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With A Gun To My Head

What would you do? We have all heard the horrific stories of work place shootings. We have been distant witnesses to schools invaded by disturbed individuals who commit murder. Everyday we all walk into situations that could potentially put our lives at the mercy/ or in danger of loosing them. The thing is most of the time we have no way of knowing until it is too late.

Mine is a story of  disbelief. I walked right into a powder keg one day. My small business dictates that I have to venture into the unknown, with an unknown variable. PEOPLE. There is a trust factor that both parties must be in agreeance . We walk into their homes, we are exposed to and entrusted with their things, parts of their lives. I have ALWAYS preferred that we be allowed to do our work without the presence of others. That is why we are licensed, bonded, and insured. These are the things we do to make our clients feel better about us being in their houses. They give us keys and alarm codes trusting we will come in do the work, lock up, and leave. Some are at home,  not a major problem or issue, simply not a preference. However, all we need is the ability to do our work without their interference (i.e. not in our direct line of work).

Recently, life dealt a client some pretty rough blows and his response was to escape rather than deal with it. He did not have a long distance to go for his refuge, it was in a bottle. We walked into his escape with what we thought was significant armor, we were wrong. Upon our arrival we found him in a state that made us, well lets just call it uncomfortable. As impersonal as I try to be and as I want to be, humanity always manages to come out. I would have simply left had I been alone, but that was not the case.  We proceeded as though everything was alright, but everything was more like all wrong.

I saw the weapon, it reminded me of a canon. I am not a gun enthusiast, so I know little about them. What I did know was that he had a big gun , it appeared to be a real gun, and this client was half dressed(shirtless and shoeless) and he was drunk. My husband/work partner saw it and he knew much more than I did about guns. There we were basically stuck and the only thing I could think to do was proceed with caution as though all was well, but to move as fast as possible.

Like a police negotiator my husband kept this guy engaged in conversation while attempting to work. He was wanting to talk, he needed an ear. I literally RAN the vacuum over two floor levels. The dusting was hit and miss, in my mind in his state he would never know the difference. The animal hair was gone, the visible surfaces in the baths and kitchen were clean, we were out of there in about 50 minutes.  For that 50 minutes we were held hostage, whether it was implied or real, it felt the same. No sudden movement, watch what you say, watch where he was, and keep an eye on that gun. All this while you try to do what you normally do. My biggest fear was that he was going to attempt suicide and we would be witnesses to it. However, upon our departure I thought of how much danger we were in personally. It took hours to clear our heads and get beyond where we had just left. We were physically and mentally exhausted.

I never thought about the danger one puts oneself into when they enter the home of another. You are at their mercy, in their territory. I am seriously looking into a different type of business venture. I anticipate it will be sooner than I originally planned.

Concerted Effort-Less

Here we are at a place where the things we used to do without thought or effortlessly has now become a chore. What used to come naturally has to be given considerable time and planning. These things are not major undertakings, although they oftentimes feel as such. They are the little detailed, everyday items we can easily overlook.

I attend a very non-traditional church in the south. The pastor felt his calling in the area of bringing people to God who had come from little or no Christian training. ALL are welcome but the people who may be a little more skeptical or challenged will feel comfortable enough to come back and often times stay with us. I say all of this because after years of traditional training it took a “minute” to get adjusted to jeans, tee shirts, and yes shorts. However, once there, it was a welcomed change.

Similar to the adjustment one makes in going from street clothes to a uniform, I believe it either works or it doesn’t there is no in-between spot. I worked for the Postal Service for 23 years, as you can imagine, it works.

This particular Sunday as I work in the direction of fixing one more of my many flaws, I thought of how we must make efforts to do the smallest of things or they will get lost. I am working on timeliness and have made some significant strides, but I cannot deem them completely successful for this particular morning. I was able to see that I am sacrificing something important for another . Yet they are both equally needy. I am fooling, deceiving myself into thinking the strides are real successes, because they are not cumulative and I know they should be.

I have to note that I have not been taking much care in the way I look. Since we are in this relaxed environment I have become too relaxed, maybe even lazy in this area. Being a GREETER is important, another area I felt I could make a difference in. Yet, knowing that presentation and first impressions mean so very much; I shout to the members and visitors,  behind a well meaning sincere smile, This is all there is. Now I realize I do not need to be in full theatrical make-up donning a designer gown in sequins, but I should  look like I did more than wash my face and brush my teeth. When I say, “Good Morning. Welcome to 12 Stone”. Folks should want to say and feel like, “It is a good morning and I am glad to be here… just like you.”

It seems there is always another battle, the endless challenges of self awareness and self-improvement. Look close at this title; I am going to have to resolve myself to taking things one step further, so that I can insure that I not only take a step in the right direction, but that I arrive at my destination point successful and safely.

