By working within the vicinity of the cart she works at, I casually know a woman who tells people she is a CA. Meeting her was the first time I heard of a CA, which she claims stands for Chiropractic's Assistant. I believe she is what she says she is only because a person who once worked here with her, reportedly a chiropractor, used to introduce himself as Doctor Brent. I still don't know his last name, as I know most doctors by their last names.

Hello. You can call me high school graduate Santosh. This is my mother, college graduate Nancy. It sure is a pleasure to meet you.

The more I thought Doctor Brent's introduction to me, his title pasted to his first name, the more I figured, this must be the way of the chiropractor. Herein the existence of a C.A. is relatively feasible.

Taped to the cart at which the CA and Doctor Brent work are various posters. One poster features people of various races, ages and ethnicities engaging in a variety of different sport-related activities. They are all happy and smiling because they know "how much you value chiropractic depends on how much you value sports!"

Or so the poster claims.

Before we realized we had a hard time talking without my steering the conversation into an argument, we engaged in a dispute about the importance of her job (and the public's tolerance for her bullshit). This began when she told me what turned out to be cliche synonymous with beginning conversations with fellow, yet unfamiliar mall coworkers (second only to, "I really hate the mall.") "Goodness, people can be so rude." This is true. People can be rude especially when the people are in the process of engaging in the great American sport of Capitalistic Consumption. Not only do rude people come in all different shapes, colors, sexes and sizes, but their brands of rudeness often differ. The CA determines whether or not a passerby is rude based on their reaction to her loaded question(s):

"How are you doing today?"

Immediately followed by,

"When was the last time you had your spine checked?"

Various people respond in different ways. The occasional passerby will stop and allow her to define her title, explain her function as a CA in the world, illustrate the life-changing importance of chiropractic care and finally check their spines. The people who allow this are few. They are often elderly, experiencing mental or financial troubles, or separated from the rest of Maine's population by a language barrier (often hispanics) or/and by the color of their skin (Maine is roughly 92% while, I believe the second whitest state next to New Hampshire).

The rest of the public decides not to accept the "Free Body Function Analysis", as the sign on the cart reads, and they move on. Most people respond to "when was the last time you had your spine checked" with "oh, today", or "three days ago, thank you". The CA realizes this is absurd as I do. I've done a couple hundred things in the past month. Thinking about, let alone analyzing my spine has hasn't come close to registering on my list of all thats been accomplished. Herein, I find it hard to believe that, penciled in on the weekly agenda of 95% of Maine's citizens asked at random is, "seek body function analysis."

Unless, of course, I am the outsider. Based on many of the obscurities I've learned about working at the mall, I am fully willing to accept this possibility.

The CA hears this fabricated excuse hundreds of times a day, almost as often as she delivers her line, and turns to me to share a moment of, "can you believe another person said that?" Chuckle. I am usually too engulfed in my book or writing to fully appreciate this potentially shared moment.

People who do not accept the analysis or claim to have already had one explain, "trust me, you wouldn't want to see what condition my spine is in" as if they've encountered unmentionable, unexplainable stress unknown to any living being on this earth.

Even a CA.

The remainder of the public walk by without saying anything. The CA perceives this as an affront to her and the service she graciously offers to those who frequent the mall on behalf of her very caring (hundreds of dollars per visit) employers.

"They're not rude," I told her. "They're realistic. They don't want to hear your bullshit anymore than you want to say it."

That's where I was wrong, though. I assumed she didn't want to stand in the middle of the mall, asking random people if she could analyze their spines. "I help people", she explained. "I like helping people. If they don't want my help, fine. They don't have to take it."

I dared ask how she helped people.

"I really, really believe in chiropractic care. Without it, a lot of people are in danger. I let people who weren't otherwise familiar with it, know about chiropractic care."

"But I sell banzai trees," I rebutted. "I could stretch that to being a service for people but no matter how far I stretched it, no matter how intensely I back up the importance of natural oxygen renewal that only the maintenance of indoor horticulture can bring to a home, it can't be ignored that this is what I do in exchange for money. This is my living. Serving soup at a soup kitchen, working for Habitat, volunteering anywhere helps the public. What we partake in are our jobs. They are, first and foremost, in our very best interest. It's not like we're working with victims of child molestation or saving endangered sea species at Wood's Hole. Selling a dogma to the people to whom you sell problems isn't help. Its our trade."

I explained the poverty levels in Maine and I asked if she considered whether or not most citizens of this state felt as if, above paying bills, especially those connected to a virtually non-existent system of health care coverage, an experimental visit to the spine doctor is of any fiscal importance.

My conversations with the CA have since been very limited. I'm not the only worker that works around her cart to deny her agenda but I have been the most intense and adamant about it. I have also been the most honest, passionate and articulate.

On a drive to New Hampshire with my father on Easter Day, he explained that it would be beneficial to tone down my passions as my intensity often offends people and obscures the point I am trying to convey.

"You assume you're right, and everybody else are a bunch of assholes," he reminded me.

His advice was prompted when I told him my passionate infatuation with the Coppola family irritated a friend of mine every time I went into an explanation of how great I believe the dynamics of the family are. A glitch in my ill-constructed vocabulary brought me to indicate "irritate" rather than humor, which is what I actually meant. This isn't to suggest, however, my father's advice lacks pertinence.

Aside from appropriate, I can't imagine what his reaction to my glory speech v. the Chiropractic messiah would have been.

end

This afternoon, I saw a pregnant hippie. For some reason, that is always a humbling image. I then remembered that my ex girlfriend, whose baby shower I am scheduled to attend on Sunday the 18th, is a pregnant hippie.