Smoking, Skunk Oil, and Other Sensual Habits
One time in Texarkana, a group of us wanted to be taken downtown from the airport. It was one of those cooler days, when a "Norther" has chilled the East Texas area, making it entirely out of the question to ride with all the cab windows rolled down.
As the cab pulled to a stop, I noticed the driver pull one of the new, "silly millimeter longer" types out of his shirt pocket pack, and snap his lighter.
I walked around to his side.
"I'm sorry, but my wife and I both are nauseated by cigarette smoke — could you please refrain from smoking for this one trip?"
There was no answer. He was struck dumb. It finally dawned on him that I was serious. He did a slow burn, carefully twisted the ember off the freshly lit extra-long cigarette, and placed it behind his ear.
We rode into town in silence.
I understood, though. For paying passengers to interfere with the sensual habits of cab drivers is just too much. How thankful we can all be that most cab drivers don't openly smoke hashish — or the spectacle of businessmen with briefcases reeling out of dosed cabs with half-sick expressions, and then attempting to climb the nearest lamp post would be commonplace.
Personal gratification of lustful, sensual habits always takes precedence over everything else. You would think people would understand, then, if I were to haul out of my pocket a vial of animal scent, heavily laced with skunk oil, and inhale it with gusto. I've threatened to try it, just as a test case of human nature in action. Can you imagine the scene?
What if you were seated in a crowded airplane, alongside several people who were smoking, and you, the gagging non-smoker, pulled out a vial of skunk oil, and took a deep whiff.
As the terribly penetrating stink reached their noses, they would no doubt quickly register expressions of amazement, disbelief, anger, and nausea in that order.
They would, I am sure, demand that the vial be closed up and put away, and then begin making various and sundry remarks about the utter crassness of anyone who would dare stink up someone else's environment by indulging in such an incredibly obnoxious habit.
The reply could be a beautiful squelch: "Look, man, you've got your habit, I've got mine!"
Two Kinds of Air Pollution
I have attended many scientific meetings on ecology and changing environment. It was with amazement that I sat, nearly gagging, in a densely smoke-filled, tightly packed room during the "Governor's Conference on California's Changing Environment" at the Ambassador Hotel in Los Angeles.
I was there to obtain information for the radio and television programs.
The conference room was labeled "Air." Simultaneously, there were meetings on "Water" and other areas of concern.
The sign didn't mean anything.
There we were, along with Governor Ronald Reagan, listening to serious discussions on the terrible smog problems of Los Angeles, and every other California city — and the majority of the concerned people in the room were dragging clouds of total pollution into their lungs with feverish intensity. They were decrying the factories, the automobiles, the forest fires and blowing dust that were contributing to the growing problem of air pollution in California.
It seemed somehow ironic.
And then there was the trip from the Americana hotel in Manhattan to the old Madison Square Garden for some finals in the national collegiate basketball tournament.
It was snowing.
There were four of us; we were in New York for the meetings of the American Association for the Advancement of Science. We ate at a restaurant on 53rd Street and went outside into the frigid air to hail a cab.
I went around to the right side, and entered the front. A little hesitation on who would enter where or sit in which seat momentarily occurred.
"Shut the ***$$*** $$ door!" the driver yelled.
"Shut your foul mouth!" I replied. He simply scowled. I repeated my statement — even elaborated on it a little.
He said, "All right, all right, so I didn't say nothin'."
I suppose he worried that I might report his obscenities to the company — though I can't imagine why, in a society where even leading politicians, entertainers, and, sometimes, clergymen, are so free with profanity and obscenity.
It was interesting from there on. He had heard the broadcast, and I found him to be a fairly decent human being. He even took us the long way around, at his own request, so he could have more time to ask questions and talk to me. We were a little late for the start of the ball game — but it was worth it.
Speaking of New York City, have you noticed the change in "attitude of even "civil" servants lately. It's most obvious in New York, but evident everywhere you look.
America's Paramilitary "Civil" Servants
Last June, New York City lived through a week they would rather forget, and certainly not like to repeat — but chances are they will. On Monday, June 7, unionized bridge-tenders blocked 27 of the city's 29 drawbridges, trapping hundreds of thousands of motorists in sweltering heat. One observer described this as "a pre-rush-hour coup executed with commando-like precision, stripping gears, blowing fuses and immobilizing drawbridge mechanisms like so many characters in an Alistair Maclean war movie."
