Giving You the Business

In a perverse and ironic sort of way, I am grateful for the business world. 

Just when I think I've seen and heard it all, and that my sense of wonder is hopelessly atrophied, a study issued by the National Retail Federation appears which provokes peals of healthful and much-needed laughter.

Excuse the outdated cultural references, but I find it funnier than George Carlin, Monty Python, Firesign Theater and George Bush number-two combined.

In response to government data which the Federation feels unfairly skews retail pay downwards, their report attempts to present the retail sector as the creator of good-paying jobs which offer Americans an alternative to wage-slave sustenance and which bolster our flagging middle class.

See what I mean?

The Federation's second punchline is the assertion that the average retail employee makes thirty-thousand dollars a year. The Federation claims these employees earn an average of $2,582 per month, or $30,984 per year.

But you should know there are more strings attached to their definition of 'retail employee' than on all the helium balloons festooning graduation, retirement, anniversary and birthday parties the world over.

The Federation's numbers are based on something called a “stable” employee, which is an employee employed for three months of a calender quarter. If this fuzzy indistinct-ness leaves you with more questions than answers, feel free to join the club.

The next time you're in an expansive mood and wish to share your mirth, relay this information to a sales clerk, stock person or cashier employed by J.C. Penney’s or Home Depot. 

I am positive they will find it equally-mirthful.

Because I am long-term unemployed, I have recent experience in retail. I have that experience because retail is one of the few sectors desperate-enough to risk employing people like me. They are desperate for a reason. And it isn't because they're doling out 30K salaries. 

Despite fulfilling the Federation's dodgy definition of stable, I didn't earn half of what the Federation says I should have. And there are reasons for that, too.

First off, aside from managerial personnel, no one in retail works full-time. It is practically against the law. Secondly, with certain rare exceptions (The Container Store and CostCo come to mind), wages are low.

I made $8.40 an hour as a cashier at a local Home Depot. I made even less as a supermarket checker in a Milwaukee suburb. Adjusted for inflation, that didn't even equal the $2.00 an hour I earned washing cars at a Pontiac dealer while in high-school.

Unless you're a clerk at Harry Winston's, the only way you're going to clear 30K a year in retail is by working three jobs.

The Federation goes on to add that if you're lucky enough to fall within the 25 to 54 age group, retail is an even more splendiferous fount of riches. Those folk enjoy an average monthly bounty of $3,198, which adds up to a very pleasant $38,376 per year.

There's an old adage in academia that says PhD stands for piled higher and deeper. Evidently, the National Retail Federation's report hasn't reached them yet.

In cash-starved post-recession America, how is it that oceans of retail positions go unfilled in the face of such economic largesse? Like my earliest attempts at arithmetic, it just doesn't add up.

The truth is, the Federation's "report" is flimsy and transparent PR which is the product of an entitled entity feeling a little put out because we don't show it enough love. 

My heart bleeds.

Permanently marked-down employees aren't a big, gift-wrapped expression of love? 

How about the ability of a private business to shift a worker's housing, medical and food expenses onto the public as they steadfastly refuse to hire full-timers or pay their workers a living wage in order to keep their billionaire shareholders happy?

It adds up to big, gigantic wealth creation. Big, gigantic government-subsidized profits for businessmen renowned for their dislike of socialism and *cough* big government.

And still it's not enough. Like the supposedly entitled employees they hold such contempt for, business wants more. And when it has that it wants more. It is never enough. 

It is not enough that we have government-subsidized employees working for private businesses. We must love those businesses, too.

And lastly, we must never, ever tell the truth. Apparently, parasites have feelings, too.

Like I said, pretty funny.

Under the Influence

I suppose this is as good a time as any to ruminate on the suspension given Colts owner Jim Irsay by NFL Commissioner Roger Goodell.

Timing, it is said, is everything. And Irsay's stunk. He had the bad luck to cross the commissioner's radar in the wake of the Ray Rice kerfuffle, and with opening day just a few days away, there was no way Goodell was going to go through that again.

So while Rice was suspended two games for knocking out his intended and dragging her about their hotel by the hair, Irsay was suspended for six and fined half a million dollars because he:

a.) Wore non-approved NFL gear

b.) Let Peyton Manning walk

c.) Drove while intoxicated

d.) Failed to renew his subscription to the NFL Network

If you guessed c, you are correct.

(An exception will be made if you chose b and reside in Indiana.)

OK. Don't get me wrong—driving while tanked is plenty serious. But not exponentially more serious than dragging your girlfriend around by the hair after you've introduced her face to your NFL running back-sized fist.

