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| www.dphilipchalmers.net |
“My position?” I felt like a politico, the way he asked it was as if I had to say the right thing or I wouldn’t get his vote or something. I chuckled, loosened my tie and before answering him, I asked, “I’m sorry, but I don’t understand how that relates to this discussion?” I had not even talked about wages, income or anything to do with this topic so you can understand my confusion, I continued, “I’m not sure what you mean by my position, can you explain that please?”
“I mean…” the man stood up as if it would make things more clear as he repeated exactly the same question, “What is YOUR position on raising the minimum wage to $15 an hour?”
“Well, okay…” he was asking a bizarre question, so I answered in kind, “Truthfully I simply don’t believe in money at all, so if the masters want to pay the slaves more, so be it, right?”
“What!?” the man’s belly jiggled over his belt as he raised his hand again, “That’s not the right answer…should the government raise the minimum wage or not?”
“I don’t care.” I stood fast for a moment because I still didn’t understand how this was remotely relevant to the issue of mental health in the workplace, “I think my time well worth a great deal more than just $15 an hour personally, I bill myself out around $50 an hour as an editor or author, I get a specific fee for these kinds of presentations that equals much more than $15 an hour and I bet the same is true for you and just about everyone else in here except the wait staff!” I felt like a politico for a moment and then sneered a little, “Is that the right answer?”
“No!” his belly continued to jiggle as his round face slowly turned red, “You got disability for many years and that was based on your income before you became disabled, so you should take this question more seriously!”
“You’re right…I did get a disability check for several years before I got published…” I nodded, now understanding the connection this man was trying to make, I thought, “But I haven’t accepted a job for minimum wage since I was in my teens…I think it was $3.85 an hour the last time I got minimum wage. But that doesn’t matter really, n matter if the minimum wage is $4 bucks an hour or three times that amount, it’s still the worker’s money and they are entitled to it…”
“Gave it to them?” I chuckled into the mic I was holding, “I thought they worked for that wage?”
“They work for whatever we give them…” he sneered back, I almost expected a pig sounding snort to follow but instead he said, “You would work for minimum wage if it was all you make too!”
“I doubt it…” I shrugged, “I would rather create my own work than work for a soul sucking jerk, sir…in fact, when I was without employment several times in the past, I never accepted a minimum wage because I prefer to freelance, being a 1099 worker over being in a job…do you know what job stands for?”
“It stands for the American Way…”
“That might also be true…” I grinned, “If the American Way is to be Just Over Broke in a J-O-B! But the truth is, as business leaders you should know this…a strong leader lets those who work for them prosper, you build loyalty and trust, your business will grow. Yes, $15 an hour is very fair.”
“That’s stupid.” The man jiggled his belly back into his seat, saying something I couldn’t hear to the people around him…all of them male, over 50 and white colored people. I waited for a moment, I wanted to give the guy another shot, but he didn’t take it and so I pointed to another guy, a man with a darker colored skin, he looked to be of Indian or Pakistani decent; he was sitting next to the dark colored men and behind the two brown colored men and yellow colored guy on the far left side of the audience. I smiled and nodded, wondering if this segregation was by design or choice, the man stood up, “Thank you Mr. d’Philip Chalmers…I enjoyed your talk and will purchase your book afterwards…”
“My publisher thanks you, my wife thanks you, my children thank you…” I smiled, “And I thank you too! What’s your question, sir?”
“I have a son, he is 19 years old and had developed BiPolar Disorder…” this is a common element in many questions I get, everybody knows somebody with BiPolar and they always ask me about the people in their lives who are BiPolar, “He is not doing well either.”
“I’m very sorry, it’s really hard, especially in the beginning.” I asked, “When was diagnosed?”
“In 2012, he was 17 and got arrested for marijuana…” the man was timid and shy to talk so personally about his son in public, “He said it helped him with racing thoughts. I did not understand and I thought he was lying but you say it does help with racing thoughts?”
“Yes, it helped me, that’s what I can truthfully say.” I smiled, “As with any medication, different people have different reactions…I didn’t do so well on most of the pharmaceutical drugs I tried but I respond very well to cannabis…is your son in treatment now?”
