By Harrison Heyl
South Coast Beacon
I work as a Real Property Agent, Level III, Step E, at the County of Santa
Barbara Public Works Department. It has its pluses and minuses.
Before I get started, it should be noted that my supervisor may be reading
this, so I'll say for the record I happen to enjoy my job. But I'm also
aware that it's boring, because when I try to explain to people what I
do for a living, it has the same effect as narcolepsy.
They could be driving a motor vehicle, they could be operating heavy machinery.
When I tell them "I purchase easements for public infrastructure
such as roads, sewers and drainage basins," their eyes glaze over
- as yours are right now. By the time I conclude with, "There's a
lot of paperwork involved," they're in a deep sleep.
If my job description isn't boring enough, I'm also a member of a professional
organization called the International Right of Way Association. I went
to a week-long convention in Mobile, Ala., which featured seminars about
pipeline valuation, legal aspects of easements and principals of right-of-way
engineering. "Hot topics" included reviewing appraisals and
legal descriptions.
Mention that to the layman and he will go into a coma from boredom. The
human spirit cannot handle boredom of that magnitude. It will snap you
like a twig.
There are things I didn't realize before I started working for the county.
For example, I didn't realize how many people would take an automatic
dislike to me simply because I work for the government.
But it's true. I'll go to a party, I'm there to have a good time just
like everyone else, and I'll meet someone who will take me to task personally
for some way the government screwed them. It could be a different department,
a completely different governmental agency, the IRS, NATO - these details
are unimportant. They're ticked off, and they're holding me responsible.
I find myself saying things like, "I'm sorry you can't get permits
to build your dream porn palace next to an Amish day-care facility or
dump used motor oil in the environmentally sensitive wetlands behind your
auto shop. I had nothing to do with those matters. I did not personally
pass the law that required you to register as a sex offender, nor did
I post the notices on your front lawn. That's the Probation Department.
Just grab an hors d'oeuvre, and move along."
One aspect that makes working for government interesting is the occasional
bomb threat.
The other day I got to work and one of the buildings was closed off with
yellow police tape. Law enforcement officers and bomb-sniffing dogs swarmed
the area. Evidently a suspicious bag lunch was left unattended in the
Recorder's Office. Sheriff's deputies were trying to determine whether
it was a bomb or just a bag lunch, and if it was just a bag lunch, which
one of them would get to eat it.
It turned out to be a turkey club sandwich with a bag of chips and a cookie.
I don't think the Sheriff's Department should be the only county employees
eligible to draw straws for this windfall simply because they're the first
ones on the scene. If it's on county property, any county employee should
be allowed to put in a bid.
There is another perk - besides the bomb threats - that comes with working
for county government: Board of Supervisors meetings. There should be
a cover charge for this public proceeding purely for the entertainment
value.
Absolutely anyone can get up, address the board for three minutes and
appear on public access television. You can be the village Einstein or
the village idiot, you have three minutes to appear on TV addressing the
highest level of political representation in the county.
I think everyone should work for the government for three years, like
compulsory military service in Israel. That would give people an appreciation
for the important work the government performs, and hopefully it would
decrease the number of bomb threats.
Frequent Beacon contributor Harrison Heyl is
a life member of the International Right of Way Association. He can be
reached at h.heyl@verizon.net but, please, no bomb threats.
