Thinking

San Diego is a border town. It's not right on the border, but considering that the trolley I take to work is the same trolley that goes to Tijuana, San Diego is close enough.

Living in this border town, I see a few things I don't usually see in Boston. For one, the men who line up outside the Home Depot every morning are actual people, as opposed to the pictures I usually see in The New York Times. The line makes me sad. The Captain pointed out that the line isn't all bad, because people who need work are getting it and people who need work done are accomplishing it. What makes me sad, though, is when the well runs dry. When do the workers stop waiting? How long do they wait? How often do they wait for nothing? What are they thinking about?

On my way back from the trolley station tonight, a man in his car stopped to ask me about the trolley schedule. He wanted to know if his passenger, a Mexican worker, would be able to ride the trolley back to Tijuana. I told the driver how often the trolley ran in the morning, and where the worker would have to change trains in order to get back to Mexico. It struck me as odd; if the man were willing to drive the worker to the train station, then why not just drive him to the border? It's not that far.

The worker sat silently in the car, watching us privileged Americans discuss how best to deliver him back, away from here.

Photo credit: L. M. Otero/Associated Press