You know, working at a shipping depot and patting down sweaty nasty-ass package handlers was a lot easier when I had $30,000 in my bank account. Now that I’m under $2000, working there is torture. I first notice the effect of a bank account balance (BAB) back in February of 2011, in a post called Draining My Account. They had a new security guard training and he said to me, “So I heard you’ve been working here for 3 years (first he said 7 but I corrected him). Wow, that’s a long time, man!” I wanted to kick the shit out of him but, knowing that I wasn’t gonna say anything good, I got up and walked away. We didn’t speak again. It’s bad enough I know I’ve been here forever, do I really need to be reminded of that fact by him?!
Loser talk is rampant at the shipping depot, and Tuesday was no different. Guard #1 (the trainee) and Guard #2 (my usual co-worker guard) were talking:
Guard #2 (to Guard #1): So, how do you like it here so far?
Guard #1: It’s cool. I just don’t want to be working all my life, yo. Need that bread (money).
Guard #2: Oh I hear ya. I’ll never forget: Man, I’d always wanted to play baseball professionally and I had a tryout for UCLA when I was 16. My arm was good and they loved me, but they said I was too young. 6 months after that, I hurt my arm and that was it for me. If it wasn’t for me hurtin’ myself, best believe I wouldn’t be working here.
Guard #1: Yeah, no doubt. If didn’t get caught slingin’ (dealing drugs), I would be my own boss. I had this idea. The clubs around here are whack, so I was gonna get some money and some peoples together and open up a big ass club, like the ones they got in the city (NYC). Make it like 8 floors with different music on each floor? That’s money!
No amount of watching Roseanne or listening to music on the cell phone through the bluetooth was going to drown out this conversation which, by the way, lasted for another hour. It was one lament after another. Package handlers would come into the guard house and join in on the conversation with their own stories of how they or someone they know could have made it if only for this or that. Ugh. I’ve always been able to drown them out before but, because of my nearly depleted bank account, it was as if I was just like them. Another guy with a dream. One can dream at a young age, maybe even through college years. But, around my age, one has to stop dreaming and start doing. Dreaming without action is just a way to be comfortable with failure. If my life ever comes down to talking about how I could have been successful if it wasn’t for this or that, I’m finding a bathroom and killing myself.
When one goes into security work of the non-military nature, one will meet people like these all the time. But in my world, there is no such term as “if it wasn’t for”. I want something? I go get it. If I screw up (like, I dunno, spending $1600 on a problem that an $80 sump pump would’ve taken care of), I take the hit and keep going. The only way I can fail is if I choose to fail. I’ve made some pretty dumb choices this month, but that’s one I don’t have to worry about. Once I get some money back in my account I’ll feel better about going to work and being subjected to the idiocy of lamentations and regret. Until then, like always, I’ll grin and bear it. I can't let these complainers bring me down with them.
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