RUDIMENTS, pt. 510
(fatted calves call this home)
Like the Prodigal Son parable
and all that festive and joyous
crapola, I return home but I
am looking for nothing and
finding nothing anyway. I
lived here, once, and now
I'm doing it again. It's all
a bit of a recurrence - yet
in a place like this it's very
hard to say it's in your blood,
part of your DNA, home and
roots, makeup, because it's
not. There was nothing here
(Woodbridge, Avenel) and
there's still not. Just the
memories, mostly, of
all the buffoonery and
distortion that the
schooling, that the
upbringing, the sharing,
and friends and other
families, presented. A
whole big jar of Golden
Blossom Nothing; certainly
not Honey. Just one look
to the pinched and fleshy
faces of the Mayor and
Council will tell you
what's up. Life presents
its own envisioning
to us - and they present
themselves - unwittingly -
as what they are, from the
inside out. Like a book
with a fake cover - some
heavy, classic tome covering
over a sleazeball, soft-core,
and common read - concealed
so others won't see what a
douche you are. Hey, buddies,
the fake cover is falling off.
-
So, off we go : what's a city?
What makes a metropolis?
A public transportation
system? Finance and Market
districts? A harbor area,
a few newspapers? (Note
that Woodbridge has none.
Better to conceal things).
A library? A museum?
(Woodbridge again, all
those millions, and a
laughable wreck of
Nothing masquerading
as 'The Way Things
Were'). Hey, Mayor
Tiger Balm, that junk's
not History; that's
false nostalgia.
-
In a small town, I guess,
you run into each other
- friends, neighbors,
other people. It still
happens around here,
mostly when you can't
remember who that
person is anyway,
where they've come
from, and what that
other language they're
speaking is. The best
place to meet people
- well, second best - is
the Avenel Post Office;
mainly because you'll
probably be in there
45 minutes waiting,
and what better way
to pass the time. I go
to Rahway. They have a
self-operated, and stamp
dispensing, kiosk, and
better and quicker mail
distribution anyway. In
Avenel, at the beginning
of this last week we
went three days with
no mail delivery. The
guy said, 'You'll be
getting it. We're having
trouble keeping someone
on that route.' Huh?
The next cool place is
the dog park, always an
adventure. Dogs never
balk. They just bark.
-
The other day I met
a newly retired guy
in there, from Carteret.
He said he'd been retired
about a year and a half,
living high. Fat, and
enjoying it. He bought
himself a dog, just to
have something to do;
his wife still works, but
only for a little bit of
time left. They have
another place down in
Oceanville, NJ, and a
trailer too, up in the
mountains somewhere.
He's one of those phone
guys - it kept going
off. He'd look at it and
say '888, just another crap
call,' and then one came
and he answered it, saying
it was Lupus. 'Lupus?' I
said. (I'm fairly clueless,
really I am). He said 'Yeah,
instead of throwing all our
things out, we give them
to the Lupus Foundation.
They come and take everything
away, like our own garbage
service.' I asked what he'd
done, for his job - first I
need mention, he was
elated about his life-station.
He went on about, 'Union job.
I'm covered for life, all health
insurances, whatever I want,
dental, hospital, drugs, pills,
emergency, wellness.' I felt I
needed to be impressed, not
having any of that myself.
so I went 'Oooh! What
about the wife?' He said,
'Nope, just me; that's why
she's still working.'
-
I figured he was chubby, he
smoked, and he drank. He'd
get his; better to have all that
coverage. He asked if I liked
to drink around town. I said I
didn't drink, only the moonshine
that my neighbor makes in his
basement still. He laughed that
one off and said, 'Oh, that's
why you look like a hillbilly.'
I asked him again, what he'd
done for a living. The story
he told me was pretty freaking
incredible. (Are you anxious
yet? Don't you want to know?
Wait until I finish my drink...).
-
He asked me if I knew what
an extended stay hotel was. I
said, 'Yes, of course. There are
a number of them right around
here, for the traveling sales-type
and the term-project consultants
and regional managers checking
the territory, and construction
and contractor guys here for the
duration of a job.' I'd seen a
hundred of them. Out along
Route 6 through Pennsylvania,
at Wyalusing Rocks, one time
I put up and got to talking with
the old guy who owned the
motel. I remembered it from
the 1970's, when it was
different, a bit classier,
with a glassed overlook
and the Marie Antoinette
lookout and a nice little
eaterie and a bar. Now
it was a dump, but the
guy was as happy as
the proverbial pig-in-shit.
He said all those fracking
crews from down south, they
started coming up and they
resuscitated his place. Seven
little cabins that were falling
apart, he said, he now gets
700 bucks a month from each
of them, 2 guys per. The energy
company pays for them, ahead
of time - for the guys to stay
in. He was two years into it
already and living like a new
king. Food, drink - he said
the bar was booming, always.
There were big pick-up trucks
parked everywhere. Booze,
food, heavy drinkers, and, he
said, they even gave a new line
of work to some local ladies.
This Pennsylvania guy was
pretty happy, living a new life.
-
Back to my dog-park retired
guy who began this whole thing
about extended stay hotels. He
said he'd been put up in one, the
same room, no less, for two and
a half years. With two train tickets
for spousal, weekend visits too,
in Washington DC (from NJ and
back). They provided him with
three big dinners a week, food
vouchers for the rest, and full
and complete hotel housekeeping
services, laundry, pool, and the
rest. OK, cool. What was he
doing all this time? In his words,
their job-project was to build
tunnels from 120 feet down,
beneath DC - tunnels, corridors,
rooms, even stores and places
to eat and drink (as he put it,
'a whole other city there,
underground'). They had
augers for the digging, that
dug and spun out the dirt,
and spread the concrete at
the same time, as it moved
along. The end product was
motel-like rooms, places for
eating, shopping, and all
entertainment, like a mall
below ground. He said it
was 'for the rich people,
nothing to do with you or
me. And politicians too,
Senators and congressmen
and all.' I said what about
getting in? Are there
elevators?' He said yes.
To which I asked why isn't
that considered stupid,
because under attack they
would be one of the first
things to go out, rendering
all else useless. He said,
'There are steps too,' and
then he added the kicker,
'This is all contingent on
advance warning - to
stock the stores and keep
it running, there would need
to be good, advance, warning
of trouble ahead.' Oh well,
we leave it to politicians,
that's what we get. I guess
now they can actually
pre-schedule their
death-rays and megaton
bombs and all that; once
they're comfy-settled
in their below-ground
bunkers, plopped in front
of their corridor's local
Dunkin' Donuts, what
do they care anyway?
-
The other crazy thing : He s
said that, from this, he'd
accumulated over a MILLION
travel points, however that
works. They've used them
for a trip to Japan, a nice
vacation down in the islands,
and some other trip, I forget
what it was. And he said they
still had over 250,000 points
left - and he can now use
them, if he wished, to pay
bills with. Pretty amazing.
I think he should by an
on-demand entry ticket to
that underground bunker.
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