend as I placed my hand on his shoulder and turned my eyes away from his, "You're gonna be just fine." I glanced at my graph assignment as I continued to speak to him, and the "A+" stared back at me bold and red. I felt happy.
That day in Mrs. Burton's third grade class is the first time I can remember feeling good about another man's disappointment. It was the day I became a man like all the men in our world, selfish and artificial. It was the day I began to fight my natural man.
Today, right now, I am unemployed. I apply to several jobs every day. Many people reply to my applications and promise interviews, emails, phone calls, and follow-ups. Rarely do they hold to their word.
Q: What has happened since the early 90s when I was a kid in the third grade? A: Economics, inflation has caused man to depreciate.
If there were only more children in this world and fewer men.
Apr 20, 2010
Crash Into You
For as long as I can remember, when I have lived in Idaho Falls and had access to a gym, I have organized a weekly basketball game. In the olden days, in a time before cell phones and instant messaging, I made a list of acceptable players and collected their phone numbers. It was grueling work calling each person and even more difficult to obtain any level of commitment. It was not uncommon to receive a comment like, "I will try to make it," or, "Yeah, I'll probably be there."
Nowadays, I send out a mass text and patiently wait for replies. The text usually reads something like, "Bball @ 9 tonight @ Charlotte. R U coming, yes or no? Doors will be locked at 9:15." Oddly, I receive quite a bit of resistance with this method as well, maybe more. It must be too much to ask, because I frequently receive similar ambiguity. Worse, many people give no response to the text and still have the gall to show up unannounced. Even worse still, some people show up without receiving an invitation at all: Basketball Crashers (BC).
On rare occasions, due to their extreme lack of common sense, a BC (often remarkably similar to
a CB) obtains national notoriety. I can think of two such people: Chip Douglas and Jackie Moon. Laughter can accompany a BC, but eventually it is drowned out by sheer stupidity. So, for the good that they do bring, I can only think of one course of action to repay each Basketball Crasher to whom I am indebted. I will make a surprise visit to their weddings, anniversaries, and birthdays. Lastly, I will hold the hand of the woman who gives them children as she is giving birth to a new, improved generation of crasher. As a Birth Crasher, I will coach her threw it with patience. When the child arrives, I will take it in my arms and whisper, "I out-crashed your father."
It remains a mystery how a Basketball Crasher knows when a game is taking place, but I am almost certain it has something to do with Aurora Borealis.
Nowadays, I send out a mass text and patiently wait for replies. The text usually reads something like, "Bball @ 9 tonight @ Charlotte. R U coming, yes or no? Doors will be locked at 9:15." Oddly, I receive quite a bit of resistance with this method as well, maybe more. It must be too much to ask, because I frequently receive similar ambiguity. Worse, many people give no response to the text and still have the gall to show up unannounced. Even worse still, some people show up without receiving an invitation at all: Basketball Crashers (BC).
On rare occasions, due to their extreme lack of common sense, a BC (often remarkably similar to
a CB) obtains national notoriety. I can think of two such people: Chip Douglas and Jackie Moon. Laughter can accompany a BC, but eventually it is drowned out by sheer stupidity. So, for the good that they do bring, I can only think of one course of action to repay each Basketball Crasher to whom I am indebted. I will make a surprise visit to their weddings, anniversaries, and birthdays. Lastly, I will hold the hand of the woman who gives them children as she is giving birth to a new, improved generation of crasher. As a Birth Crasher, I will coach her threw it with patience. When the child arrives, I will take it in my arms and whisper, "I out-crashed your father."It remains a mystery how a Basketball Crasher knows when a game is taking place, but I am almost certain it has something to do with Aurora Borealis.
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