Furthermore, I am the very last citizen of the United States to come to the defense of the very wealthy, particularly those who did little more than pop out of the right, er well, you know.

But I am suffering from DWI fatigue.

Having re-invented myself a little over a year ago as a bus driver, I now log about eight-hundred miles a week. Which works out to forty-thousand miles a year—give or take a construction detour or two. And let me tell you: I don't see many drunks. (This was true even when I was younger and drove more at night.)

What I do see are lots of distracted drivers. Men, women, adults, teens and in-betweens. They're all over. Like a plague.

I have lost count of the drivers who absentmindedly drift across lane dividers and lane markings into mine. Or who fail to stop at stop signs. Or the mobile Shakespeares so engrossed in composing life-changing texts they don't notice the light has changed from red to green.

They are everywhere. Everyday.

Yes, there was a time when chronic alcoholics who got behind the wheel needed to be reigned in. Needed to be given something besides a cup of joe down at the local PD.

But I am thrilled to report that as a society, we get it. Driving under the influence is a bad thing. According to MADD (Mothers Against Drunk Driving), incidents of drunk driving are half of what they were in 1980.

Despite this, our media, our law-givers and our law enforcers continue to reinforce the impression it is the most-serious crime an individual can commit. It certainly is the highest-profile one.

Which brings me back to Jim and Roger.

Having erred so badly on the Ray Rice case, Goodell followed our lead and used the reliable whipping post of DWI as a public relations tool to erase any doubts that he is, indeed, a tough guy intent on eradicating bad behavior in his NFL.

(At least when he can—players who offend for the first time are only levied a comparatively paltry fine of fifty-thousand dollars.)

It smacks of piling on.

Thirty years on, I wish we'd devote the same resources to distracted driving that we do to driving under the influence. And while we're at it, get manufacturers all-in for the public good.

For instance, I am unable to make an input on the GPS unit in my bus while it is moving. Using motion sensors to similarly disable cell phones, tablets and any other device in a moving car would be a great start.

A car driven by a distracted driver is just as lethal as one driven by a drunk. And sadly, they're far more prevalent. It's time to look up from our screens, recognize it and adjust our policies, enforcement and public awareness accordingly.

Ray Guy

Hearty, neon-lit, back-slapping congratulations to newly-minted Hall of Famer Ray Guy. He's the first player admitted to the Football Hall of Fame as a punter, and it's an honor as deserved as it is overdue.

I'm mystified why it took fifty-plus years for the Hall of Fame to recognize a punter. It's ludicrous that the National Football League would establish the position and then ignore those who excelled at it.

If you've ever been a football fan and watched the game, the notion that kickers and the units they perform on (called special teams) are inconsequential is ignorant. I've forgotten how many times I saw momentum shift after a well-placed punt pinned the opposition behind its ten-yard line and saved a stalled offense's bacon.

It's a game-changer in the same sense that an interception, a fumble recovery or even a touchdown is. And Ray Guy changed a lot of games.

Don't think a punter or special teams are important? Ask the coach of the team that struggles in those areas. None other than Hall of Fame coach John Madden said Ray Guy was often their “best defensive player—by far.”

It's no coincidence that the Chicago Bears 2013 defensive woes occurred after losing special teams coach Dave Toub. Under his tutelage, the unit was regularly one of the NFL's best, and masked many weaknesses.

But this is about Ray Guy, not the Chicago Bears.

Knowing the worst outcome of a failed drive was a Ray Guy punt left the Raiders offense free to operate wide-open, in the same sense that a basketball guard can gamble on defense when he knows there's a powerful, shot-blocking center behind him.

On a team as dominant as the nineteen-seventies Oakland Raiders were, that was not insignificant.

Now that the Football Hall of Fame has finally addressed its arrogant and exclusionary history of denying punters (and while I'm at it—place kickers) admittance, here's hoping it can look back and give those who contributed to the game it celebrates their rightful due.

Getting Concealed Carry-ed Away

People buy guns for two reasons. They want to kill or be a hero. Sometimes they want to be both.

They fantasize about home invaders, preferably minority ones. “I was defending my family!” they rage in response to some vile court-appointed defense attorney's questioning as a sympathetic jury of their peers looks on.

Afterwards, they are found innocent by reason of self-defense.

Of course, the reality is far different. Kindly ignore the fact (and it is a statistically-verifiable one) that as a gun owner you are more likely to have that gun pointed at you than you are to point it at a drug-crazed home invader intent on raping your daughter.

