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    Kindness In the Days of After

    Picture
    ​We knew each other once, intimately. The trim figure, the vivacious brown eyes and half-smile that just about screams vitality, even when silent. Many people merely repeat the headlines they've read; she was different. She could give a reason for every word she blurted, no matter how unconsidered they appeared. She had complete ownership of her thoughts.

    I'll refrain from describing her appearance further except to say the boys always had a word and a glance for her, and she knew exactly what to say to every last one. Street smart and book smart, spirit strong with a lot left over. 

    Here she is tonight, wrapping up her swing shift, a figure in the dark ready to go home. I tilt my head in a smile. Am I glad to see her? Of course. We've drifted apart in the intervening years, sure, but it's been amiable. That takes two, and I'm thankful for her graciousness. You take care of the people who were dear to you, never mind that they're no longer part of your life; they were once, and they're still kind, and that is enough. You give them a safe space, put in a good word; you let them down gently, because they are softer than before you came. 

    "Why is it every time I have a shitty day I'm visited by an angel?" she asks rhetorically, opening a smile for me. She's explaining her groan of a response to my pleasantries. Tough day for her. I extend my arms out for a hug, reminded of a night two Novembers ago:

    The 2016 presidential election had just been lost, and Seattle was devastated. People were hugging each other in the streets, sobbing in the arms of strangers, clusters of disbelief. We were hanging on to what we thought we knew about the innateness of human decency, despite the wake-up call on every news channel: there are people out there who just don't care. 

    Not even the most cynical depressive could have believably said in 2015 that we would have child concentration camps proposed in our American future. That citizens in the 21st century would fail to see an inconsistency between "pursuit of happiness," "liberty and justice for all," "all men are created equal..." and forcibly separating families who believe in those ideals, endorsing assault toward other Americans, implementing laws designed to disadvantage women and people of color, misinformation disseminated with impunity, and redistributing wealth with an eye toward reducing the living standards of the middle and working class. 

    The Trump win was most potently a win for apathy. With the possible exception of certain morally unjustifiable wars in the early and mid-2000s, it unequivocally represents the crowning low point in postmodern American consciousness, and reinforces the country's defining trait in a landscape where individuals feel ever more powerless to effect widespread change: complacency.

    By now we know that the Trump win was a minority opinion, a result of 77,000 voters in three swing states. That paltry figure was enough to decide a nationwide election due to an obviously flawed electoral system, and the fact that system hasn't been overhauled since is as compelling an example as any as to why complacency rules; complacency* is the opposite of hope, and it's what you do to survive in a system you believe you cannot change.

    But 77,000 isn't a majority. Nor is nineteen percent– the amount of the country's total population who voted for Trump (26% of the voter-eligible population). It isn't just that he lost the popular vote by a healthy 2.9 million, as we now know; that's borderline misleading in its suggestion of a close race. It was never a close race.

    My concern here is not who won, but whether or not Trump's prejudices represent the American consciousness, and 9.7 million against 231 million does not a majority make. The Trump win only felt like a win for apathy. It was a win for gerrymandering, swing states, and the electoral college. Remember this, when the night is dark:

    There is no actual American majority represented by Mr. Trump's views.

    We didn't know it at the time, though, and we felt worse than we needed to. On November 8, 2016 the lady above and I barely knew each other. I saw her walking home alone, crossing the street in front of me. Like many of us inside the bus and out that night, she was crying. Ours was the mood of the city, the country, the collective who'd become accustomed to tolerance, stunned that greed and selfishness could have such traction as virtues.

    I write above that our society is structured to minimize the ability for an individual to effect widespread change. That's not to say it isn't possible, but even more importantly: isn't the most potent impact we can have on others always and only ever the personal, the one on one? 

    I tapped the horn lightly, opening the doors where she was. We looked at each other. I'd never hugged her before.

    I said, "do you need a hug?"

    Red lights were made for this. 

