I’ve decided to renew my offer to accept an appointment as Manager of the Maine State Ferry Service. A couple of years ago I first extended that offer to Governor King, suggesting I serve for nothing for one year. If, at the end of that year, the Governor were to determine that I had not done a better job than the person then ensconced he could dismiss me without compensation, thereby, at the very least, saving the state the money it would have otherwise given to that bureaucratic function-ary. I had fully expected my offer to be accepted, gratefully for that matter, and was stunned when it didn’t even generate a response. For a while my nose was seriously out of joint. That, however, was then, this is now and I’m a forgiving man.
I’ve never understood why my offer was not accepted at the time. My resume contained a history of public service even, ironically, as Manager of a ferry service elsewhere and a record of the sort of accomplishments upon which the DOT seems to place such a premium. I had, for example worked hard to dispel the notion that I or my agency had any obligation whatsoever to be responsive to the public and even less interest in what they had to say. I tore down a perfectly serviceable old terminal building that provided a waiting room with a view of incoming ferries, whose walls featured artful advertisements of island businesses (thereby providing a much needed boost to island economies), which had my predecessor’s desk right out in plain view where he could be seen and could see, and which featured restrooms that allowed patrons to flush their own toilets and regulate the faucets.
I replaced it with a vast three story mausoleum whose upper two floors served only to support a bell tower and clock, and then disabled the clock. I created my own space deep in the interior of the building where no member of the public and few of my own staffers could find me. I put a lock on the door to the inner sanctum through which access could be had only by those to whom the combination was known, further diminishing the likelihood that anyone, in particular the public, could ever find me. I had a thick wall of glass constructed separating my ticket agents so effectively from the annoying and persistent public that neither could hear the other. Consequently, that it might appear I was interested in improving communication on at least that level, I had serpentine electronic stalks tipped with ineffectual microphones installed through the glass which, if the prospective traveler pressed his or her nose against the glass and spoke directly into the little transmitter and if the agent took the tip of the wand into her mouth, permitted spotty communication although the agent was often difficult to understand given that her mouth was full.
I had once been responsible, coincidentally, for designing a passenger ferry and I devised some particularly devilish seating of which I am particularly proud. Truth be known, chairs can be constructed in such a way as to make it uncomfortable to remain seated for longer than 15 minutes or so. A similar chair, the curves and ridges of which are intended to aggravate and eventually inflame the sciatic nerve, is commonly used in fast food places to discourage lingering. No doubt they are used in Department of Transportation planning meetings too, since, admirably, it appears that no more than 15 minutes is ever given to the serious consideration of transportation issues. The forwardmost bench was 33 inches wide. Moving aft, though, the remaining benches became progressively narrower. (Progressive is, admittedly and thankfully, a term with limited use when applied to the Maine State Ferry Service but is particularly appropriate when used in conjunction with a negative such as narrow, as in narrowing vision, narrowing range of options, narrowing tolerance for constructive input, and their narrowing sense of themselves as a public service). The width of the aftmost bench was about 23 inches. Architectural Graphic Standards provides that a seat for the nominal posterior be 21 inches. The entire cabin then, with a total of 330 linear inches of seating, would statistically hold 15.7 average-sized passengers. In fact only 12 could be even remotely accommodated but it allowed me to inflate the posted seating capacity thereby satisfying a contractual requirement that the cabin accommodate 15 people.
I am particularly proud of two accomplishments. The first was the creation of parking regulations that resulted in the Ferry Service collecting $100 each from islanders who were promised a non-existent parking space. The second was the imposition of rules governing the means by which islanders can secure vehicular passage on ferries departing the island. These were so draconian and mind boggling that they rivaled the Tax Code. These ridiculous regulations, constructed in such a way as to spawn endless revisions and amendments, sustain frustration and confusion, encourage and nourish hate and discontent among the islanders (thereby deflecting it from the Service), and waste so many individual hours which in turn so handicap the productive time of these hapless individuals, that I’m surprised there wasn’t a revolt. Maybe they were too tired.
I forbade advertising of island businesses except on a back wall rarely ever seen by the public. The clocks at my office and in the branch terminals had always been fast and had, in turn, produced many late comers to the myriad timing requirements of the aforementioned rules. Actually adjusting our clocks so they were in sync with the rest of the world was, of course, way too much trouble so I came up with a creative and state-of-the-art alternative. I persuaded the State to budget money for an Atomic Clock. It resets itself each day from an orbiting satellite that transmits a signal to its receiver. Unfortunately the clock hangs on a wall that, for some reason, is to the passing satellite what the dark side of the moon is to Houston and so one of our employees has to remember to take it down from the wall and hold it out the window each morning at the appointed orbital time so the signal might be received and the clock reset.
Finally, I installed toilets that have no apparent means of flushing. The thing decides on its own when the individual seated is in need of a flush and produces the most entertaining responses. We can hear the cries of dismay followed by the wails of surprise way out in the offices.
Doubtless the Governor will be delighted and relieved to discover that I remain willing to serve my country in this humble way. He has my number.
– Phil Crossman
Vinalhaven