Nine O'clock in the morning finds me standing in front of the Community Center up near Columbia University. I'm standing with the address in my hand, looking around the buildings of the block, and finding myself standing in front of an old CHURCH!
Yesterday afternoon, I went to the High Line and walked it's length. I found it incredible. A wonderful place to go to kill time, to take in the city, to lay in the sun. It's a park that is off the hook. Who would have thought to make a park out of an old elevated train track? Who? Makes no sense to me but you're amazed that someone did. And do you know the most incredible thing? It's a tourist attraction already before many New Yorkers have evened learned about it. I see the people of the neighborhood though gaining the most benefit from the High Line. I can see going to take a walk down it, but hanging around there all day....uhhh, I don't think so.
I head home to get some shuteye after the long walk and try to use my metrocard, only to find out that the damn thing doesn't work. Two dollars can't get me on the Way. It reads insufficient fare. I look at the card and swipe it again, and again. Then I go to the Metrocard machine and read the card, which says that I have two dollars on the card, but now the cost to ride the subways in New York has went up to a dollar and a quarter. Fuck, Sunday, the fares went up. My card was useless. I charged it up with more cash and got on the Way. That extra quarter is going to add up fast, I can feel it.
In the morning I make that move, riding uptown this time on the number 1 train and walk to the address of the Community Center. A church. I am buzzed into a vestibule and before I can say a word a tired security guard asks me from a battered reception desk: "FEGS?" Yeah. "Downstairs."
I head down the creaking stairs of the very old church. I go to the basement. A long hall brings me to a great room. On the right are four computers, tables and desks. On my left a rudimentary kitchen, refrigerators, ahead is a stage and an open space no doubt for chairs in rows, but gone now. A man walks up to me, an entire head and shoulders taller than me, and twice as wide, if you can believe it. "FEGS?" Yes. "Maintenance or Clerical?" Clerical. "Paperwork?" I hand it over to him. He peruses through it, then: "Follow me." I go to the right with him and he points out two women. The computers all have people sitting in front of them.
"I"m head of security here," The large man says to me. Then he points to two women talking to each other in the distance. "Those are your supervisors." I nod. He walks up to one of them and hands over my paperwork to one of the women. She looks it over then looks at me. "Hobo?" Hobobob, I correct. "It says Hobo here." To avoid any confusion, just call me Hobobob. She nods The head of security walks around me and intercepts another guy entering the area and brings him over after taking his paperwork. Then he waves me over and introduces the two of us to a henchman. He is narrow, hunched over with three teeth in his head and a sleepy look on his face.
"He'll take you around and show you the ropes," the Head of Security says. I take note that they don't give out names when they introduce you. Just plain rude. Henchman shows us a clipboard. We have to sign it in every day we walk in. He pulls us to the side and gives us the scuttlebutt: "There is a lot of people comin' and goin' from here. Many people don't come back, and I don't know why. There are women here, we play chess. They serve breakfast and lunch and there's not all that much work to do here. I don't know why people don't come back." The reason might not be too clear for someone who works here, but when you are working here as a forced volunteer, it's easy to understand.
I was shown to a table and given a silly form to fill out. I looked at my paperwork given to me from FEGS to give to these people here, and it had the same information as what as on the questionnaire that they gave me. This is what I call Churning Air. I fill out the form and the Henchman and another friend of his sit across me and continue to fill me in on the goin's on here at the community center. The guy that came in with me had found one of two nearby chess games and was actively losing.
The two conver- sationalists literally talked me to sleep. I nodded right off on them. When they decided to leave me alone, I called out to one of the two women who were indicated as supervisors over clerical and let her know that I had my appointment with Dr. D at two, so this would have to be a half day.
"Who says?" She asks with a bad attitude. I have an appointment. "Well do you have a doctors note?" Nope. "How are you expecting to go on a doctors appointment without documentation?" I bring it in tomorrow when I get it today. "Who told you that?" My social worker before I got here. "Oh she did, did she?" Yes, she did. I could feel the ire build in this woman. She obviously wanted to prove a point, but she was going about it all in the wrong way. Whatever the case, there was no winning for her. I'm leaving at noon. She gets up and talks to the other who is sitting at the computer, one of four working ones. They talk amongst each other like Jawas as I nod off again. Churning air, I tell you. Churning motherfucking air. What's the difference what time I leave...you've got nothing for me to do anyway! Just sit around and beat my meat until five O'clock?
I sign out at Noon, and leave the basement of the church enlightened but not under- standing shit. I take the Way directly to Dr. D.'s session. The second one in a row. But there is one thing that I do understand: No matter what FEGS wants to teach you about the universe, it all isn't about churning air.
HobobobSource URL: http://idontwanttobeanythingotherthanme.blogspot.com/2009/07/universe-of-churning-air.html
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