Working in downtown Kansas City had its drawbacks. Sometimes a prisoner from the Jackson county jail or court house would escape or there would be a drive-by shooting with bullets passing outside the dock where I worked at the Kansas City State Office Building. On my trip to the employee parking lot, the old Kansas City Greyhound bus station, an escaped killer once ran by me. All too frequently there would be a take-down in our building where security would hustle off the perpetrator to the dock to be questioned and let go or locked in a police department’s paddy wagon. Sometimes late employees would walk past the arrest scene through the docks and became so accustomed to the event they never gave it much thought; as state employees our case workers were used to low pay and being abused by their clients. For the most part though, the day passed with the same boring consistency, but I appreciated the intermittent floor shows.
The arrival of mail to be sorted, the UPS pickups, its return in the afternoon, the outgoing mail, local and over-the-road deliveries proceeded without a glitch. About once a month the recyclers from Batliner came to pick up their Gaylord boxes full of paper and cardboard. I even got to use my basic Spanish once in a while with them. A salesman sometimes would drop by to introduce a new product or correct an order. In my humble position as Storekeeper I did everything including making I.D. tags for the whole building. I think most Americans know what I mean about “everything” because when the axe fell in downsizing - thanks to Governor Blunt - you inherited the victims’ jobs as well. Being flexible and low paid is what preserved me to retirement.
When it comes to the weather, Kansas City is no joking matter. Certainly it’s not like St. Joseph, Missouri which seems to have its own Artic weather pattern, St. Paul, Chicago or Fargo, North Dakota, but when the weatherman talks, people listen. I always listened real hard when he said something about ice. For me using a sick day or vacation day was always appropriate. I’ve had too much experience to jeopardize my truck and life with something so dangerous, but snow was different. I didn’t mind snow at all, in fact, in downtown Kansas City, it was quite pleasant and welcome. Maybe it was because snow is a fairly rare event there, not like it used to be when I was a kid. Of course, there are exceptions like in November, 1992 when a sheet of ice fell followed by a foot of snow 15 minutes before rush hour. It took me five hours to drive the 19 miles home after passing 46 abandoned cars on I-70 and Lee’s Summit Road.
I’ve always noticed how things become quieter with snow on the ground. The downtown streets clear of people and cars; many head home to avoid the rush hour and those horrible bottle necks like the Jackson Curve. Maybe the fondness for snow comes from the realization of the passing of seasons. Snow meant Christmas to me. People become a little more folksy and agreeable. In their mad dashes for success and fame even the big shots in their concrete and steel monoliths are reminded of their terrestrial origin and limitations.