“He is seeing both a doctor and a therapist but is not doing well, he is worse.” The man’s voice sounded truly sad, his eyes, from where I was standing, looked watery, “The doctors said he cannot help and he should be put into an institution.”
“Perhaps you should try a different doctor if the one you have can’t get the job done?” I shook my head, “I’m sorry, I have little tolerance for doctors who give up and want to stick the hard case in a place that will probably damage him more…at very least, get a second or third opinion, okay?”
“Thank you Mr. d’Philip!” the man bowed slightly and I returned the peaceful gesture, then as an after-thought he asked, “So, you think marijuana will help him too?”
“It helped me, yes with racing thoughts…” I can never offer a diagnoses or suggest medical advice, aside from not being a doctor myself, there’s a huge liability factor to consider. I’m a born rule breaker, perhaps it’s a symptom, I don’t know, but I said, “Only your son will know exactly what’s right for him…nobody will know and understand his mind and body more than him…ever. He may not have all the tools and resources he needs, he might not even be honest from time to time, but the truth is that his only hope for a solid recovery and successful management is within his own mind and spirit. He cannot wait for a doctor’s salvation, he must create his own.”
“That’s bullshit!” someone shouted from the other side of the audience, on the very white colored skin part of the room, “Pot smokers should be locked up!”
“Excuse me?” the person didn’t answer, there was no response. I didn’t really need one, this is one my hot topic buttons, so I let it fly for a moment, “Cannabis is simply a plant, it’s something created by nature, some may call it one of God’s creations…to attempt to make laws about a plant is not only the height of a pompous and arrogant thought, it’s also morally, ethically and simply wrong. Cannabis is a plant with both healing properties and commercial opportunities, it’s already legal in many states and more are sure to follow this green tide very soon…Pot smokers should not be locked up, the people who put them in jail are the real criminals!”
“That’s a false claim.” Said another random voice, this time from the back, in the sea of white colored skin, “Marijuana always leads to harder drugs.”
“Actually, that’s been proven false several times over…” I quipped, “The real gateway drug, if you want to go there, is sugar…we get our kids hooked on that substance when they’re young and nearly every addict to date started with sugar, not cannabis…more people have also tried cigarettes and alcohol before cannabis and very few people who use cannabis regularly ever develop other addictions…Cannabis, in fact, is not even physically addictive like cigarettes, alcohol, pharmaceutical drugs or sugar!”
“Bullshit!” someone called out, another voice shouted from a different part of the room, “Hippie!”
“Indeed…” I laughed, “You call me names, label me with your labels but that doesn’t change the truth…cannabis is both good for many patients and better than all other legal substances available to any American adult…I know you don’t like to hear it, but that’s both the truth and the future.”
“Asshole!” someone else said, another coward who didn’t stand up, “Prove it!”
“Prove it?” I laughed and lost it, “You are the ones who have the burden of proof, not me. I am my own proof and as far as my life matters, that’s all that’s important. I believe in a higher power, call it God or Nature, but everything we need in life is provided by this planet and cannabis is one of those blessed commodities…Government and narrow minded followers are losing this fight because it’s not the right fight…we are going to be getting stoned on your fucking graves!”
“Hey now! Foul! Freak!” I heard all kinds of things as everyone started getting loud and upset. The melee of dialogue digressed into many loud voices shouting at me and me responding randomly to the voices I could understand, “Go back to San Francisco!”
“I don’t live in San Francisco, thank you…” I sneered, now I was putting on my arrogance armor and getting ready for battle, “I know many of you can’t comprehend this, your mind is so brainwashed, you march in suck lock-step with the government, you believe everything you’re told…oh wait, you’re a bunch of rich old white dudes, that explains a lot!” I laughed and saw the multi-colored faces on my left smiling as well, “You are part of the problem, in fact you are most of the problem!”
“I think I lost my appetite…” I lied, I was a hungry motherfucker, “I’m going to check on Peter at the table and perhaps get home a little early, it’s way too hot today!”
