Thanks a lot

This past week at work was “productive,” at least in relation to what is the norm. I delivered 315 carts of cargo; although it was five short of my previous high, at least I had the satisfaction of knowing that I hadn’t missed a single delivery. Of course, there was no “celebration” or even thanks (except from the airline guys who appreciated the fact that I kept their staging area “clean”), although I can always fall back on personal satisfaction. By sheer coincidence, today there is an outdoor picnic—a “thank you” from the company for all the hard work done this summer. Unlike previous regimes that held this event outside the airport, this year as last it is being held in some fenced-off pavilion adjacent to the terminal. I don’t know what exactly the place is for, because it is rarely occupied. When I leaned what day it was on, my interest in attending—and the promise of free food was the only lure—dip dramatically, all the way to zero. Today is part of my “weekend,” which meant that if I chose to go, I would be in my civilian clothes, and thus subject to suspicion and harassment, if last year was any example.

Last year, I arrived at the pavilion to be “greeted” by a Port of Seattle security person, who looked at me suspiciously and minutely inspected my POS badge, before reluctantly allowing me to enter. I grabbed some food and sat down at a table. After ten minutes, I observed two POS police officers arrive; the POS security person nodded toward me and spoke, apparently to air her suspicions. Nobody else paid me any attention, so it was likely it was suspected that I was a party crasher. I started to simmer over this attention, and before I could boil over I decided to leave. Even though my ID badge had already been inspected when I entered, I was told that I had to resubmit it for examination by one of the police officers. They detained me for several minutes, apparently hoping that I would make some sort of “furtive gesture” suggesting that I was “guilty” of something. They could have asked the people who were running the program if they knew me, but they didn’t. I was eventually undetained, but not before I told myself that I wasn’t going to allow myself to be “thanked” in this way again. And people wonder why I have this “attitude.”

Of course, I can’t say this was a “new” experience for me. Some years ago when I was employed at a sports apparel company; the latest information I can find concerning its current status is that it was jettisoned from its near-bankrupt parent company in Italy after it was bought out by some Italian billionaire who decided to get into the shoe business because he was tired of “stinky feet” and wanted to develop shoes that “breathed.” The American subsidiary was bought by its own company president (probably taking on a significant debt load), forming a new company but using the original name as a continuing brand. Its estimated sales figures for last year was $3 million, which is 1/10 the peak year in 2002—although as I mentioned before, this was a greatly inflated figure based on overly rosy sales assumptions; about 100,000 pairs of shoes were returned the following year either as unsold or refused shipments. Some of these shoes sold for $150 retail; needless to say, the impact was if not immediately devastating, sent the company into a sales tailspin it has never recovered from. Last year, it was sued by an Issaquah company that claimed patent infringement on a portable soccer net; this year, it is suing a Seattle company specializing in apparel made from recycled material for delivering substandard soccer uniform kits. Not that I care much about it; I noticed that the same people in management when I was there are still there. With a dozen full-time employees left, they are running out of people to blame for their own incompetence.

But all that is off the track. Once the company in its “glory days” had enough spare change to rent a suite at Safeco Field for a Mariners’ game. The president of the company was actually a big cheese in the American men’s soccer world decades ago, and apparently thought he had enough influence to sell product (the Seattle P-I once had a “Where are they now?” piece on him). He certainly must have felt his position as a local businessman was sufficient to warrant a place among Boeing and Microsoft—companies that had permanent suites at Safeco. Anyways, I decided to show-up for (what else?) the free food. It was a typical picnic layout, except that it was first class all the way; everything was jumbo-sized. Then there was the baseball game. Being at a live game is more a social event, and I’m not very social. I was soon bored, especially after the Mariners fell behind something like 8-1 after four innings. Fortunately, I brought a book, and having observed a lobby just outside the suite equipped with comfortable sofas and a television set, I piled-up another plate of food, and settled myself in for some light reading.

It didn’t take long before I noticed that something was amiss. Someone—or someones—had joined me, somewhere on the outskirts of my peripheral vision. I looked-up and observed a man dressed in dark clothing; the words K-9 were stenciled on the back of his shirt. The other “someone” was a dog. He pretended he was paying me no mind, but I could tell he was hoping that I would be intimidated by his presence, and I would make life easy for him and go away. I figured someone in one of these other suites figured I didn’t belong. Naturally, I just became angry at all this attention and refused to budge. What was this about anyways? Did he think I was a terrorist, did he think I was about to rob one of their “high class” patrons? Since I didn’t make any “furtive” gestures or do anything “abnormal,” the K-9 guy eventually left; however, he was soon replaced by some management type. He smiled at me, in response to which I gave him a “What do you want?” look. He didn’t approach me, apparently because he didn’t want to take a chance of being accused of racial profiling. Since events had settled into a stalemate, he finally did what should have been their first move to begin with: Go inside the adjacent suite, and ask someone if I was part of their group. Behind me, I heard someone say, “Yeah, he’s with us.” When I went back inside the suite, the president rationalized their actions by telling me that it was “strange” that I would be reading a book at a baseball game. Of course, that begged the question of what was so “dangerous” about reading a book at a monotonous baseball game.


I recall once that I was sitting on a bench in a Seattle park reading a book; a cop approached me and asked me what I was doing. I remember wondering if all cops are this dim-witted. Funny how normal behavior is viewed as suspicious by some people, merely because it doesn’t conform to stereotype.