The story of my tow truck driver was told in small bits and then large, extraordinary pieces.
On Friday night, as darkness fell early my car broke down — and that’s how I met Carlos, who came to give me a tow, courtesy of AAA.
Carlos had tattoos that reached his chin, and some sort of attitude. He’s the kind of person I rarely get to meet, or get to know. But there we were – he had to tow my car all the way from Ventura to Santa Monica (long story, but don’t ever back up your Audi over a curb because the front of the car might come off), long enough for his story to spill out of him in slow bits, and then big, remarkable ones.
He’s married, with three kids and another on the way. No more kids after this, he says — he’s getting “clipped,”He put it this way. It’s enough working four 16-hour shifts a week driving tow trucks. He likes the work, doesn’t mind hauling ass all the way to LA. But it doesn’t leave him a lot of time to take the kids to their sports. All boys. One was selected for the basketball team, and his Nike LeBrons were purchased at $180.
Carlos grew up near the 101 highway in Oxnard. His parents are from Mexico but he doesn’t speak Spanish — they never bothered to teach him. Instead, he ran with his entire family in the local gangs. That was his life. Some people made it. Some didn’t.
I told Carlos I was a journalist — he’d never met one — and then I asked if he’d voted. I was stunned when he suddenly turned to me and said, “Don’t judge me.”Carlos had been in prison for three-years. He told me this to explain why he couldn’t vote. I explained that he could still vote in California.
What were you doing? I asked. I asked him. His friends took him to Oxnard when he was 18, and had him running on the streets. Carlos did the deed. He was finally identified after being pulled into a list three months later. Boom — off he went to prison for three years.
Were his friends guilty because it was their idea? Nah, Carlos said. You just moved away from your neighborhood for a while and then returned to your home.
When he got out, by now in his 20s, Carlos determined he wasn’t ever going back to the gang life. He married and had a child with his wife and took odd jobs.
But one day, about six years ago, he wasn’t well. He ended up in the ER and they found he’d had a brain aneurysm. In the ICU, he was constantly in danger of losing his life. He was there for six weeks.
I replied, “Thank goodness you have insurance.” No, Carlos replied, he didn’t. He’d only been working part-time and pickup gigs. Carlos was signed up by his wife to Obamacare in the hospital’s ER.
“People can say whatever they want about Obama, but I ain’t never saying nothin’,”He said. “That saved my life.”
It was left in the cab of my tow truck for quite a while. I’d never met anyone for whom Obamacare meant the difference between life and death. Or life and a lifetime in debt. This was a real man, one of the 35,000,000 people who were added to the insurance rolls due to Affordable Care ActFor him, this legislation was a life-altering gift.
And he didn’t even vote.
Carlos still suffers from severe headaches. His body also feels different since the aneurysm. He’s only 36 and his boss doesn’t believe him and anyway he just powers through.
One of his best friends is still living the gang life and sleeping on the streets. Carlos sometimes lets Carlos sleep on his couch and allows him to shower at the house. He is determined to get out from Oxnard. He doesn’t want his kids set on the path that defined his youth.
I told him all about myself. I told him about my journey around the globe as a journalist. Carlos looked at me like I was an alien; he’d only ever been on a plane once, to go to Oregon. He’s never left the country. I talked to him about France, about its food, people, and culture. I shared with him the wonders of travel.
By then we’d gotten to my house. We parted ways together, both grateful to be reminded about the real people affected and the policy decisions made by our government.
However, my car is still a wreck.