“Thank you, Mr. Chalmers…” the kind lady shook my hand, “This was one of the most lively and entertaining presentations we’ve ever had before, I’m sorry our audience was so rude.”
“They were just doing what they know how to do, no problem.” I smiled and excused myself, “Thank you for having me, I wonder if we sold any books yet?” I laughed, thinking it was a fat chance we sold more than one or two copies, “I know I sold maybe one from the stage!”
“I think you did well…” she smiled again, “Even if you don’t sell any books, you did good.”
“Thank you again.” I walked away, heading towards the back of the room where Peter was at the table. I was expecting him to be packing up the books and information already but before I could get there, another man stopped me to thank me for speaking my mind honestly, “It’s who I am, it’s what I do…” I shook the man’s hand and he handed me a copy of my book, asking for my autograph, “Really? Thank you, yes, most certainly…who should I make it out to?”
That kind of encounter happened several more times before I got back to the table; people stopped me, thanked me and asked for my autograph. When I reached Peter, he was taking down names and addresses to send copies of the book, we had sold out of the 58 copies we had on hand and he sold another 24 copies without a book, they just paid and asked for me to sign it before we sent them out! I was elated, I was confused and I was more than anything, very Grateful for this surprise support. Peter was talking about how this was our best outing, we sold more books today than any other single day at a live appearance. I was listening and nodding when the man with a BiPolar son walked up with his copy of the book, he was a short and happy looking man. I smiled and interrupted Peter’s overview as the man handed me his copy of the book, “Thank you for getting the book, I hope you enjoy it.”
“No, thank you…” the man again bowed his head slightly so I returned the gesture, “Could you address this to my son, his name is Tariq?”
“Sure…I’d be honored.” I wrote a longer than normal passage, wishing the son good luck and inviting him to contact me if he wished. When I was done, I handed it to the kind man and apologized, “I’m sorry, it got a little out of hand and loud there…typically that doesn’t happen.”
“Typically I don’t come to these functions for that very reason.” the man chuckled, “These are not the kind of people I fraternize with either, I am sorry for your trouble today.”
“Oh don’t be, I was asking for it!” I laughed, “Thank you again for coming…why did you come today, if you don’t usually come to these gatherings, why today?”
“Because of you, your topic, your book, my son…” the man held my hand a little longer than a normal handshake, “I am a member of the chamber, I got the informative handbill and because of Tariq, I had to come hear you talk about BiPolar Disorder.”
“Did you hear what you needed to hear?” I asked, “We got sort of sidetracked on the cannabis issue, did you have other questions?”
“Certainly, but I will read your book first…” the man let go of my hand, “Perhaps my questions will be answered in your pages. Again, thank you for coming, I am sorry for my…”
“You have nothing to be sorry for, sir.” I stopped him and then changed the subject quickly, “Do you know where the rest room is located?”
We sold more books today than any other single event to date, was it really because I “let them have it” as Peter kept saying? Did I “let them have it” or was I just being foolish in letting myself be baited into such a vile encounter? I think that I feel bad, in part, because it went down in a way I never intended. I didn’t plan on that scene and being the kind of person I am, I like to have most things thought out before I ever start…but not this time. It went completely sideways and although I rolled with it well enough (I guess), it’s unnerving that it was not part of “my plan” because when shit happens unexpectedly, it triggers my worst disorder (PTSD). It takes me weeks to recover from a single PTSD episode, there are no medications to help me (not even cannabis) much and my best option is withdraw, lick my wounds and do a lot of mediation, exercise and take long, solo walks in the woods or mountains. Yet that did not happen this time, perhaps I am stronger than I think I am? Maybe I should try this new tactic again, be more “in the face” about these issues and call people out on their bullshit in public because it sure is good for business. It will help me sell more copies, that will build my audience and the overall impact will be positive. At what cost, however, if it can potentially cripple me inside? I spoke with my publisher on the way home and he agreed, it was an awesome thing to sell so many books but not at the expense of my well being; after all, he reminded me, I still owe two more books to him in the next four years!
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| www.jerryday.org |
Peace,
d'Philip
29 July 2015
The San Joaquin Valley
Republic of California
Earth
