This is where the USA is headed in the Trump era
My last post dealt with the erosion of competence at the United States Postal Service. But other things are going down the toilet, too.
Even while Donald Trump continues throwing his shoes into the delicate machinery of American democracy, in the course of which he is crashing industrial, commercial, environmental, political, diplomatic, and defense systems that used to work, I’m sad to say that he and his administration don’t have sole claim to incompetence.
Democrats also drive the government bus head-on into a brick wall from time to time, with lots of sideswipes and near misses along the way.
Consider the City of New York, where less and less public infrastructure seems to be working as it should.
Our Democratic mayor and our state’s Democratic governor are barely on speaking terms. Or perhaps that’s putting lipstick on their pig of a relationship.The evident loathing each has for the other is helping to bust the whole system.
For example, while subway delays, subway overcrowding during rush hours, and total subway chaos are now routine in the city, the governor and mayor tend to deal with the problem by pointing fingers at each other. (City and state share responsibility for the New York Transit Authority, although more of the responsibility is the state's.)
The grumpy-looking mayor (who one suspects wants to run for President) gripes that the city hasn’t been given enough transit money by the state to help keep the subway operating smoothly. The governor (who one suspects also wants to run for President) grouses that the city hasn’t even spent the money he says he gave it.
Meanwhile, the governor seems to direct some state monies to flashy new or renovated subway stations, largely for the resultant flashy photo ops. But it’s not the stations that are the big problem. Instead, it’s the overcrowding of an ancient and crumbling subway system, along with rotting switches and Toonerville Trolley subway tracks that seem to be creating most of the delays, along with track fires caused by accumulating garbage, mismanaged budgets, and occasional malicious assistance from Mother Nature.
So everybody’s late to work, and people try to avoid the subways if possible, resulting in more surface traffic on our gridlocked streets. (The New York subway system now experiences more delays than any other subway system in the world, says the New York Times.)
Most recently I’ve enjoyed — if I may put an ironic spin on the word “enjoyed” — the first indication that the city’s emergency services, and especially the public’s means of calling the police, are beginning to slip down the rabbit hole of incompetence, too.
Late this past Saturday night, in a neighborhood in which I don’t live, I decided to use a cash machine so that I’d have taxi fare home and, while I was at it, some walking-around money for the following week. I was at the corner of First Avenue and East 15th Street in Manhattan, and lo, there was a branch of the Chase bank with its vestibule full of cash machines. I reached for my wallet, removed my bank card, and with a female companion in tow, marched toward the bank.
I was about to use my card to open the vestibule door, when the presumably always-locked door swung open without my card. No, it wasn’t another bank customer leaving the bank. It was a man who had posted himself just inside the door, opening it for me.
It pretty quickly became evident he was a homeless person, panhandling for tips. (The smallest bills that the cash machines dispense are $20.) There were several other people at the cash machines, so my companion and I took a chance at coming in. There’s safety in numbers, and all that. But by the time I had my cash, the other customers were gone.
We headed toward the door. The man held his baseball cap out, between us and the door waiting for a handout. We tried to squeeze past him. He didn’t actually attack or speak to us, but he was clearly blocking our way, forcing us to maneuver uncomfortably to get out of the bank.
When we finally got out the door, my slightly panicked companion insisted that we cross First Avenue immediately to get away from the bank. While I normally don’t bother if a homeless person is sleeping in a bank vestibule on a chilly evening, (and I’ve seen that occur several times) this kind of aggressive panhandling was a bit over the top, even for New York. I felt I ought to report the panhandler’s presence, so that the city’s cops could get him to move on.
The city has two numbers you can call if you’re in need of assistance. One is standard 911. But citizens have been advised not to call 911 unless it’s a real emergency, since other calls tie up 911 phone lines, and that could cost lives. A somewhat menacing panhandler harassing customers in a bank didn’t rise to a level of a murder in progress or a building burning down. So I called the city’s other number for people who need help, 311.
I had to sit through an annoying recorded lecture on alternate side street parking before I got to a live human being. I explained the problem.
“Oh, you should call 911 for that,” he said, “I’ll connect you.”
Before I could say, "But...." he switched me over. A 911 dispatcher picked up.
“911,” she said, “what’s your emergency?”
Instantly, I felt guilty. But I knew better than to say, “Well, it’s not really an emergency but…” So instead I said, “There’s an aggressive panhandler in the lobby of a Chase bank on the corner of First Avenue and East 15th Street.”
I was asked for my telephone number and a couple of other questions, and then the dispatcher said something to the effect of “We’ll take care of it.” So my companion and I continued on our way.
Roughly 15 minutes later, my cell phone began ringing. By now we were quite a few blocks from the bank. I answered. It was 911 calling me back. I think it was the same woman. She asked:
“Exactly which subway entrance did you say the man was standing in? The police are in the subway now and can’t find him.”
Aiyee! It was a bank, I told her. A bank. A bank! Not the subway. A bank. The panhandler is in the lobby of the Chase bank on First Avenue and Fifteenth Street. “I never said anything about the subway.”
And she said something like, “Oh, okay.” And that she would inform the police on the scene, who had been looking for a panhandler in the nearby subway, presumably because I said he was in the bank, and you know..civilians! They wouldn't know a bank door from a flight of subway steps.
What are they smoking at 911? Why is it that even when you call a cop, you could be killed before he gets the word to help?
Do you have to ask?
Do you have to ask?
“That’s okay,” the dispatcher said reassuringly. “You don’t have to stay until the cops get there.”
Y’know what? Wait until somebody calls in a raging fire and gets asked, “Do you have a pot of water, or do we have to bring our own?”
I’m afraid that day is coming. Because the USA is a Third World country now. And yes, that gurgling sound you hear is our nation going down the toilet.
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