The Death of Masculinity

I was standing on a beautiful street corner today watching the sun set. Dressed in my best suit and tie, and I was enjoying a cigar alone. I was having a small celebration for myself, for today was my first day at a job I've desired for long, long time. As far back as I can remember I've wanted this opportunity and I've finally got my foot in the door, so I felt I should treat myself. I chose a cigar not becuase I particularly enjoy them (not even sure they crack the top ten list on my vices), but for an entirely different reason.

As a boy I can remember that my idols were in this order, Gordon Gecko, Ronald Reagan, Rush Limbaugh, and Warren Buffet. Trust me, I've learned my lessons on these characters, but it wasn't the men I admired. It was their attitude. The belief in the Power that mankind possesses. The power to achieve. Not through force, not through power, not through coercion, but by RISK. By taking calculated chances, knowing that somehow you can do it, and in the process improve the lives of our fellow man. I've lived my whole life emulating these MEN, but more than the men; their IDEAS. And MEN they are, not whiners, not blamers, not takers, but winners! And when winners win, they smoke cigars! Red Auerbach, a great man who changed basketball forever, breaking down it's color barriers, revolutionizing the fast break, used to smoke one as soon as he THOUGHT he was going to win. Now that's manly.

So I'm standing there enjoying my cigar and my small personal victory when a prototypical American family walked past. Good looking middle age parents, out for a stroll with their 2.1 kids. Actually it was 1 boy(~4) holding his father's hand, and a 1 girl(~6) holding her mother's. I nodded a hello, as if to say you have a beautiful family and I am no threat to you. He acknowledged with a nod of his own. Having shown mutual respect to each other, without his family's awareness, they passed by in small conversation with each other.

His son was passing closest to me and as his father nodded I looked to smile at the boy. The boy was plugging his nose with his fingers in anticipation of catching a whiff of my cigar, even though he was not nearly close enough. However, it wasn't the offended sense of odor the boy was concerned with. It was something much deeper. The boy had a very intense look of scorn on his face. Scorn for MY behavior. How dare I smoke a cigar in public, was the expression staring back at me on the face of a 4 year old boy. Once the boy thought he was out of ear shot he asked his father, "What was that man smoking?". The father calmly began to explain to his son the difference between cigars and cigarettes without a hint of judgment in his voice. But the boy was unsatisfied and began to retort on the unjustified legality of MY behavior. I did not get to hear his argument as the voices drifted away, but as they walked past a knot sprang up in my chest destroying all the pride in myself I had been feeling. It was that feeling you get when someone you love is hurt and you can't do anything. That was it, but fainter.

This boy is on his way to becoming another Joe Arpaio if he isn't careful. Please do not misunderstand me. I hold no ill towards the boy. He is simply a product of his environment. And by my brief assessment of his father, he isn't getting it there. Perhaps mom, but most likely school brainwashing. Even if that boy grows out of his Fascism, he will never dream. He will never look at the world trying to imagine what he can accomplish in it. He will choose to be told or to do the telling. When I was a boy and saw a man smoking a cigar I wondered what trophy he had just placed on his mantelpiece!

Change

Change is an interesting word. The list of definitions is long and tedious. It can be the process of "change", you can "change" clothes, you "change" your mind, and as even as an idea it helped get our current president elected. And then there is one of my favorite subjects, "change". I am eternally fascinated by the ways in which the modern employee produces or fails to produce change. You can tell so much about about a person by the way in which they keep a register. Organization, awareness, and most importantly, basic arithmetic. I've had minimum wage give me back everything from 12$ over to 98$ under. I've also had bank teller's be off by way too many zeroes. And I've even had a young girl mess up 4 times even after being alerted each time by me, while I withheld the correct amount for amusement. This brings me to my daily observation.

I always go to the gas station by my workplace, even if I have to delay whatever self gratification I desire at the moment, because the teller is so awesome. He is a middle eastern immigrant. I am a quarter Syrian and a gambler and I wouldn't bet lunch I could guess which country he's from. I love immigrant business owner's, they are almost always the most dedicated to their customers. I've been to this gas station at all hours of the day and night and I've never met another teller. This guy always has my flavor of chew on the counter and rung up before I get through the door. I consciously patronize his establishment because he does this, but even if he didn't the way he treats change gets me every time. I moved here six months ago, so I don't know how long he has been at this, I should ask him, but he refuses to transact in pennies. If it ain't silver he ain't buying. I've had other tellers disregard pennies before, but this guys does it both directions no matter the rounding. He behaves as if pennies don't exist, no matter the register, and he does it without explaining himself to the customer. As if everyone in the society is on this program because in his mind they should be. I love it.