When In Doubt or Fear Take A Deep Breath

It is the stories that we tell each other. Our life experiences and those of our kind. This is a short story about perception, fear and riding the rails. The Los Angeles Sheriff Department (LASD) patrols the unincorporated areas of Los Angeles. They also have jurisdiction over the jail system and provide security services for our mass transit system.

You need to know something about the Sheriff deputies. The deputies do go through a training system similar to the LAPD. These are law enforcement officers.

There is a difference. The LAPD offices work with the general public. They are trained to work with different kinds of people. They observe the day to day activities of Angelenos. They can perceive the difference between non-criminal people and those up to no-good. They ain't perfect. There are issues but you have a 60/40 chance of having a civil conversation with them.

The Sheriff deputies are assigned to the jail system as one of their primary duty bases. It is service to a specialized population that requires a different set of skills.

So when the Sheriff deputies get promoted, transferred or bounced from the Twin Towers they are placed in contact with the general public.

Stew on that for a bit. Ex-jailers going into day to day contact with regular citizens.

In our local media there are plenty of stories about the LASD. The bottom line is that you don't want to make unnecessary contact with them if possible. You can be hurt. You can be dead. And, the LASD is truly an equal opportunity organization. There is no privileged with these folks.

There was one deputy in Pasadena that use to inspect the buses. You could tell he hated the job. Hated the passengers on sight. His shirt was so tight I bet he stitched it himself in just to contain his wrath.

Sooo...

Yesterday I was on the train. I had charged up my TAP card. I had my receipt. I hit the tap portal that proves you paid the fare. You want to make sure you do this because there is a $250 fine and 48 hours community service. You would get to spend more time with the deputies. Not something to aspire to on a weekend.

I'm grooving on the train, the A/C is on and it is a mellow ride. Soon, there was a change in the force. Two deputies get on board to inspect for fare compliance.

You can see the body language of folks stiffen up. Those few that hadn't paid their fare were trying to ease on down to the next care to get off. Some didn't make it.

I'm looking and not looking. The deputy comes up to me and ask for my card. He has a smile on his face.

"It is a beautiful day today, isn't it?" He takes my card and runs it through the scanner.
"Why, yes it certainly is" as I try to bite down the fear and look him in the eye.

If he is willing to be nice I'm willing to try to be polite.

There is a problem.

"I can see you added fare at the Fillmore station but it is not showing that you tapped at the terminal."

"I'm sure that I tapped my card." I'm trying to stay cool because $250 is a lot less to loose than getting bashed in the head.

"No problem, those are older terminals. Just make sure you hold it for a longer period of time."

That was it. Brain is trying to remind me to exhale. I would have too except his partner was writing out fare evasion tickets like white on rice.

And breathe, and did I tap or think that I tapped? I usually tap. This could have gone so wrong. What if I didn't tap? I was rattled so I honestly don't know if I did or didn't.

Still, in my years of riding I have rarely seen a deputy smile or be willing to be friendly.

It was a good day. 

Seeing and Not Seeing the Sign

Trying to work out a few thoughts. A few weeks back I was in downtown Los Angeles. Mass transit is so much better than it was when I got here. There was a transit infrastructure until the late 1950s when the push for freeways and selling cars became to great to ignore.

By the 1960s the trolleys were gone and bus service was an oxymoron. You had to be a broke or a moron to ride the system. In the 1980s I caught the tail end of that era when some of the drivers really hated the passengers and didn't care all that much more for the RTD.

Not kidding about the hate part. There was this one drive that had an elaborate sign system rigged on the fare box. It went something to the effect that I am the driver, not customer service. The fare is fifty cents, a transfer is 25 cents, step behind the white line and do not talk to the driver.

He meant it. You didn't ask him for nothing.


Time passes, court ordered mast transit reform begins a new phase. There are new non-polluting buses, underground trains and express routes. This is a good thing but looking at that sign makes me queasy.

The water damage is apparent. The concrete has a rust seam and the tiles have seen better days. I try to forget that I'm underground but I notice details like this all of the time. It looks solid but there are fissures.

The train stations are ok. They are kept well for the number of people that flow through it.

It is just that I remember that I put up a mighty verbal fight about stepping foot on an L.A. subway. I got over it because I needed to go some place quick that involved getting money.

I find money is an excellent motivator for me. I do map out the escape doors and pathways so I know I can get out and back up to the street if I have too. I ride the train looking at the pipes and the hidden doors. In case of trouble I'm not staying underground for nothing.

People are talking more and more about escape routes. The number of people blessing me is on the uptick. Normally this is not a problem cuz I need all the help I can get. However, I get the impression there is some kind of quota system in effect.

Something like how many of the heathens can be converted by May 21st, October 21st or an as yet undetermined day in 2012?

I have Octavia Butler's Parable of the Talents on my mind and it is kinda like looking and not looking at that sign. Good people will do bad things and worse people will raise them double or nothing.

Then again, I fully expect just another day. Except for the cracks and fissures.

Being 52 - Writing A Post to A Stranger

Life was a bit simpler being a six-year old person. You could write a letter to someone you did not know. You thought about the letters that made up the words you wanted to say.

As you age up a bit you become more self conscious and hopefully a bit more reflective. I did type hopefully. Anyway this video is an answer video to Frank Carver's Vlomo10 post on the A14.



Hi Frank.

This is the California state highway 134. It is normally jammed up with folks going and coming from work or trying to get to the Rose Bowl. Lord help you if you are on it the same day as the UCLA vs USC football game.

The scenery is kinda cool. There are palm trees, oak trees, wild flowers, bougainvillea and whatever the wind blew into the land this week.

Lemme see, anything else. Oh, yes. The sound you hear is the on-board television called TransitTV. There are day old news stories from the Associated Press, PowerPoint type puzzles and commercials to ride the bus to people that have no choice but to ride the bus.

Thanks for the inspiration.

Gena

The Being 52 lesson of the day is go for it.

Elizabeth's Poem - Day 4

I use to have more time. Time to hook up with other folks creating work that happens in the moment. I long to get back to those times but that requires more income than what I'm generating at the moment.

Click To Play Flash Video
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This was recorded in 2006 as I followed the Poets on the Gold Line. Elizabeth is reading a poem about her mother. But time and real life conspire against a shared moment.

Another Reason to Learn to Drive - Day 2

I'm on the bus. I'm always on the bus. Anyway this older lady gets on. She has a crumpled dollar. Crumpled dollars do not work well with modern fare collection boxes. It won't take. Sometimes in life you have a crumpled dollar and you got to work with what you have.

The driver is giving her a hard time. "You should not have crumpled it up. It should have been smooth before you got on the bus. You're making me late."

Cheeze...can you make her feel any worse about not getting the freaking dollar into the fare box?

Well, yeah he can. I can stand no more of his (non) encouragement. I look in my wallet, I have a smooth dollar. I trade dollars with her.

That should have been the end of it.

It wasn't. But it works out. I don't think she understood what he was saying anyway.

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