Vice President Kamala Harris has claimed to have worked at McDonald’s during her teenage years. While this detail is absent from her early resumes and memoir, it’s a common occurrence for individuals to omit certain experiences from their professional biographies. This incident, however, prompted me to reflect on my own teenage summer job with the Virginia Highway Department, a job that, despite its mundane nature, imparted invaluable lessons about the nature of government.
As a 16-year-old flagman, my duties involved directing traffic while highway employees seemed to relish their extended breaks. My partner in crime, a burly truck driver named Bud, was a master of the art of procrastination, indulging in cheap cigars and a leisurely pace. The primary task at hand was to bury any roadkill we encountered. Instead of diligently digging a hole, Bud and I would strategically position our shovels under the carcass, wait for a clear road, and then swiftly toss the animal into the bushes. This unorthodox approach ensured ample time for smoking and extended breaks.
My crew was a testament to the pervasive slacker culture that seemed to dominate the highway department. Working slowly and achieving subpar results was their code of honor. Any attempt at diligence was met with disdain, as if diligence itself was a crime. It was from this crew that I learned the art of ‘not shoveling.’ Any fool can grunt and heave material from point A to point B, but true mastery lies in turning a mundane task into an art form. The secret? Lean slightly forward with the shovel handle resting above your belt buckle, appearing busy but never truly exerting yourself. This artful display of pseudo-effort was crucial to avoid suspicion.
The summer culminated in a project to build a new road. The assistant foreman lamented the fact that the government was tasked with such an undertaking, claiming that private businesses could accomplish the same task more efficiently and cost-effectively. While initially puzzled by this statement, I came to wholeheartedly agree by the end of the summer. The highway department’s organizational capabilities extended only to painting stripes on roads. Even the placement of directional signs was riddled with errors. The more government officials involved in a decision, the more assured it was to be a miscalculated, foolish choice. The bureaucracy seemed to conspire against the intelligence of its employees.
There was one exception to this pervasive lethargy: the daily ritual of ‘The Big Fret.’ From 4:30 pm onwards, employees would gather in a waiting room, devoid of a clock, and sit in hushed anticipation. The exact moment of 5 pm was determined by one of the veterans, upon which everyone would suddenly spring to their feet as if escaping a sinking ship. While I easily adapted to the laid-back atmosphere of the highway department, my Friday night gig at a local bindery provided a stark contrast. Unloading trucks full of old books for a cash-based flat rate, I was all hustle. The bindery work paid double or triple the highway department wage, driving home the point that time was a valuable commodity to be conserved. With the highway department, time was a burden to be slain.
The realization that wasting time is a crime against life itself dawned on me during this period. Vice President Harris’s professional experience is almost exclusively within the realm of government, either enforcing laws as a prosecutor or creating new laws as a senator. It begs the question: has she ever encountered the pervasive incompetence that is the hallmark of ground-level government operations? Perhaps she has never witnessed the stark contrast between the public and private sectors. Has she learned anything beyond the allure of power? The summer I spent with the Virginia Highway Department provided a valuable education, one that transcended the traditional academic setting. It taught me about the nature of bureaucracy, the importance of time, and the contrasting work ethics of the public and private sectors. Vice President Harris, with her long career in government, has undoubtedly witnessed countless boondoggles, projects that are hastily thrown together and then quickly forgotten. While my experience with the Virginia Highway Department was a microcosm of government inefficiency, it was a microcosm that left a lasting impression.