    We embraced tightly, searching for words of comfort. Loss, failure, triumph; these are the things that make us one. "I'm so glad I ran into you tonight," she said, a wan smile beneath her mascara-streaked cheeks. 

    Tonight, lifetimes later, she has hardships once again, but of a more personal nature; family troubles. She's waiting for an important phone call, and fills me in during the interim. I've seen her only in passing for ages now. Somehow we've managed to bypass the awkward stage, the post-mortem of hurt and clawing insecurities. 

    There is just the easy comfort of a person who once cared and still does, in a healthier way. Let them down gently. Lord knows how many times I've failed to do so, but I learn from those with more patience, or less, than I. 

    Eventually her important phone call came, and she withdrew for the remainder of the ride, relaxed, safe in my space, the Nathan 49 Living Room.

    She rose to exit, still on her phone. Into it she said, 

    "Hang on. Lemme say bye to the bus driver. He's a good friend of mine."

    I sighed with gratitude and hugged her tightly, again. She'll never know how much those lines meant to me. Kindness after a relationship has already concluded has no agenda. It is simply kindness, genuine, given for its own sake, because it is consistent with who we are. Is there a bigger relief then being so accepted, after everything is over, by someone who knows your every weak point? 

    Love. We do what we can to help each other, and to get by. The answer to despair is never reason.

    ---

    Note: That's someone else in the photo. It's less an individual I wish to celebrate here than a sensibility.

    Sources and further reading–

    For Every 10 U.S. Adults, Six Vote and Four Don’t. What Separates Them? (The New York Times)
    What Affects Voter Turnout Rates (FairVote.org)
    Voter Turnout Infographic Shows Women, Older People Most Likely To Come Out On Election Day (The Huffington Post)
    Characteristics of the typical American voter (Angelo)

    26 Percent of Eligible Voters Voted for Trump (The Mises Institute)
    Who Were Donald Trump's Voters? Now We Know (Forbes)
    Trump was elected by a little more than a quarter of eligible voters (Vox)

    Poll: More than half of Americans strongly disapprove of Trump (NBC)
    Donald Trump will be president thanks to 80,000 people in three states (The Washington Post)
    The Election Came Down to 77,744 Votes in Pennsylvania, Wisconsin, and Michigan (Updated) (The Weekly Standard)

    Trump's Lies: The Definitive List (The New York Times)
    100 Ways the Trump Administration Is Harming Women and Families (AmericanProgress.org)
    Trump migrant separation policy: Children 'in cages' in Texas (BBC)
    Trump’s tax-cut scam will only deepen racism and inequality (The Washington Post)
    The Muslim ban ruling legitimates Trump's bigotry (The Guardian)
    The Day the Music Died (ruminations of my own on driving on election night)


    *Congressmen with consciences- we humble plebians can't do much, but you know you can. You don't get in the history books by passing legislation or making a lot of money; people haven't been eulogized for their wealth since the days of Carnegie and Vanderbilt. No one cares. You get eulogized for kicking out unprecedented presidents using unprecedented means.

    The guy has his qualities, I'm sure, but being president isn't one of them and we all know it. There's no reason for him to still be in office. Look to Section IV of the 25th Amendment for some pretty solid boilerplate language designed for just such circumstances. How convenient. Then guilt-trip your colleagues with a choice quote or two. Here's one from Ella Wheeler Cox for starters: "To sin by silence when we should protest doth make cowards out of men."
  • Published on

    The Principled Gesture

    Picture
    There's a lot of time to think when you're driving a bus. There shouldn't be, what with the incredible amount of mental multitasking involved; but you get into a rhythm, and no matter what task you're working on, there is room to daydream. I heard his voice and my mind took off, and by the time I landed I felt altogether better, able to see things from a healthier slant. The places you can go sitting in stopped traffic. It began with a few words from one of our grizzled street brethren, seated behind me on an evening 7:

    "I don't steal. That's why I panhandle. I prefer to ask people than steal from them. They know I could steal. But I'm not going to. It's like you ask the driver if you can ride the bus. They're required to say yes. It's not up to them to eject you, that's the job of transit police. But you still ask anyway."

