Pogrom: An organized massacre of helpless people. A Yiddish word, from the Russian for ‘devastation.’
By hook and crook, by deft gauntlet running and agile slight of hand against the Black Hand saboteurs, by politicking in the local American Legion post, I have survived the V.I.P. pogrom and indeed become a G.P. in this veterans’ shelter.
Above is a picture of my G.P. identification card, which in itself was something of a 'minor' tribulation to get.
Note the high quality of this fine identification product. Note the detail and artistry. You can tell that many, many man hours went in to the development of this finely honed instrument.
I’ll bet you a dollar to a donut that some passing-through veteran designed this ID card for free and then the corporation, L.A. Vets, charged off several thousand dollars, maybe several tens of thousands of dollars, to Veteran Program Identification Research and Development Systems expenses . . . and then used the money where it would actually do the most good for veterans: to send one of the directors’ girlfriend . . . uh, secretary, to Las Vegas for a week (she’s just returned from her latest L.A. Vets-sponsored trip and she’s much less surly now).
Like I said, getting this 'General Population' I.D. card was somewhat of a trial. As soon as I moved upstairs to my 'new' G.P. room, I ran down to the computer center to get my official G.P. identification.
When I had gone through the G.P. screening process over at the Veterans Program Liaison offices (another layer in the bureaucracy here--oh the layers upon layers of social 'worker' employment here!), they took away my V.I.P. I.D. card (just in case I tired of the freedom of G.P. Land and was secretly planning on infiltrating the ranks of the closely monitored V.I.P. inmates—DUH! Like THAT would ever happen ) and I felt naked without some sort of L.A. Vets-sanctioned identification.
“Can I get my G.P. identification card?” I asked the computer center administrator.
“No."
"No?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"The I.D. machines are down right now,” she answered, annoyed that I had had the temerity to interrupt her cell phone conversation with someone on the subject of ‘what dogs men be.’
“When would be a good time to come back?” I asked tentatively.
“I don’t know,” she snapped and rolled her eyes before turning her back to me to finish her important, on the clock, conversation.
I went back three days later:
“Can I get my G.P. identification card?” I asked the computer center employee, another gangbanger who was doing his community service sentence here. Free labor: L.A. Vets loves it.
“I don’t know, man,” he said disinterestedly as he, too, had a cell phone conversation going on.
I went back the next day:
“Can I get my G.P. identification card?” I asked the computer center employee, who looked suspiciously like the previous two disinterested chair warmers, you know, like a family resemblance.
“Naw, dog, the machines is down again,” he said without even turning to look away from his comic book.
I went back the next day:
“Can I get my G.P. identification card?” I asked the computer center employee, who looked suspiciously like the previous three disinterested chair warmers, you know, like a family resemblance. I was beginning to wonder if some judge had paroled a whole family to do their community service sentences at the L.A. Vets center.
The chair warmer ignored me.
“Excuse me, please. Can I get my G.P. identification card?”
The chair warmer rolled his eyes and said, “You’ll hafta see da computer guy. Shit, I only do sign in.” and returned to his scintillating conversation with some other person sitting next to him whom I can only surmise was yet another free ‘laborer’.
“The computer guy?” I asked.
“Comes 'round six (p.m.),” the other ‘laborer’ said in a dismissive tone.
I returned at six and waited for the computer guy, a salaried employee of L.A. Vets, for forty minutes, and when he arrived, I asked if I could get my G.P. I.D.
“Oh, I don’t do that,” he sneered as if I had insulted him and hurried into the employees only office, shutting the door quickly behind him.
Now I was on a mission. These futhermuckers were going to crank me out a G.P. I.D. card if it hairlipped the governor. I got all kinds of excuses over the next few weeks, from this is down to I don’t know who does that to the one I finally nabbed them on: “We could make the I.D., but we’ve run out of lamination plastic today and we have to wait until funds are authorized to buy more plastic.”
“Aha!” I thought , “I’ve got them here.”
“That’s okay,” I said, “I’ll get it laminated myself.”
“But, uh, you’d have to pay for that, uh, yourself. If you, uh, wait, uh, until the plastic gets authorized, uh . . . ”
“That’s okay. Can I get my G.P. identification card now? I’ll laminate it myself.”
“Well, uh, shit, I guess, uh, Shawanda, do you know how to make I.D.s?
So I did it! I accomplished something from L.A. Vets! I got the G.P. I.D. card and it only took me two months to get the three minute process done, even if I did have to drive down to Kinkos to get it laminated myself. I am so very proud of myself. I endured their gauntlet of indifference and veteran hate and won! I EARNED this I.D. card!
But wait. You might have missed a minor detail in this pathetic story.
They ran out of laminating plastic that morning, so they said. That means they were making I.D. cards that morning. I did some investigating. It turns out they were making I.D. cards throughout my months long ordeal.
I checked. I asked around. I asked dates and times from my brother veterans. Here’s the nonsurprising scoop: black veterans were getting their G.P. I.D. cards the first time they asked for it, any time of day they asked.
There’s a lot of that going on here.
Tags: Department of Veteran Affairs, pogrom, Yiddish, Americorps, institutional racism, gauntlet, ID card, American Legion, Veterans In Progress, V.I.P. program, homeless, veterans shelter, homeless veterans, identification product, 501c, nonprofit corporation profiting off the homeless, per diem, Veterans Initiative, L.A. Vets, community service, gangbanger staff, chair warmers, computer guy, lame excuses, on a mission, running the racism gauntlet, Westside, jarvis, marquisdejolie, bum, hobo, vagabond, tramp, indigent, transient, suspension of the Constitution, pathetic story
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