As an Austinite, I’d like to make some things clear… I enjoy paying taxes for ACC, I enjoy paying for the parks and the pools and the trail and the libraries and the sports. I like seeing roads being fixed, public spaces being beautified, preservation, museums, and festivals.
The charm vanishes, however, when the people in charge of the above civic responsibilities choose to sacrifice them to those who invade and destroy them… prolific violent offenders, the addicted and deranged, looters, vagrants, thieves, and the duplicitous grifters who encourage and profit off of it all.
I used to look at cities like Detroit and wonder how long it took for greatness to crumble. Living in Austin has made me realize it just takes one lousy city council session, one shift of priorities from serving the makers to coddling the takers. And shaming the makers, over and over, until self-preservation is an embarrassment.
I remember reading about an east side convenience store owner who was robbed as often as there are days in a month. By the same person. And the police would do their job and arrest him and fill out their paperwork and turn him over to the justice system and the justice system puts him right back onto the street again.
My heart breaks for those who struggle, it turns to stone for those who profit off of and thus increase the suffering. I want a justice system that considers the east side convenience store owner, the citizen who’s providing employment and services and, yes, taxes to that system and who, in return, receives this daily assault and insult.
Something’s got to give.
USA. A Mexican restaurant. We had not yet ordered anything, and the food was already arriving.
Chips. Salsa. Unrequested. Free.
I stopped the waiter. "We have not earned these."
"They just come with the table, man."
They come with the TABLE. In my land, hospitality is a debt. Every gift creates an obligation, weighed carefully, returned in the proper season with interest of feeling. Here, the gift arrives before you have even proven you can pay for dinner.
This is not an appetizer. This is a declaration: we trust you. Eat.
I ate with the gravity the moment deserved. And then — I must report this calmly — the basket emptied, and a new one appeared.
"Did we…?"
"Refill," the waiter said. "It's bottomless."
Bottomless. They have wells of salsa. The supply lines of this nation are beyond anything my ancestors imagined.
My friend warned me. "Don't fill up on chips, dude."
Too late. I had accepted three baskets. Honor demanded each one be finished — an unfinished gift is an insult. By the time my actual food arrived, I was a ruined man.
I was not hungry. I was not comfortable. I had been defeated by a courtesy.
Generosity that arrives before the request cannot be repaid. It can only be survived.
I know the rule now. I have made my peace with the basket. One basket. Two at the most.
Who am I deceiving. There is no number of baskets I would refuse. The trust of a nation is in that salsa, and I intend to honor all of it.