According to the Brady Campaign to Prevent Gun Violence, twenty-two times more likely.

But the Brady Campaign probably strikes you as a bunch of knee-jerk libtards spouting off about the same crap they always spout off about. But analysis after analysis tells the same story. A gun in the home is more likely to be used on you than by you.

Unfortunately, fantasies are like Bruce Willis. They die hard.

And thanks to the fear-driven campaign to permit concealed carry, those fantasies now have a new stage upon which to play: everywhere. Why limit your role-playing to the bedroom? Why not take it out in public where it belongs?

I mean, shouldn't a population that becomes murderously angry at being demoted or not getting laid or even being cut-off in traffic not only be armed to the teeth but have unlimited freedom to squeeze off a round or two if these touchy feely types feel threatened?

Sounds like a considered and sober strategy to me.

Here's a hint of what's to come.

In Crestwood, IL., a customer approaching an AT&T store noticed an armed robbery in progress. He was able to alert potential customers behind him and keep them from entering the store.

So far so good, right?

But instead of dialing 911, our wanna-be cop (who is fully licensed and approved for concealed carry) decides to play hero. He watches the felon exit the rear of the store and gives chase. He fires his gun, unaware that a police officer has responded to the scene. The officer consequently has to abandon his pursuit and take cover, unsure of whether the felon has an accomplice.

You can see where this is headed.

Live crime scenes are by their very nature chaotic. Even the best and most well-trained professionals get confused and disoriented and make mistakes. Imagine what untrained-and-armed amateurs bring to the table.

If you need a recipe for disaster, here it is.

Instead of just one bone-headed wanna-be cop, imagine six. As the false sense of security offered by concealed carry drives its popularity in our frightened and twitchy population, this is what law enforcement will confront. (Assuming, of course, police are even summoned. It doesn't take a great deal of imagination to see the concealed carry set eventually assuming the role of jury as well.)

Thank god for the Affordable Care Act. We're going to need it.

Sometimes You Just Can't Win. Even When You Do.

Poor Ivory Mitchell.

After buying lottery scratch-off tickets since Richard Nixon's second term, he thought he'd finally hit the jackpot. After buying five of the things July 20^th, two indicated he had won $1,000. Nice payoff after forty-two years of playing, isn't it?

But wait. The agency that runs the Wisconsin lottery is claiming that the tickets are defective. Misprints that aren't worth the cardboard they're printed on. In a show of bureaucratic benevolence, the Wisconsin Department of Revenue has offered to reimburse Mr. Mitchell the ten-bucks it cost him to be a kinda sorta but-not-quite winner.

Ivory Mitchell is a sixty-four year-old retired welder who undergoes dialysis and is living off of disability, and who had planned to use the winnings to repair his roof, gutters and a fence.

It might just be me, but wouldn't it be cool if some combination of the Wisconsin lottery and the vendor who supposedly misprinted the tickets somehow managed to come up with the two-grand that would make such a difference at one end and barely register at the other?

I'm guessing that after forty-two years of purchases, all concerned have turned a very tidy profit on Mr. Mitchell.

Just a thought.

Thomas Jefferson - Reloaded

Thomas Jefferson's 'tree of liberty' remark was long-ago co-opted by conservatives as justification for stuffing every conceivable nook and cranny of our nation with as many guns as humanly possible.

(I mean, you just never know, do you?)

But Eric Zorn, in a typically-thoughtful column in last Friday's Chicago Tribune, responded to this misappropriation by putting a new wrinkle in Jefferson's quote to better-reflect the sad ideal prized by firearm advocates in even-sadder twenty-first century America.

Instead of finishing with “...the blood of patriots and tyrants”, Zorn put it thusly:

The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of innocent school children.

Which just about says it all, doesn't it?

Good going, Mr. Zorn.

Let Us Now Praise the Onion

Before there was a Jon Stewart or a Stephen Colbert, the task of presenting and parodying the news fell to a small publication founded by some college kids in Madison, Wisconsin in 1988.

The Onion took off fairly quickly, expanding its distribution to Midwest college towns and the great city of Chicago within a matter of years.

The rest, as they say, is history.

In its twenty-five years of existence, the Onion has routinely poked fun at the hapless, embarrassed the deserving and given those whose outlooks are perhaps infected with a touch of jaundice good, hearty belly laughs.

But in the wake of the tragic Isla Vista shootings, no media outlet better crystallized the event and the raging debate surrounding it than the headline in the May 27th issue:

'No Way To Prevent This' Says Only Nation Where This Regularly Happens

Yeah.

Just.

Fucking.

Brilliant.