I always thought that Aretha Franklin's hit "Respect" rang false; that is probably because the song is clearly from the male perspective, in this case that of its composer and original performer, the great Otis Redding. When I was in
the Army, the first sergeant of one company I was assigned to declared that he
respected no man, because it was in violation of commandment ‘Thou shalt not worship false gods
before me,” or something like that. It didn’t make much sense then back then. I
suppose he meant, as it applied to him, “respect” the rank, not the man.
However, there
are some people who talk an awful lot about “respect” and don’t know a thing
about it. For example, I might be wiping down some machinery using a stack of rags
I put on a shelf behind me, since there wasn’t any other place close by to put
them. When I turned around, they were nowhere to be seen. I made inquiries, and
was told that one of the janitors had taken them out of the room. I found one of
those big, burly guys with a self-conscious need to extract “respect” from
people much smaller than they are, since they don’t perceive it forthcoming
from the dominant demographic, He was hiding with the rags in a maintenance
closet. I confronted him. Why did he take the rags when he saw that I was using
them? He “respected” that, but they were in the way of his janitorial
responsibilities, he asserted. Why didn’t he ask me if I still needed them, so
to put them out of his way? Why should I ask you?, he said.
So let me count
the ways he showed me no respect: he took the rags even though he knew they
were being used at that moment, he took them out of the area completely, he
tried to conceal them (likely for his own use), and he disrespected me as a
human being (the emphasis, as indicated, was on the “you”). Yet this was the
same person who lumbered around daring you to “disrespect” him, with the threat
of physical intimidation (although he did “assure” me that he wasn’t going to
“kill” me merely for putting the rags where I did). I, on the other hand, was
expected to respect his right to disrespect me.
There are
others, of course, who have no use of “respect” at all. This might be a white
person who is full arrogance and conceit, and treats those “beneath” him or her
like the lowest forms of life on Earth. I pay these ignorant bigots no mind
(unless, of course, they are really stupid about it); when they shuffle off
this mortal coil, they take their in the end meaningless conceits with them,
and the lowest forms of life will have the last laugh on what remains of them.
There are
others, however, are more difficult to ignore. Take for instance your typical
donut shop managed by a Southeast Asian. I go in one of these shops, and the
proprietor calculates that this is a customer who he doesn’t have to waste
perfectly good donuts on; he has the old, shriveled-up ones that he won’t just
throw out hidden in the back for “special” customers. I always have to remind
myself to pinpoint the donut I want him to give me, or check to see what is
hidden in the bag that he gave me and demand a replacement if it is the runt of
the litter. It isn’t just the disrespect shown me and my money which is as good
as any white man’s, but the realization that one of the faults of this country
is that it allows people who barely speak understandable English, and come from
homogeneous societies to import more bigotry (as if we don’t have enough of it
already), practicing it on a native-born citizen.
Some people just
don’t understand that “respect” is more about what you do than what you say;
being raised a Roman Catholic, it isn’t just “faith” that “saves” you, as some
philosophies posit, but “good works.” Michael Brown, the man shot by a police
officer in Baltimore, a case was another cause celebre for the media, went
around demanding that people “respect” him as someone easily offended by any
failure to adjust to his intimidations, but did he show respect for that
scrawny convenience store clerk he strong-armed and robbed a carton of
cigarettes from, because a female companion desired it? Did she “respect” his “chivalrous”
act on her behalf? Did he show “respect” for the police officer and his
authority by attacking him? He conducted
his daily life proving that he did not deserve to be treated with respect. To
be feared, maybe; to be respected, not at all.
Sometimes I am
amazed by the people for whom respect is accorded. Three or four times a week I
stop at some fast food joint before I go home, and it never fails that I see a
certain individual literally camped out in one of the window seats; he doesn’t
look much older than 45.. On one side is this man, whose recent hair and beard
cut made him look slightly less disheveled, with a cup of coffee and what
appears to be a portable DVD player in front him, and on the other side of the
table one of those huge Arctic backpacks, designed to carry the weight of the
world (or whatever is needed to stay suitably comfortable day or night on the
tundra). Draped over the frame are two winter coats (it is late May at the
moment, I think), so I suspect that he carries his entire earthly belongings
with him. He also “camps out” in the restaurant the several times I stopped in
the morning; however, I believe takes a “break” in order to make his “living.”
When I’ve caught him buying his cup of coffee, he typically pulls out a few
wrinkled dollar bills balled-up in his pocket, which he must have obtained from
the art of acquiring sympathy for his sad situation (or maybe tells people he
is a “veteran”).
And apparently
this consideration is the case for the employees of this franchise, who have
presumably never informed this gentleman than there is a policy about
loitering, even for those making the most tepid show of being a paying customer.
But what I find even more remarkable is the “respect” the employees show for
him; he has become a “regular,” spoken to with reverence, a man of “experience” to be venerated. He no doubt has a “story,” although probably
one that need not be examined too closely when it is not embellished in the telling.
Alright, yes, the
problem of homelessness is real, and the lack of sufficiently livable wages is
as well. I have been living on the edge my whole life, but I have come to the
conclusion that some people deserve less sympathy than others. I feel less a
sense of “sympathy,” than one of mild disgust for this individual. Maybe it is
because I have a greater appreciation of “culture,” which the expansion of my collection of books, old
movies and television shows, and music requires me to have some source of dependable
income, and that it is easier to acquire what I want by earning a wage of some
sort, rather than “finding,” panhandling or stealing for it. I never “waited”
for work to come to me, like many people who sit on their fundament for months
living on unemployment checks or the help of social services (if you are an
“able-bodied, single male” you are wasting your time there in any case).
I have never
been “unemployed” for longer than a month since I left school. When I attempted
graduate school, my day went as follows: I woke up at 6 AM, attended classes
from 8 to 3 PM, caught a light rail to a job from 3:30 to Midnight, put on a
jogging outfit and ran to the light rail station to catch the last train at 12:30
AM, arrived home and hit the cot by 1:30, and awoke again at 6 AM. I did this
five days a week for six months until I told myself that all I wanted to do was
write, and this wasn’t any use to me in that regard; so I sold most of my
belongings and move to Seattle. I eventually quit doing the route of sending in
resumes and sitting around waiting for someone to respond, since the rare times
I was asked in for an interview I always seemed to get the impression that the
recruiter was expecting someone else. I always found it more useful to pick out
one of a dozen temp work agencies in the
telephone book, and would pick one that seemed more “reputable”—and closer
by—and I eventually found fulltime work through that process. That I had to
accept low-paying work was due mainly to the fact that both I didn’t have any “choice”
if I wanted to earn money right away.
But the “kids”
working at the restaurant apparently hold someone like Sir Bum in high esteem,,
showing “respecting” his “space” until closing time; perhaps he must be one of
those urban “mountain men.” I just call them vagrants who have long lost notion
of self-respect; they have no need of it from anyone else.
Now I wonder if that sergeant had a point after all.