    It was another day of vibrant, immediate life, lived moment to moment to moment. He'd been impressed with my attitude upon boarding, and mirrored it with his own, burgeoning forth. His voice was enthusiastic; compelled to share the above to the neighbor seated beside him, for reasons of bubbling well-being neither he, you, nor I could articulate. 

    This is the good work we do everyday, by being ourselves. Bringing out our better angels, together. We tend to define self-worth by accomplishments we can measure; awards won, income gained, status markers achieved. We forget the larger thing. Character. Who you were in the dark, when no one else knew. How we treated others. 

    That person is the center of their own life, and you were kind to them. That is the lasting and final act of being human. It isn't what we did, or made, but how we were. All else is secondary.


    ---
    This is a companion piece to this story, another brief moment of principled street gesture.

    P.S.– In response to the Comcast piece below– I've found a new home at CenturyLink! No contract, a locked-in lifetime price without random increases, a cheaper rate for faster internet, a friendly and knowledgeable face installing the goods... comparing favorably to Comcast isn't exactly difficult, but it sure is hugely appreciated!
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    Escaping the Overlords: Nathan on Comcast

    You will one day decide that you want to quit Comcast. Admit it, friend. You were never in love with those guys to begin with. When is enough enough? 

    Let's hypothesize and say the impossible is true: you're somehow not experiencing myriad technical issues, service dropouts of unholy frequency, or trying your hand at wading through the legendarily awful customer service. Even in that (impossible) case, how happy are you when your bill goes up twenty percent with no forewarning- not once, not twice, not intermittently, but at the unpredictable whims of the Xfinity gods and goddesses?

    The issue isn't whether or not you can afford such shameless hikes. Most people can't, but never mind. Let's expand our thought experiment. You're a financially comfortable baby boomer (don't be fooled by the polemical and didactic nature of contemporary discourse, or even the celebratory nature of much of my writing on the poor; there are plenty of wonderful human beings who also happen to be wealthy. People will surprise you). The $25,000 condo you bought in 1991 has exploded more than tenfold in value. You very wisely invested $1,000 in Netflix in 2002, which translates into $300,000 now. You got your electrical engineering degree back when a quarter at UCLA cost $433. Yes, your kitchen has an island. You can afford the Comcast bill hikes.

    But it's the principle of the matter. You weren't always rich, and the spendthrift in you won't die. Standing at your kitchen island you read the latest bill, thinking, why am I paying twice what I did two years ago for the same service? 

    Maybe you aren't rich. You're an international student paying $12,500 a quarter in loans to attend what is basically a glorified community college here in the States. You already have a degree from your home country, but no one cares and you have to start all over. You'll be saddled with debt on top of the debt you already owe for the rest of your life, and your two part-time night jobs have got nothing on the state's lack of rent control. We won't talk about the lack of study time and the hour and a half bus commute with some crazy young driver who keeps announcing the stops and talking to everybody. You're realizing that for the foreseeable future, you won't be able to afford the basic need of internet at home, because Comcast only offers income-based discounts to those who qualify for affordable housing, and you make slightly too much... but not enough to survive. The story for so much of Seattle.

    When I signed up for Xfinity cable internet, it was $20 a month. By now you've heard the narrative: the introductory rate eventually expires and each year they raise it, and each time you call them saying you want to cancel. Instead of cancelling your service, they extend your current rate or a slightly higher one for the next year.

    But that game eventually gets eclipsed by another, where they do raise the rates. You get bills of uncertain denomination, and spend time on the phone learning that your needlessly fast, super expensive internet is actually the cheapest plan, and you try to rationalize the fact that internet, the 21st century version of water, is costing you double what you were once paying for, and by October you'll be paying triple.

    Let's call it the "Comcast Tipping Point."

