From TKK

From Kraftwerk.

I began thinking towards this post with a quote by Mark Twain in mind:
...but now that I'm finally here this quote more closely fits my mood:

Many poor and black communities are so bereft of services and retail that residents are forced to pay what could be called a "time tax" -- either extra money or loss of personal time -- to access basic services.

This is from Jacqueline Dowd's post The "time tax" on poor people from her blog the 13th juror. Ms. Dowd is a poverty lawyer and law professor based in Orlando, her blog is always worth reading. One of the many topics she covers is tent cities and she has written about our own Camp Quixote.

I understand this idea of a "time tax" through experience, fortunately I'm not currently heavily taxed. I wonder how our societal view of low income folks would change if we understood and incorporated this idea of time tax. Often we speak as if the only elements worth measuring are money and the almighty will-power (boot strap style) and we completely ignore the realities of time and energy. And location, location, location.

After a two week hiatus of practically nothing of interest on the city council agenda, we're back with a Harbor Patrol topic and some wondering about what kind of water rights stuff the city council is talking about behind closed doors.

Almost every week this is the "What's on the city council's plate this week" review. I don't cover everything, so if you want the full rundown, read the packet and agenda yourself.

1. The last time I remember the city council going into executive session (where the public is not allowed) to talk about water rights, they decided to condemn the Olympia Brewery's vast supply.

2. The Olympia harbor patrol will likely get $37,000 in addition funds to keep the program from folding. Income that supports the program, excise tax from boating, isn't enough to keep the all volunteer run program afloat. After the $37,000 influx, costs could be cut (such as limiting the scope of the patrol) to make it more affordable.

From the staff report (pdf file):

The Harbor Patrol has been in operation for just over 25 years. It is completely staffed by volunteers, who work under the supervision of the Police Department’s Special Operations Bureau. The annual cost for operating the program in recent years has been between $28,000 and $32,000 per year – which includes funding for boat maintenance and vessel replacement.

In 2006, the amount budgeted for boat maintenance and vessel replacement alone was $18,753 – more than we received from boating excise tax distribution. In analyzing the situation, the only viable alternatives are either to cut the program immediately, or cut the program at the point where it can no longer be supported with a combination of existing funds and excise tax revenues.

    You know, it just occurred to me that for the most part, I toss salads for a living. Puns and dirty jokes aside, I find it to be pretty sad.
    I don't really know much about our customers. The few that talk to me on the open kitchen treat me more like an exhibit at a museum than a cook, or a person, even.
    "Great job, guys!" proclaims a cheery old man. His hair is grayed and slightly balding, his glasses are small. Nothing about him is distinguishable from the dozens of other old men who came before him. Without even thinking, I smile and wave.
    He's probably the same guy who complained about his Olympia oysters being too small. His ceaser dressing was too salty. Ten ounces of ice cream wasn't enough for his blackberry cobbler.
    Fuck. It's no use, really. I don't claim to be a good cook, not by a long shot. My knowledge of food is jumbled and slim, at best. Instead of trying to teach the server or customer, I go for the faster route: remaking the problem order. To try and teach them, my breath would be wasted. The customer wants food, the server wants tips and I just want them both to get the hell out of the restaurant.
    "Order up!" Oh, great.
    "Table 135 didn't get enough avocado or egg on their Hawaiian Cobb, could I get some more?"
    Sure, it costs us a lot. But I take a handful of each and randomly arrange them on a bread plate.
    "Thanks a bunch!" The server disappears as quickly as he appeared. Hopefully he can appease the customer in time. An offer to the gods.
    But before I have time to be displeased with my job, the timer beeps. Another melting cake. I hope it's for Christine Gregoire again, I'll stab it on purpose.