…racism….

How do I feel in my next chapter when it comes to this subject. I pause, as I did when it occurred to me to write about it. What angle would I take.  I KNOW I am sick to death of it. I know that everyday as I look into MY mirror, my subconscious visits the place where”it” rests. Armed but no necessarily ready for “it”, for you never know what attire “it” will be outfitted in.  Worried and a bit frightened of a sneak attack, because just knowing “it” exists and some places it may dwell in does not mean that is the only place you may find “it”. All of this goes on before I leave the confines of my bathroom.

I live in a predominately white suburb of Atlanta. When we moved to Georgia close to 20 years ago my cousin, the first African American captain for the commercial airline TWA, asked me why the “hell” did you all decide to move there. He flew the east coast and had visited Atlanta many times. He warned that outside the “perimeter” this rumored Mecca was but a mirror of Money, Mississippi. You all know about Money and it’s history right? He and I had many a discussion of the way the south and many cities in the north still quietly practiced traditions of pre-civil war America.

These thoughts are but a drop in the bucket, a heartbeat, a fleeting thought or a similar one that goes through the head of numerous African Americans everyday.  Then we move on and prepare for our day. The stresses of life are real for us all, but the added burden of “it” hangs above our heads and weighs heavy in our hearts.

Whites do not understand, numerous feel we are being petty, over-reacting, or  they simply do not care. It is easy to feel that way when you are not directly affected, I guess… I cannot say I know, for when something bad happens to a black person such as the events that have recently begun to unfold in Florida, our connecting comes eerily into view, our bloodlines are deeper than we consciously know or realize. We care about one another, even if at times we do not demonstrate such by our actions. Perhaps that is why insensitive whites assume we all know one another, and that it is okay to say as much. Please do not get me wrong I make the conscious effort daily, hourly to deal with PEOPLE as individuals. I work really hard NOT to be handicapped by or display the characteristics of”it” . I will not allow “it” to be how I am identified and defined.

As the years pass, “it” gets old; but remains as ugly, smelly and tasteless as the first time you encountered “it”. Problem is now you are tired and less resilient, your patience is NOT at premium level. Now you run the risk of not only being a victim of “it” but a perpetrator of “it” as well. That makes me sick to my stomach

I hate that I have to write this  piece about “it”. I hate that “it” still exists.  What is the solution? I think a real dialogue needs to occur between America and ALL her people, conversations with one another instead of AT one another. We need to recognize and respect the fact that we are ALL people and we are ALL flawed.

This is merely scratching the surface I could go on, but what I want to do is to make progress. I do not want my granddaughter in her fifth or sixth decade still talking about “it” in the present tense. I want her and the generations to come to know of “it” and take pride in “it’s” defeat and demise. To graciously realize how fortunate they are to live in a society where “it” is NOT tolerated.

Bare It All

Think about this how would you feel if you had to reveal yourself to someone? My motivation for this came from my past. This was a funny, frightening, intimidating thought. If one looks at this from a purely physical standpoint, one must examine a nude model.

Who are these individuals who allow the world to see them? Every little flaw and imperfection is visible to the artist, art student or photographer’s eye. Still they disrobe, stand there, and wait to have their being captured in one way or the other.

Beautiful bodies, in motion or still, they are something to behold. Before the age of digital cameras the once was a place called “Fotomat” now you may have had a place that used a different trade name. Their entire purpose was the same nationwide, drive-thru developing of pictures. You dropped it off, you picked it up and never had to leave your car. Well, my sister worked at one. She told me about a young couple who had taken some nude photos of one another. We were teens and we laughed like crazy. She did not show them to me and frankly I did not have the least bit of interest in seeing them. I am on the modest side of the scale. Several years later a little film directed by Forest Whittaker called “Hope Floats” main character, played by Sandra Bullock, said what I am getting at here “polaroids people”.  Why would you turn over something so personal, so revealing  to  anyone less than a true professional. Not saying “Fotomat” did not develop great picture it is about the integrity. This young couple was (forgive the pun here) the butt of two teen girls joke. Perhaps they were being artistic, perhaps they were being sensual, in either case they should have been a bit more cautious.

When you entrust something personal to, friend, acquaintance, lover, spouse, sibling, parent, etc. you do not expect to hear or see that which you put in their care out in the open for any and everyone to scrutinize. Yet, sometimes that is exactly where it ends up. People are reliable and trustworthy, but sometimes things get away. We all need a place where we can bring things out to look at and talk about. Just be sure that when you bring those things out in front of others, when you let them see and hear everything, you can feel confident it will not come out again until you are ready for it to.