Digressions of a Dilettante

Digressions of a Dilettante
Vignettes of Inanity by Bud Hearn

Thursday, October 7, 2010

Poverty or Prosperity…The Rezoning Episode

Land speculators have a saying, “You’re only one deal away from poverty or prosperity, and you never know which.” It’s a hellish way to live. It’s what I do. Monday night I had a rezoning in Kingsland, Georgia. Here’s the story.

The cell’s ring tone blasts out “Bad Moon Rising.” The dogs bark, my wife covers her head with the pillow. I rub my eyes, sit up. The clock winks, 5:43 AM. Aghhh. “Hello,” I mutter. “Who’s this?”

Your lawyer,” the voice says, slurring the syllables. “You fool, people sleep at this hour. Whatcha want?” I say, dragging myself from the bed.

Did I wake you? How careless of me,” he says. His raspy voice gnaws through my phone. “Smith, you lowlife, you ruined my dream. My wife’s picture had appeared on a Napa wine label and the bottles were flying off the shelves. I was about to cash in and you call and screw it up. You drunk?”

“No. I’m working. Bad headache,” he lamented. “You gotta handle the rezoning tonight on your own.” Voices of laughter and music echo in the background. He’s a bad liar. “You’re gonna have a real bad head when I catch up with your worthless butt,” I shout. Hubris affects most lawyers, especially those with streets named after them.

So here I am in downtown Kingsland, alone. I park my car on the shady side of Lee Street and get out. I arrive an hour early for the 6:30 hearing. The town lay deserted. Two lifeless legs protrude from a darkened doorway onto the sidewalk. My boredom kicks them. An invisible voice curses me. An empty wine bottle whizzes past my head. I duck and walk on.

The CSX railroad tracks run parallel to the street. A lazy train creeps by, perhaps the epitome of the town’s daily excitement. Two young boys throw rocks at it and run. The tracks reach an abrupt dead-end a mile beyond. I wonder if this augurs the town’s future.

My curiosity peers into a storefront next to City Hall. The window reads, Prophet Josiah V. Moon, VictoryLand Temple, Healing and Deliverance. The door’s locked. I knock. Svelte shadows sway in the dark hallway. A larger shadow follows. Three vestal virgins in diaphanous gowns appear briefly, giggle and disappear. A hunchback wearing a black, spiked collar that’s connected to a chain shambles to the door. He mumbles, “A roach, a roach, flush it, flush it.” The chain jerks and the dwarf retreats. A diffused light flings the mutant’s ominous shadow against the wall. Virgins in Kingsland? Incredible. I move on, knowing I’ll return.

A mob of good ole boys block the doorway of City Hall. Toothpicks dangle from their mouths, moving up and down as they speak. Gigantic bellies hang over their belts. One twirls a miniature noose. They see me and become silent. The gauntlet parts and I walk through. Bad idea, bringing a knife to a gunfight. Alligator loafers and tortoise-shell glasses didn’t help.

I sit next to an elderly lady for protection and study the commissioners. They look bored. They sit behind a long table doing warm-up exercises of thumbs up, thumbs down. This lasts for five minutes. Is my fate being decided by clowns? I start praying.

The meeting begins. They soon call my case. The City Planner attempts to persuade the Commission. They appear to be sleeping. The elderly lady springs to life, jumps up and delivers a raging harangue in opposition to my rezoning. They wake up and listen. The Chairman soon has enough. “Sit down and shut up,” he bellows. I move to another chair when I see her reach into her purse.

The Chairman shouts, “A motion, somebody.” A hush descends upon the crowd. Someone moves for acceptance. “OK, now a second.” A voice grunts, “Second.” The Chairman barks, “Thumbs up or down.” I think I’m a gladiator in Caligula’s Coliseum. Six thumbs point up. I live and breathe a sigh of relief.

The elderly lady becomes violent, charges the Commissioner’s table. Pandemonium ensues. The mob is confused. A bailiff enters, restrains the crazed woman. In the hysteria I slip out the back door. The woman is shackled and dragged out. Her husband smiles, waves goodbye and eases down to VictoryLand Temple. I leave Kingsland.

I join hundreds of pilgrims on the I-95 heading somewhere. Our headlights bore holes into the darkness for a few seconds. It closes in quickly behind us. Poverty or Prosperity? You never know. Tonight I’m lucky!

The road goes on forever and the party never ends. Is America great or what?

Bud Hearn
October 7, 2010

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