Even the union leaders spoke of it as "hit and run" tactics, "anarchy" and "guerrilla warfare." "We'll have to study Mao — use hit-and-run tactics" said a Teamster lobbyist, as New York City suffered its worst traffic jam in history.
Meanwhile, Consolidated Edison ordered the first electrical brownout of the season.
The next day, the situation worsened — if that's conceivable. On Tuesday, June 8, the strike spread to all sewage-treatment plants, water-supply facilities, garbage disposal incinerators, park employees, and the food shipments to the schools. Over one billion gallons of raw sewage poured into the already contaminated rivers of New York.
Why the furor? Municipal servants wanted much higher salaries and more fringe benefits (so that they could live 50 miles out in the suburbs, like all the other rich commuters). The key demand was a pension plan amounting to one half the final year's pay after a mere 20 years of service — or, if you can imagine it, a 38-year-old sanitation worker demanding to be sent to pasture at public expense. For that, the workings of city commerce were virtually closed down for two days.
A compromise postponement of demands was reached on Wednesday, as Mayor Lindsay left for Albany to solicit money from the state budget. The remainder of the week was spent in some quite bitter exchanges between the Governor and the Mayor over how to placate these "servants" (the payroll of servants is well over half of the New York City budget).
But America's uncivil civil servants aren't the main subject of this article. I'm primarily discussing the kind of people you meet every day — whether traveling, dining, or telecommunicating.
Ever place long-distance telephone calls overseas?
Placing Telephone Calls — An Ordeal
Big city hotel telephone operators are notoriously short-tempered, and seem to hate their jobs. Of course, they could give you reasons why — guys like me who want to use the telephone, for instance.
To telephone the operator and ask for a number is an unforgivable act. The acidic bitterness fairly drips over the lines as the distraught, overworked, tired, harried operator listens resignedly to the request of one more addle-head who has the unmitigated gall to disturb her day by wanting to use the phone. This kind of telephone "assistance"
doesn't happen only once in a while, by the way, but with monotonous regularity. I suppose it must be the combination of big city living, frequent drunken brawls labeled "conventions," and, perhaps, the very nature of the job itself, working for hours on end as a substitute for a piece of machinery, plugging jacks into little winking holes, and trying to keep all the buzzers and lights satisfied.
What Happened to an "Attitude of Service?"
What's behind the change in attitude of our serving class? The very term "serving class" rankles the nerves of those who serve. To them, service connotes the lowest possible prestige, although service is one of the highest callings of man.
The roots of this attitude are somewhat easy to pin down. Overpopulation and crowding into urban areas builds up a certain nervous tension which is expressed by increased belligerence — snarling, and sneering at those who invade your little world.
Many are frustrated with their job; they really want to do something else entirely! Many employers claim they can only hire the mentally retarded and physically handicapped to do the "dirtiest" of service jobs — mopping up, emptying hospital bedpans, cleaning commodes. No one else will touch these jobs.
In a greater sense, surly service represents a total repudiation of the "American way of life," the so-called "Protestant work ethic," and the weaknesses of fellow human beings. Lost baggage and harsh words reflect the rebelliousness of our age. We're learning NOT to care.
I believe it was Elbert Hubbard who once said, "If I worked for a man, I would work for him. I would not work for him part of the time, and against him the rest of the time. I would either work for him all the time, or I would not work for him at all."
Perhaps that's good advice for distraught serving personnel, or those who labor in jobs they hate. I have no exact statistics which indicate the degree of satisfaction people have with their jobs — but, judging from the unhappy faces, I would imagine those who find their jobs truly rewarding, exciting, challenging, and fulfilling are in a tiny minority.
H. Wentworth Eldridge, the editor of a massive 1200-page volume entitled Taming Megalopolis wrote in his preface that "there are not going to be any new and shining cities without new and shining people in some as yet not entirely clear reciprocal relationship."
That's the key — new and shining people. The "new" is a change of attitude, and the "shine" comes from crushing out that last cigarette, taking a good long bath, donning clean clothes, and putting on a happy face.
Service with a smile.
Let's bring it back.