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| THE HIGH COST OF WORKING
by Charlie "Chuck" Odessa |
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This last week I ventured into downtown Los Angeles to pay my property taxes at the Hall off Administration. I always do that because I don't trust the system used by that agency to process a mail in payment. One year, in my early years as a homeowner, my payment was lost and I have never gotten over it. True, it was the year I queued up, in my car, along with hundreds of other deadline payers, to hand a sidewalk, postal mail clerk my tax payment. But, I digress. I made up my mind the night before my foray into town that I would be at the tax payment counter exactly at eight o'clock in the morning. By the time I was half way into town, it became clear to me that I hadn't made enough allowance for the heavy flow of traffic. I was in town a half an hour late. Since I hadn't been into town for over a year, I wasn't prepared for my first shock of the day -- the cost of parking! Anywhere, within two city blocks of any government building, the sign screamed out:
The last time that I had felt a shiver like I had that morning run up and down my spine was when the girl I had had my eye on all during my junior year accepted my invitation to my High School Prom. I continued on searching for street parking and found a spot five city blocks away: Two Hours Parking. As I started to feed the hungry meter quarters, (one quarter equaling ten minutes, which is $3.00), it did cross my mind that it was hardly enough time to complete my transaction but I pressed forward. About three quarters into my transaction with the parking meter, a young lady passing me commented, "Sir, the meter ahead of your car is flashing, Fail! Fail! If you pull your car forward, you won't have to pay anything." I eyed her suspiciously as she continued walking without missing a step. I painfully remembered the year before, when I had taken advantage of such a situation, in front of the main library and found my car ticketed when I returned. True, I avoided the fine but not before paying it first, then having to prove the meter was not operating that day -- all at the cost of losing a day's work. But, I digress again. After a fifteen minute walk, which included waiting for street lights to turn green in my favor, I entered the hallowed, marbled halls where clerks sat to receive tax payments -- I was the only one there. I was in no mood to wonder why and I approached one of them. I handed over my tax bill and proceeded to make out my payment check, all the while muttering about the high cost of downtown parking and condemning the city for the lack of decent, cheap, street parking. "Well, at least working for the county you must get a break to park your car," I stated condescendingly. She shook her head no. "What! No parking discounts! How much a month does your parking cost you?" I asked her disbelievingly. "One hundred and forty dollars a month," she stated quite calmly. Once I had recovered, it wasn't hard for me to realize that her transportation car must cost her at least three hundred dollars a month, her car insurance at least one hundred dollars a month, her gas, depending on where she lived, at least one hundred dollars per month and, oh yes, she did answer my question, "Do you have children?" When she answered yes, that old shiver hit my spine again -- childcare expenses! My simpatico nerves seemed to me to shatter as my mental calculator clicked away at lightening speed. Even if she earned twenty dollars per hour, which I doubted very much, her off the top expenses to work outside her home, in this environment must equal about half her salary! And I am not digressing! However my well-meaning and well-placed sympathies were, her kindly manner soon brought me out of my empathic state. "Oh, excuse me sir," she apologized, "but we don't take personal checks anymore -- just money orders and cashiers checks." EDITOR'S NOTE: |