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Meeting with 'Jim'; inside the Ford Rouge plant 2004-03-18 - 4:17 p.m. 
Soundtrack: "Loveless" album by My Bloody ValentineIt was an incadescent monday by anyone's recollection. Snow fell in Jim Jone's proportions. The white was a half-blind beautiful, with a meanwhile mental eclipse of the day itself. It was as if memories couldn't reach escape velocity for recollection. Taking a stab, I could think of Dork's wonderfully infectious giggling and attentively almond eyes, the ganging of the three dogs, which sparked off happy urinary riots as someone called "outside?" It wasn't until that night that my memory becomes clear. We'd tried to get a hold of Jim over three nights and two occasions. Odd problems and bad roads had kept her visit on the eves of possibility. The pre-Jim show was ludicrously heady, the sortof 'ludicrous' that sitcom writers divine in lines of coke. I'll preface this all by saying that 'ludicrous' is not a comment on any of these people, or in any way is meant as a negative comment on them. I chose to engage the situation as it is--so don't worry for my count. Now, I'd be typing at good friend #1, who I hadn't seen much of. Good friend #2, who I also 'spoke' with, suddenly seemed terribly sad. I worried about her, tried to be comforting/talk about the situation, and wished her well when she went off to cry. Good friend #1 wished to talk on the phone, which I was all for since we hadn't done that before. Good friend #3 dropped a bombshell when good friend #1 had just phoned me. It was as if fate wanted me to decide which to talk to. Fucking fate in the ear, I tried talking to both simultaneously--one with my voice, the other my fingers--and sorta kinda pulled that off until the written details got complicated. At that point, Jim buzzed through good friend #1 and mentioned she was lost. I gave the phone to Weavie (the direction master), then focused on comforting good friend #3; I felt somewhat bad that I couldn't organize my thoughts more, since she's always been there for me. I tried to squeeze out the gist of it and emphasize that I cared for her well-being and that she had alot of potential. That shit usually doesn't mean much when you're sad and/or depressed--been there, done that, bought and caught the dildo--but I sincerely tried. With Jim on the way, good friend #1 and I talked for a little while longer. It helped me put our friendship in perspective and to strain out some of the paranoia. Wrapping things up with good friend #3, Jen called back up and felt she was lost again. I stood outside, barefoot, pacing back and forth as we negotiated the rest of the drive up to where Dork's place was. Deep breath in, and out. So finally, Jim come from Novi to our secluded armpit of Dearborne. 2 dimensions hadn't done her justice. Her face was a sculpted oval of high cheekbones slopped down to skin that occasionally dimpled. The smile flashed with light laughter as an afterthought. It was the type of beauty found in art galleries, enticing and distant. The three of us spent several hours talking, with occasional breaks where cross-legged conversation meandered between the two of us. We compared cameras. I showed her some of my shots. Some time at 5 in the morning, she and I decided to find a place to eat. We'd received detailed instructions from Weavie, Dork's boyfriend. He'd mentioned they'd be a no-brainer. Well, he'd be right for us getting there. The Ram's Horn was a cut above Denny's, with red fluourescent accents obscuring a tiny cathedral roof, right around where the cashier hub was. We sat down. I talked with the awkward, halting normality of food deprivation. She laughed and replied regardless, which made for a good appetizer to the food. Finishing that up, our next challenge was getting back. It was technically 7-10 minutes away, but we had crossed two different freeways to do it. I didn't know the area; her sense of direction was off. We did get onto the service drive of the right street, but with nothing familiar in sight. We were blind. The sun was just coming up at 6. We phoned Weavie and asked him for directions. We ended up doing this on 4 or 5 separate occasions; somehow north and south had gotten lost in the mix, only ending when we drove to the end of a large lake in Suburban Somehere. At around 7am, though, we finally found our way back, she dropped me off and I zonked. I later learned she'd had fun. At least Dork and I didn't come of as foolish, I suppose. ---- The bed at 7am part had the potential to mightily suck. Seester's husband, Bob, had planned to take me into the Ford Rouge plant for a tour/illegal photography spree. That would begin at 3pm. I ended up waking around 2:12, spent 30 minutes recovering from waking up, dressed, then threw on snow weather clothes--complete with a beanie. I wasn't sure what to say while we drove to the Ford site, or if I should say anything at all. I opted for looking out the window through my oval show glasses, complete with light blue lens. I pondered the aeshetically alternative lifestyle I was living over here. Bob flagged us into the facility through a semi-impressive security check-point. We wound around tall brick buildings and stopped. He indicated that I should put on a blue Ford baseball cap, a white "marshmellow man" jumpsuit and thick safety goggles. My cover story--if anyone inquired--was that I was a Business major interning at a company Bob had worked for. All I needed to mention was that I was in Sales. Anyone would instintantly discount me as a 'complete fucking idiot' and leave me be. I liked Bob's style, and the jumpsuit too. Trying to describe the entire process of making a car would only interest a few of you. I thought it was fascinating trying to put all the pieces together. Bob was there at every step, describing in understandable detail what an E-Coat was, why we wore the jumpsuits in this paint section, how parts of the assembly needed to be changed here and there. In a way it was a look into how an Engineer thinks, and how industry systematizes everything. It was an invaluable and cool experience. Partly, though, I was distracted by keeping my camera underwraps. As Bob mentioned, I had to be discreet and shoot from the hip and never, NEVER use my flash. The lighting conditions were about bare minimum for my cam without getting slobs of grain in the image. At first I tried opening my jumpsuit, fishing it out, closing the suit and snapping when no automotive workers were in sight; thankfully security didn't make any real rounds, or had any cameras in the human areas. I ended up thinking of a clever solution: I opened and carried the fold-out clipboard that Bob gave me, pen in my left hand, my camera tied to my right wrist and snuggled in the sleeve. All I needed to do was shift the book to the left hand, flip out the camera, shoot and slip back in one-handed. I mentally patted myself on the head for that thinking. As we drove away I thought it was ironic: just a few mornings ago, I'd gotten chewed out by security for taking pictures of a "private facility" from public property. Now I'd breezed through the entire plant, not having to answer to anyone, and barely even being acknowledged by the workers or mucky-mucks. Bob had that air of importance about him in his inspections--that and alot of people seemed to know him. I highly respect the guy, and his acerbic humor made the trip a pleasure. Bob hung out for awhile with us, then left right around when a pasta dinner was put on by Weavie. I ended up polishing off the rest of the arabic food after the pasta. ---- Being that St. Patrick's Day can take up an entire entry--and this one is getting on there--I'll end it now. Well, not just yet. Dork has mentioned that he and a bunch of people he knows want to go a Blues show, later on this evening. It will involve smoke, beer, and music. These have been our three main food-groups for the past week (though the smoke part is just second-hand for me). Right, the end..and then Dr. Pepper... |
