LIaDVp.23: Fuck America

September 23, 2004

My my what has happened since I last sat down? Well, for starters I stood in an employee men’s room with our environmental director and human resources director (a woman) watching a cup of my piss to see if I’m a crystal meth user. It took about 20 minutes huddled around my urine, all of us extremely uncomfortable, before a little strip of paper displayed a little black stripe that indicated I am a good person, not a bad person to be disposed of. I was singled out by Xanterra’s random drug test policy (reportedly required by the National Park Service) to offer up my waste so my managers can stand next to me in the john, waiting to see if I have a job or not. Completely unprovoked. Totally random. I just finished helping the boat ops wrap up their operation before donning a green vest to help out at the lodge for the rest of the season. I was thanked by management and may even get a raise. I helped the company pass an environmental audit by getting grilled by an outside inspector with the rest of the boat people. But there I was this afternoon, on the first day of my new job, discussing a possible suspension as my test appeared to be showing positive for tweek.

First Jack, the really cool Canadian environmental director, inserted a plastic card into the jar of piss and nothing happened really. Two of the four drugs (marijuana, cocaine, meth and opiates) came out negative. "Okay this shows up if you’re a good person and this shows up if you’re a bad person," Jack jokes. "You can even tell if what you’re smoking is any good. If it’s from BC." Two stripes showed on two, meaning negative. If one stripe shows, you fail and are kicked out on your ass. If no stripes show, which they didn’t on two of the drugs, we weren’t really sure what to do. So we stuck another card and waited. The female HR director had been waiting outside and came in, really uncomfortable in the men’s room. I almost spilled my piss on her. And we waited. And waited. Marijuana gets two stripes and I think Jack breathed a sigh of relief, since he likes me and suspected I may smoke a little dope. Coke gets two stripes. Now I'm just getting bored and annoyed. I voiced my annoyance at the fact that I’m a solid employee and somehow I’m in here with these two really kind people, staring at my urine. It’s so invasive and abusive. It’s disgusting and offensive.

Jack tells me this isn’t his regular job, he’s just helping out since Jennifer didn’t want to stand next to me while I peed. Jack starts telling me about how in Canada, none of this is constitutional. It’s an invasion. And it was. It was fucked up and humiliating, and is active proof that this country is not the leader of the free world. That’s all horseshit and propaganda and me in that bathroom proves it. We’re still waiting. What happens hypothetically, I ask, if the stripes don’t show up. Opiates show up two stripes and another solitary stripe shows up under meth. It’s been about 10 or 15 minutes now. It’s supposed to take three. Well, Jennifer says, if you deny the drug use, we’ll send it to a lab and you’ll be suspended in the meantime. Anger. "If I am fired for crystal meth use, we’re going to have a problem. A big problem." Jack chuckles nervously. "I know Tate, and he’s clearly not using meth. Maybe pot, but definitely not meth." We start to nervously chat about what an awful drug it is. My face is burning red from anger and embarrasment at me and this cool guy and this nice middle aged woman waiting for my pee to not be evil. Now it’s getting downright uncomfortable. Guys are waiting outside the bathroom for us to leave. I never saw it, but Jack insisted there was a second line. We made a couple of jokes about feeling closer after the bonding experience and I left.

It’s not a huge deal really, just a piss test. But I hate going to the doctor, even for perfectly legitimate reasons. To be called by my bosses out of work for an examination of my body chemistry, perfectly legally and upheld in the court of the land, to answer for a bullshit crime that I didn’t even commit, well, if that’s American, then fuck America. I’ll go to Canada. But what really started to upset me was when I started to wonder, "Shit, what if I was a tweeker? What if I did test positive for what may be the most depraved and soulsucking manmade drug out there?" The answer is that I would have been fired without a second thought, as a criminal, a reject and an unsavory individual totally unfit for minimum wage work in a national park.

That’s the fucked up part. Not me being drug tested, but the consequences for a person who is really drugsick. Kicked to the curb to die, from a place that is otherwise run by people with nowhere else to go. Fugitives from the world, not welcome here if you’ve used drugs.

What else? Oh, boats are done. I’ve officially become a bellhop/front desker/housekeeper. Friday night Casey came to visit, driving in a snowstorm and an undistinguishable Rim drive to make it here. It took her hours to get through the flurry all the way down to my dorm. When she arrived, she said the entire road was a mess. We started drinking with Dru, waiting for Stan to get home. We finally drove up to the Rim to get him and realized quickly that she was right. The whole road was covered in fresh fallen snow. That night we drank bombers of microbrew and wine Casey brought down from Portland. She and Stan and Dru and I had a great time, listening to Cole Porter and trying to dance in a four by four space in my dorm room. Stan kept trying to show us this swing move and wouldn’t stop. He dropped Dru on the floor on her back. I think we pissed off my upstairs neighbor again.