Service with a Snarl

It was unseasonably warm for a January morning. The sky was bright and copper colored, two seagulls fought loudy over a piece of fried chicken as they dodged in and out of the early morning traffic. Usually Karl would stay and watch but he walked briskly towards the train with his mind on making the 8:00 am Community Service van.

I arrived at Broadway Junction at 7:45 am and waited in front of the station reading my book. I tried to blend in more by dressing in early rehab-wear: ski-cap, grey hoodie and distressed jeans. The one Irish kid from the first Community Service Saturday stood by the fire plug reading the paper. We acknowledged each other with a nod and continued to ignore each other. By around 8:15 there were eight of us; without saying much we all took turns looking for the blue van walking up and down the street. I broke the ice, I asked the Jamaican-ish guy with the gold caps and army fatigues if he was here last week, explaining that I missed a CS day.

"Oh yeh, mon, all we deed was sign da pehper and go home." he said with a thick island accent. I'm always curious as to what they did to get here, but I know better than to ask that. The situation is bad enough and I don't really want to make any buddies here.

The traffic at the Junction station is always harried and heavy it seems, with people pouring in and out of the narrow station entrance like ants from a hill gone awry: bus drivers guiding people to their missed transfers; policemen parking and re-arranging their vehicles and equipment; car services competing with dollar vans for passengers. A hand scrawled sign boldly stated "NO L TRAIN", but offered no transit options. In general, people here scowl, except for the Japanese people who were looking for the train-to-the-plane, ID lanyards flapping and luggage in tow. There's always the ubiquitous German who stands out like a sore thumb with a back pack and cell phone. I've come to believe Germans are just everywhere.

One thing I noticed about East New York is that a lot of people here have messed-up teeth. I watched a crazy man yell at the sidwewalk pretending to sweep the street with his cane. I could see that he was missing all his front teeth. A young latina nother asked me for a light, she was missing all the right lower molars. The irish kid had over lapping bicupsids.

By around 9:00 am, the one woman on the crew became agitated and exclaimed "I f****** got up dis early and f******" Mr. B----- aint even here. He aint gonna play me, I'm f******" gettin' outta here! F*** him! the motha f*****!" She is a lady but I think she doesn't realize it yet. One guy said we were his witnesses and he has to go pick up his kid, he must have been 20. So where was the kid, locked up in a car? I'm still the oldest guy in the bunch.

The guy with the gold caps gave me a number to call that he got from RDU, I recognized it as the general information line ("If you've been convicted as a felon, press one...") I told him that the offices were closed on Saturday so he won't get a reply today. He rolled his eyes and said "Shhh. Blood clot! Why do dey even give us dis numba to call den!" I was getting pretty agrivated myself. I could see the disappointment grow in my face in the reflection of each passing bus. My sprained knee was killing too me and there was no place to sit.

I left at 9:30 am, heeding Mr. B-----'s previous warning about "staying off the streets". I waved goodbye to the guy with gold capped teeth as we parted ways.

Epilogue
What does one do when the system has no system? Nothing in the court system seems serve the people, even the ones that they mean to punish. One department has no idea how to work with the next department. Maybe it works in the way as pirates do: by their own pirate code within their own pirate fiefdoms. I got home and left a message at the general RDU number as I did last week. I have no idea if this Saturday even counts as CS day. I worry about how long this can actually drag on. Tomorrow starts my first session with Anger Management, I can only hope for regular irregularity, but keep real expectations.