Living Comfortably

Living Comfortably
Maybe You Can Be A Pimp And A Prostitute Too

I know that it's been a while since I have made a post. But the reason for that is because my summer has been relaxing and I haven't been prompted to talk about anything. I've also become weary about what I post because, though this East Lansing/MSU community is the largest I have been a part of, it is also the most hyperconnected.

I think that it is possible that through all of my years that different parts of my life might have had these cosmically Seinfeldian interconnections all along. I have only come to recognize them in recent years because of the socially and technologically constructed parameters provided by Facebook™. Sometimes it chills me to the bone to see this macroscopic view of my social identity, which is itself shaped by this relatively new technology. Corporations and workplaces have come to look at peoples Facebook™ profiles when making hiring decisions, so apparently these things are being taken seriously. Maybe that's why the "Death To Israel" group has only 200 or so members despite an apparently well organized global jihad against the Jewish state. Then again, if you're serious about destroying Zionism, you might not want to organize it in the same place that is used to promote the César Chávez Day Beerpong Tournament (I'll be there).

It's just another thing we have to be afraid of, like tomatoes. The tomato recall disrupted access to tomatoes in my area for about a week, and it had a serious impact on me. I went to Subway on Monday and there were no tomatoes available as a topping, which made the trays of meats and veggies look woefully incomplete. On Friday I went to Taco Bell and I ordered three tacos "Fresco Style", which is basically –instead of cheese they put on a fresh chopped (in a food processor) tomato-cilantro salsa, which improves the product greatly. They said that they couldn't do the Fresco style because of the Tomato Famine. I wondered if I would have to emigrate away from my home the way my Irish countryman did in the mid-eighteenth century. I ended up getting substandard tacos within an vendor that is itself substandard to anyone with even minimal culinary decency. I understand why people give me shit for occasionally going to Taco Bell, but sometimes what's wrong is right.

The Spinach recall from last summer didn't effect me as much because I don't think that I have had fresh Spinach since the last time I've had a salad that cost me more than $8.00, which must have been in 2005, when I had money.

Honestly, though this simpler life is more rewarding. I am about the most comfortable I could be given the modestness of my means, whereas before I was the most miserable I could be given my affluence at the time. Sometimes working within limitations has some payoff.

Part of the reason I'm living comfortably is because my roommate, Billy had set us up with an apartment in an upscale student ghetto. It's spacious, cool in the summer, and its windows provide for ample natural light. Except for a laundry room, it has no facilities to speak of, but you can't beat $150 a month with your own bedroom. For my day job I mostly work for college prep related scams like Kaplan®. It doesn't pay bad, but it doesn't pay great either. Besides, exploiting the ignorant and weak has been losing it's charm.

My income is supplemented by a cheap source of alcohol, as I am providing free legal services to some illegal Mexican immigrants. They were being abused and exploited at a Chinese Restaurant in East Lansing. They were paid $6.00 and hour as dishwashers, cooks and bus boys. Their home was a basement shelter under a floor-board door in the kitchen where they were locked overnight without a toilet or running water. The 60 year old Singaporean owner with liver spots, rotted teeth and greasy thin graying hair would frequently grope the 12 and 13 year old girls, who were the oldest females of 8 children, none of whom were allowed to go to school.

I was waiting to pay for my Empress Chicken when one of the bus boys dropped me a note. In Spanish, the note had told me of his family's predicament. I think he expected me to contact the authorities, but that if I did they would be deported. So, I had opted to bust them out myself which turned out to be easier than it sounds. All I had to do was sneak by at 3:oo AM while the old man was out on the other side of town with some tween Eastern European hooker. I pried out the rotted wooden back-door deadbolt with a crow-bar that I always keep in the trunk of my car. Over the floorboard door under which the family was being kept, there was a large movable kitchen-prep table with all the wheels braked. Apparently the old man wanted to take extra precautions to see to it that the family didn't escape. I un-braked all the little black wheels and rolled the table off the floorboard. I snapped off the Master Lock with some bolt cutters that I borrowed from Billy. They were initially reluctant to come with me until the grandmother exclaimed, "¡Mire sobre Gabriel con el pelo de oro hermoso!" After they were free I had set them up with a Catholic charity that was sympathetic to their plight.

They charity set them up with a safe house in the rural outskirts of town where some of them worked the fields and some worked the local farmers market for minimum wage. They were also provided a shelter in the upper floor of a Victorian home. They are making payments to the host family toward a 1987 Chevey Astro with a leaky radiator that they got for $500. Manuel, the father and Carlos, the oldest son spend their evenings working on the van so they have it to get to church and to get groceries on their day off.

The family has been exceptionally thankful for my efforts to set them up with a better life. Also, because of a language confusion, they think I am some how in charge around these parts, like some kind of rural Mexican warlord. The grandmother calls me "ángel-mago" which translated means "angel-wizard". Because of these things, they supply me with one or two half gallons of good hard liquor every week. Usually it is Bacardi Superior or Svedka Vodka. Sometimes it's a decent Scotch or a bottle of 1800 Tequila. When times are tougher, they can only give me one but they always apologize and explain their situation. I always graciously accept their apology and tell them that they can make up for it when times turn around.

Maybe I don't deserve the credit for their well being, but I'll take it anyway. I figure it makes up for all the times I took the blame for things I had no part of. I learned from the best: the establishment hacks and special interest hay-seeds I used to work for in Lansing and D.C. I'm not sure if they'd hire me again if they saw this in my Facebook™ profile, but I've been making a good life without them.