    Everybody has one. My cable internet was dropping out approximately 90-100% of every 24-hour time span, and thus proving completely untenable. I won't clutter the web further with stories of my negative experiences with customer service, but suffice it to say the issue wasn't getting resolved. 

    But did I really want it to get resolved? 

    Or was this the sublime justification I'd been looking for all along? No bird wishes to be cooped up in a Comcast cage forever. Thank goodness for malfunctioning internet.

    Legally, corporations have the same rights as people. If Comcast were a person... actually, hang on a minute. There is no equivalent. Only a many-headed beast from Dante's underworld would do all* of the following:

    • Comcast artificially throttles download times, and is the primary reason why the US lags behind South Korea, Japan and Hong Kong in internet speed; 
    • Specifically throttled Netflix Streaming so it could charge (effectively) a massive bribe to not do so; 
    • Offers the same service to different people for different prices; 
    • Adds services to customer's bills that they did not order; 
    • Sends unrequested equipment to homes and then charges for them; 
    • Was fined $2.3 million by the FCC for illegal customer charges; 
    • Tried to prove (successfully) that it was too much of a monopoly as its reason for why it should buy out Time Warner Cable; 
    • Billed one Ricardo Brown as "Asshole Brown"on his statement after he tried to cancel service (not an isolated incident- Mary Bauer received a bill reading "Super Bitch Bauer," and Julia Swano "Whore Julia"); 
    • Refused to refund $1320 in wrongly attributed fees to a customer, despite 25 documented attempts by the customer to reverse the charges;
    • In numerous instances provided solutions only after a customer went to the press with documentation of abuse;
    • Was the primary reason cable rates rose 68 percent from 2009 to 2013; and
    • Has lower approval ratings than the famously hated LA Department of Water and Power, all US airlines, the president, and all other telecommunications companies.

    I'm scratching the surface here. Refer to the links below for concrete data backing up every claim made in this article, and more evidence as to why Comcast is entirely deserving of being named Consumerist's Worst Company in America in 2014.

    Most notoriously, even beyond all this, is the fact of how remarkably difficult it is to cancel your Comcast service. How do you get a virus out of your bloodstream? 

    When you call asking to cancel (the option isn't available online), you're directed to a person whose job it is to prevent you from cancelling. It's called the Retention Department. The Retention Department doesn't have the ability to cancel your service. That's someone else. They pull out every trick they have, and they are the major element in Comcast's dismal customer service ratings, beyond all of the above. They:

    • Famously charged a $1,775 cancellation fee and told the customer to complain to his bank; 
    • Have used documented tactics of humiliation and interrogation to retain customers; 
    • Refused to cancel a terminally ill woman's service after she had a stroke leaving her unable to speak; 
    • Acknowledge a practice of putting customers on hold indefinitely to reduce the number of cancelling customers;  and
    • Refused to cancel a dead man's service, telling his wife she couldn't cancel and only he could, despite his no longer being alive.

    That's how hard it is to cancel. You can't, in so many words. They've got you. The actual Cancellation Department is much smaller. As you can guess, not a lot of people make it there. You have to get past the Retention people first, and you'd better be prepared to take those guys on. And in the words of one employee (again, all sources are linked below), "even the cancellation department is a sales department."

    How do you beat the Comcast virus? Is it even possible?

    I've done the research, and it's my duty as a fellow living, breathing human being to share it with you. There is a single sentence you can say that unlocks the gates and sweeps aside all barriers. They won't try to question you. They won't put you on hold, charge you anything, call you names, or tell you you have to keep paying them after you die.

    I called them. I said the twelve magic words. They said, okay. We'll cancel everything immediately. No problem. They even sent me a refund. 

    Don't ask me to explain it. Just know that it works. One elusive sentence. Put it in your pocket and save it for that special time, when you've paid one bill too many. 

    "I'm moving to a new place, and I don't know where it is."

    That's your ticket out, friend. Freedom awaits. Thank me later.

    ---

    No picture for this post because I don't currently have internet. Casting about for an ethical telecommunications company....

    *Sources: