God Hates Lancaster

It's a short story to convey how I felt about some things in my home town.

It was a typical answer to a simple question asked rhetorically, “God, why does the wind have to be so damn hot here?”

“I'm telling you man,” Luke gulped down a cup of water and leaned down for a refill from the water dispensing cooler, “God turned on his hair dryer and left it pointed at Lancaster.”

“Why the hell would he do that?”

Luke downed another cup, “It's simple Juan...”

“John.”

“Whatever; he hates this city and everyone who stays here.”

John shook his head. Certain where this was going he still dared to ask, “And why is that?”

Luke was in a mood, “Thanks for asking...”

“No worries...”

He interrupted, "If I may?”

John smiled and offered the floor to his companion, “Thank you.” Luke paused to assure silence before continuing, “It's because this is a city without a future. Look at the people here. You see it in their faces; their actions. This valley as a whole is defeated by economy, drugs, poor education and complacency with it all.”

John responded, “Nothing new there.”

“Really?”

John nodded, confident in his assessment.

“This valley was once a leader in aerospace research and manufacturing, on the cusp of every new technology in the worlds of flight and space exploration. They tested the first jet engines out at Edwards Air Force Base. For God's sake, the shuttles were built here. Although, two have exploded in flight, but now there are streets named after them.” Luke paused, thinking to himself for a moment before continuing, “The SR-71 was tested out here. The B-2 Bomber was built and tested here. One of the biggest and best kept secrets of the military entrusted to the people of this valley. Do you think they are still sending projects like that here?”

John shrugged, “I really couldn't say. It could be that nothing is going on, or maybe they are still good at keeping a secret.”

“If there was a project of any importance going on here you could feel it, even if you didn't know exactly what it was. This city has no spirit. There is a cloud that hangs over us all, thick enough to block out any rays of hope, yet thin enough to allow all this damn heat.” Luke could see there was response. He continued, “And its not just Lancaster, it's the entire Antelope Valley; a misnomer that we will discuss later, but for now we'll focus on the downfall of our unfortunate home town.”

Luke began to walk, John in step on out the sliding door. The air changed quickly from the climate controlled inners of the department store to the dry, windblown mid-day wasteland of the parking lot. Luke exhaled before asking, “You feel that?”

John didn't bother trying to hide his discomfort, tongue out like a dead animal. He responded, “Kind of hard not to.”

“Exactly! This is our judgment. No fiery sword for our ignorance, we simply get singed by licks of flame. God wastes no plague on the people of Lancaster; he opts to let the promiscuous population spread around their own little punishments of unplanned pregnancy and venereal disease. We do have an unusual number of frogs, but its not so much a frightful rain as an annoyance of noise. 'Don't kill,' he tells his angels, 'make them uncomfortable so they may realize their mistake and seek a life more fulfilling. They must be taught to appreciate their fragile existence. Show them the joy that is my gift.'”

Luke stopped, reaching into his back pocket he pulled out a pamphlet familiar to them both, “He sends messengers to us all. They come in many forms and faiths; granted, some are a bit eccentric while others are completely void of reality, but the message is offered at our doors seemingly every day. I've never heard of or seen a place so full of people ready to save souls. Have you?”

John shrugged, “I guess not.” He laughed, “In fact, when my cousin came to visit last month the only thing he complained about more than the heat was the proselytizing.”

Luke slapped the pamphlet into John's chest exclaiming, “Exactly!”

The pamphlet was loose, taken by the conflicting breeze of desert heat and air conditioned building. John watched it dance across the entrance landing next to one of the entrance pillars. He walked slowly to retrieve the loose paper taking advantage of a rare break in his friend's rambling. Standing over the advertisement he could see the true message. It was promotion of the facility making little more mention of God than a cigarette package making mention of its dangers.

A hand came down hard on John's shoulder shaking him from his concentration. He turned to see Luke staring out ahead of them. He pointed to a pair of men. With bikes, helmets, ties and matching clothes they were easily identifiable as Mormon elders. Luke continued, “And they trek from place to place, door to door on a daily basis bugging even the most spiritual occupant or passer by with 'the word', trying to bring them to a higher understanding of God.”

John interrupted, “But they are out to convert for their own benefit. It's their message. How is this a push from God to get us to leave?”

“Are you telling me that them constantly stopping you outside the store, or waking you up on the weekend when they come ringing your doorbell doesn't make you want to leave?”

“Well,” John nodded, conceding the point, “that, and punch them in the solar plexus.”

Luke laughed, “That too, but for me it's God telling me it's time to move on. The message is there man, like the proverbial burning bush. I'm here now telling you of his one commandment. 'Thou shalt not waste your life.'”

Chuckling, John turned his mind back to work, “Come on Moses.”

They stepped cautiously onto the vehicle spotted field of asphalt; the heat rose from the black surface, whipped around by the wind, all under the constant glare of the summer sun. It was an attack on all fronts leaving them gasping for air.

“I imagine,” Luke tugged at his shirt trying to create some sort of air flow, “that this is what many of the religions of the world would define hell to be. Not just the heat, although it fits most molds. It's the despair, the complacency towards mediocrity.” Luke paused for affect placing his hand on his companions shoulder. “It's the vacuum; the void of a faith for a brighter day. 'Abandon all hope ye who enter here'”

A momentary silence was broken by a car horn. They had stopped in the middle of the roadway disrupting the flow of traffic. A gray haired woman, her knuckles, curls and angry eyes magnified under large lenses were all that were visible beyond the dash of her old Lincoln. The two potential speed bumps stepped off quickly to the sanctuary of the shopping cart corral. They waved apologetically to the grumpy woman as she passed.

Her response was muted by her windows, the the mouthed words weren't difficult to determine. Luke smiled and said, “Another happy resident.”

“Forget it.” John moved along the side to the front of the corral, flanked by an unoccupied vehicle. He touched the metal just long enough to feel the heat before pulling away, “S**t! Hot!” He shook his hand trying to forcibly remove the pain.

Luke shook his head, chuckling to himself as they both replaced the gloves removed for the sake of refreshment. John pushed from the front as Luke steered from the rear of a column of carts twelve deep. They gathered a few strays, some in the corral while others sat among the cars in ones and twos. The column was twenty or so long when they looked to each other, a silent agreement that it was enough. They stepped closer, each staring intently at the other trying to determine the strategy of the other. It was time to decide who would push; Ro-sham-bo. In unison, “One, two, three!”

Luke lost, his scissors to John's rock. A victorious laugh from one met a middle finger response from the other as they took their places on the line. A train of carts twenty or so long easily outweighed most who would push it. Luke prepared himself, stretching a bit before getting set behind the row. His body was angled towards the first cart; one leg forward, the other planted back for the push off. His chest close to the handle; arms bent and a good grip on the handle, he lifted and began to push. The column propelled forward with relative ease; this wasn't the longest he had pushed.

John's position on the line was considerably less work. His hand rested on the lead cart steering with little effort. They roared up the slight incline towards the front door blessedly clear of customers. The portal opened with a wash of cool air battling back the swelter. The first face ready to meet them as always was Gabby, dedicated greeter.

She looked to make sure the path was clear for the train before giving a smile and wave to the returning cart hunters. John gave a passing wave as he guided the lead buggy into the rear of a standing column. He looked back to Luke and motioned ahead. Luke gave a nod and prepared to thrust again. A push off the back foot and a lift; the carts, maybe thirty-plus now lurched forward while John watched for the lead basket to reach the red line. When things had lined up to his liking he threw up his hand.

The goal was complete for now; the carts inside full. John removed a few carts from the back of the new column and evened out the three rows before joining Luke who had retreated back to the water cooler. They listened and laughed as the intercom played a cheery testimonial of a faceless employee from Kenedy, Texas, “...they have done so much for our community, giving back to our schools and our children, and I'm just so happy to be a part of that...”

Each had a cup down before the page interrupted, “We need two stock-men back to receiving for a carryout. Two stock-men to receiving for a carryout.”

“Guess that's us,” Luke trashed his cup, “let's roll Juan.” He set off for receiving.

John followed, “It's John a*****e.”

“Hey, I'm just trying to help you embrace your heritage.”

“I'm not Hispanic you moron.”

“Really? I could have sworn...”

“Hey guys.” Sissy stopped them. She was a front end supervisor, which meant she had just enough power to be redundant. “You two heading back to take care of that carryout?”

The two stock-men looked at each other. Luke answered, “Uh, ya, that's kind of what we do when they page us.”

A smile was forced across Sissy's wrinkled face, “Well, don't take too long. We still need coverage up here as well.”

Luke patted her shoulder, “Don't worry Sissy, we got this.”

They continued to walk, following the departments back to receiving; Foods to the right, Pharmacy on the left. “Sissy is a prime example of what I'm saying about this town.”

John had forgotten the conversation they were having, “Oh, wait, what?”

“Look at her.” Luke stopped in front of a back to school display stocked full of notebooks. Ninety-eight cents for thirty pages. He stared back at the managers' podium. “She's forty-five years old.”

John shook his head, “No way, she's older than that.”

“Nope, forty-five. I asked her on her birthday last month. She has just aged horribly because she has spent her entire life here. She's been working for this company now for over ten years, starting at the first store they built in this town, then transferred to this one when it was built three years ago. Twelve years altogether with one company, starting with a pay just above minimum wage of twelve years ago. Now she's a C.S.M.; customer service manager, with no real managerial power. She's a tool for the assistant managers here. They don't want to deal with customer complaints, so they pay some poor fool a quarter more an hour to take the heat for them. And there she is; twelve years with this corporation making maybe two dollars more than our dumb asses and getting s**t on by every moron that don't understand that low price is often synonymous with low quality.”

John studied her, taking in the new knowledge of her situation. He placed it with what he knew of her. Unmarried with a son nine years older than him. Twenty-eight, do the math; she was seventeen when she had him. She's spent her whole life in Lancaster, twelve years working for Wal-Mart. Five of those years her son has worked for the company as well; an associate in the garden department now, he started out pushing carts...

Luke broke his concentration, “You know her son Owen in Garden? Another dead end story of this town. It's like talking to a wall with that guy. I swear he used to eat paint chips as a child.”

The page came again cutting short some nondescript song, “We need two stock-men to receiving for a carryout please. Two stock-men to receiving.”

“D****t,” they were walking again, “we're coming.”

John grasped for a silver lining, “Sissy and Owen aren't the 'everyman' of Lancaster.”

“No,” Luke conceded, “they don't represent the entire population. There are some people who come here and do alright by themselves. A few professionals who live and work here making a decent enough living, and with the housing market here starting to pick up there has been a large surge of commuter additions. People living here and driving to other parts of Los Angeles county to work, hoping that cost of living will be cheaper; for the most part it is. They are one of the exceptions. These new citizens of our unhappy little hell haven't changed anything for those who have been here for years.”

“Wait,” John stopped them just short of Chemicals, “look at all the construction that has been going on the last two or three years. All the new stores and businesses that are popping up all over the place. What do you say about that?”

“Great, more s****y little positions in octopus corporations for the youth and hapless locals to fill. And it's basically service industry; the only industry that this valley has right now other than the construction that implants these vapid shops and restaurants, which by the way server more to push out the homegrown businesses that once flourished here in yesteryear.” Luke placed his hands on John's shoulders and locked his eyes. “I'm telling you man, unless we have some desire to climb the corporate ladder within Wal-Mart, Starbucks or any of the other corporate monsters that are dominating this valley there is nothing for us here. And the worst part, the dirty little secret is that for those of us who were raised here there was little hope from the start.”

John looked confused, “What do you mean?”

“Look at me, would you say I'm a stupid person?”

“Well...” Luke shot him a dirty look making John laugh. “Not really, no.”

“And although you're a bit of an a*s, you aren't an idiot. Yet, how do you think I did in high school? Or how did you do?”

John answered quickly, “Not as well as I should have.”

“Me either. I barely made it out, and it wasn't because it was too hard, but because it wasn't enough of a challenge. I was bored and uninspired, and with teachers that didn't care I was left wondering, why should I care? It wasn't until now that I realized the answer to that question. Here I stand at twenty, working the same service type position that I'm condemning because I allowed myself to be swallowed, at least partially, by the hopelessness of this God forsaken city.”

“Ya.”

“And what's worse than the education system allowing people like us to hurt ourselves is its silent acceptance of social promotion as an alternative to correcting the problem. And for those who still can't achieve in that system, there is a complete fall from learning leaving an empty future. I would be willing to bet that, per capita, this city has one of the lowest number of high school graduates in California. At the very least the lowest median grade point average.”

John didn't answer. He couldn't give an answer he didn't have.

“So now, here we are. The lost and forgotten youth of the Antelope Valley; a name that shows its tradition of misrepresentation and mis-education. We're in a desert where no antelope roam. The young here are just wandering, ignorant of the world around them; or worse, completely aware, but for whatever reason unable to take the necessary steps to free ourselves from the grim existence.”

John started to walk again; contemplating all that had been said, trying anything to shake the reality of it. Luke hung at his shoulder as they turned the corner, the doors to receiving now straight ahead. They were halfway past Chemicals when a customer appeared from one of the aisles, “Excuse me?”

“Uh?” John was startled, his thoughts broken.

Luke stepped up, “Yes ma'am?”

“I think I'm lost.” The woman, maybe in her thirties with dyed hair and an odor of stale cigarettes, looked around in confusion. “Someone told me that paper towels were in this area, but I can't seem to find them.”

Luke was stunned, he looked at John unsure of how to react. John mirrored his feelings and tried to mask his own desires to laugh and slap the woman across the face.

Luke composed himself. “Well miss,” he pointed directly over the shoulder of the customer to the ten foot high shelves stocked full with various brands and designs of paper towels and toilet paper, “there they are.”

The woman, obviously embarrassed, covered her face for a moment before responding, “If it were a snake it would have bit me. Thank you, it's been a blond day for me.”

Luke did his best to a smile without laughing. John was quiet, still shocked by what he had just witnessed. The woman strolled away behind her cart, off to retrieve the elusive paper. Luke took John by the arm to get him walking again.

After a few steps he could speak again, “Are you f*****g kidding me?”

“Unbelievable.”

John stopped, “Hold on.” He turned pulling away from Luke's grip.

“Dude, leave it alone. What are you going to do?”

John had to find her, had to find out one thing before he could continue. He found her examining the variety of paper towels, comparing thickness and design with price and quality in an exercise of futility. John broke her concentration, “Excuse me miss?”

She was startled, responding, “Oh, um, yes?”

“Sorry, I was just wondering, how long have you lived in Lancaster?”

The woman looked upset, unsure of the reason for the question, “Why?”

John glanced back. Luke was trying to look inconspicuous, acting as if he were straightening a display. He continued with the woman, “Well, you just look like someone from my old neighborhood in Palmdale. I was wondering if maybe you lived on the West side three or so years ago?”

“I've never lived in Palmdale.” The woman let her guard down a bit, oblivious to the purpose of the vague question. “I've lived in Lancaster my whole life.”

John shook his head, “I guess not. Sorry to bother you.”

“No problem.”

John didn't hear her; he didn't care. He had heard all he needed. All further conversation could do was affirm his decision. He turned away, quickly walking past his co-worker. Luke was barely aware of his passing, caught up in his own sell of looking busy.

Luke rushed to catch up. “Hey, hold on.” John wasn't stopping; he headed roughly towards receiving before turning abruptly.

The page came again, “Stock-men to receiving for a carryout.”

Luke did his best to follow, trying not to break into an all out run. “You're going the wrong way. Where the hell are you going?”

John didn't hear it; the page was no longer for him. He marched through the aisles, Luke in tow, ignoring several customers who tried to catch his attention. They weren't his concern, no longer his problem. He hurried along, through layaway and the doors marked 'Employees Only'.

Luke was dazed, everything was passing quickly in flow towards an unsure destination, but he still followed. He watched John rushed into the managers' office and arrived in time to hear the response of the shift manager to an unknown statement.

“What?”

John repeated, “I quit. I can't stay here any longer, so I quit.”

Luke was agape with shock, but not as much as Damian. The plump assistant manager sat at the desk trying his best to take control of the situation, “This is kind of sudden. What is it you can't handle? Maybe I can help you work out whatever is bothering you?”

John wouldn't be managed, “There's nothing you can do about the situation. F**k Damian, you're part of the situation. A fat example in a bad tie and mediocre position of power that can be achieved by any moron that sticks around long enough and kisses enough a*s. I don't want this. I don't want to be part of this life, this city. I don't want to be you, so I quit.”

Confrontation was not Damian's strength. “I don't...”

There was no argument to be made. John took off his vest and tossed it on the desk saying, “God hates Lancaster Damian.” He leaned in, his face inches from his former manager's. “Get out if you can.”

John stood straight again, a grin across his face. He took his first step of freedom and followed it up as he made his way out the door. He patted Luke on the back as he passed.

Luke leaned out the door and watched his former co-worker as he turned and disappeared beyond the corner.

Damian finally found his words, “What in the f**k was that about?”

Luke looked back at the fat manager, shock still in his eyes. He shook his head, smiling as he answered, “He's making his escape.”

Still dumbfounded Damian asked, “Escape from what?”

“His escape from you, and Sissy, and every other poor loser that allows this valley to drag them down into the repetition of failure and unfulfilled potential. He's making his escape from us.”

Luke drifted. His own life played out, diminished by his friends victory. The mistakes he had made; the apathy that he had argued against so adamantly only minutes before filled every page of his life story.

Damian interrupted his thoughts, “What? What are you talking about? Did that heat mess with your head?”

Luke had his own epiphany. He found his own grin, stretching ear to ear as he addressed the man at the desk, “You know you're right. The heat definitely got to us out there, but not in the way you think.” He took off his vest dropping onto his friend's. “I quit too.”

Damian as he rose up out the chair screaming, “What the f**k am I supposed to do for carts?”

“Well Damian, that's not my problem,” he turned away, speaking over his shoulder, “and if you were smart you'd realize that it's the least of your worries.”

Damian burst out the door behind Luke as he made his way down the hall, “You can tell that punk friend of yours that neither of you better come here trying to get your jobs back.”

Luke didn't look back, he just raised waved over his shoulder saying to himself, “Thank God for that.”

He turned and disappeared into the store.

Reviews

[Leon Agnew]

You have a great way of making an average, everyday occurence interesting and thought-provoking. Reminds me of my own hometown, a hellhole in Southern Ohio. The ending, to me at least, hearkens back to Catch-22's rebellious main character. If you haven't read that already, you should. Anyhow, I liked this a lot. Really shows how just living in a place can turn a person into a sheep. Good job.