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April 06, 2002
Pleasantville
I grew up in a small town. My parents still live there. It's a quaint, somewhat provincial place that inevitably leads you to think of unlocked doors, PTA meetings and 4th of July parades. My mom called today and told me a story.
My parents were tired of watering the lawn with sprinklers. They'd given the task of mowing the lawn over to the kid down the street about 20 years ago, but they'd kept up with the watering since we moved in in 1980. In a fit of decadence, though, they finally broke down and installed a sprinkler system a few months ago. At this point they were informed by the Borough that they also needed to install an additional water meter.
My mother, a good, law-abiding citizen, went down to the Borough Hall to arrange the installation. Let me paint a picture of Borough Hall for you. It is a one-story building in the middle of town that houses the Borough Council and Mayor's offices, though they are seldom in daily use since all of those positions are voluntary and the people who hold them have day jobs. It is also the police station, a tiny part of the building that is dwarfed by the parking lot required to park all four of Pit*man's police cars. Across Broadway (yes, Broadway) from Borough Hall is the Town Library and the Veteran's Memorial.
So as I was saying, my mom went down to Borough Hall to arrange the installation of an additional water meter. She ran into one of the most dangerous beings in Pit*man -- a low-level bureaucrat with just enough power to be passive-agressive, but not nearly enough brains to know when to stop. I didn't get the details on my mother's interactions with this woman because every time I prodded her for details, she started grinding her teeth and muttering. From what I understand the woman was unhelpful and surly, and my mother left with the distinct impression that, although she had set up an appointment for installation, nobody was going to show up. She was right.
The day after the missed installation appointment, my mother did what any reasonable, intelligent person would have done when faced with the prospect of dealing with this woman again -- she went over her head. This isn't as easy as it sounds since many of the "bosses" of Borough government don't have full time hours at Borough Hall. My mom, who is pretty well connected in town because she used to be active in the business association when she worked in town, was lucky -- she knew how to find them.
Every day at three o'clock in the afternoon, the 'big shots' of the Pit*man Borough government get together at the Pit*man Bakery (conveniently located next to the Borough Hall) to have coffee and donuts and check in with each other. To those in the know, this is called the 'Pit*man Security Board' (a name which caused me to shriek, "What? Pit*man has a militia group?"). In all of her white-haired, pollyanna-ed glory, my mother showed up at the bakery a few minutes before three and ordered some ice cream. (It was years after leaving Pit*man that I realized that not all Mom-and-Pop bakeries have ice cream and Italian water ice.) She sat down with her book, and waited.
The first member of the Security Board arrived (we'll call him Kent), and greeted my mom heartily and asked how she was doing as he ordered his coffee and pastry. She commented that she was having "a devil of a time" getting the water guys out to install another water meter, and she just didn't know what else to do. As they were talking, Kenny walked in and listened intently. Less than five minutes later, Kent and Kenny were on their cell phones (a detail which led me to shriek, "What? The Security Board members have cell phones now?!") to Coxy, the guy in charge of Public Works.
The next day, my mom had "the entire Public Works department" at our house installing the extra water meter.
Am I waxing nostalgic for my little town? A tad. Deep down inside, I'm still a small town girl. These days, though, the small discoveries that I make about my parents as I get older and hear their stories are more poignant than my small-town nostalgia. I realize now that when people tell me that I am skilled in understanding politics and power that, to the extent that it is true, I get it from my mother. More importantly, I realize that in terms of raw talent she is infinitely better at it than I am.
(Edited 9/25/02: As an indication of the smallness of my hometown, it was not long after I posted this that somebody mentioned to my mother that I had written it. Apparently, doing a search for the name of the town brought then right to me... and since I'd prefer not to have everybody there reading this site, I finally got around to inserting an * in the middle of the town name in order to keep curious Google-ers away.)
Posted by shannon at April 6, 2002 01:16 AM | For related posts: