June 18, 2012--Regulations

"You know, for the summer I need to hire a dishwasher," we were having lunch at a new place in town, "and I found this terrific kid, but there's one problem," the owner-waitress said out loud to no one in particular, "Just one problem."

A lobsterman sitting next to me at the counter asked, "And what's that? The one problem?"

"The one problem is that he's not allowed to wash any knives."

"I'm not followin' you."

"That's right." He was looking at her skeptically. "The regulations say that until he's 18, until anyone's 18, they can't wash knives in a restaurant."

"Federal regulation?" I couldn't help myself from asking. While here for less than a week whenever a discussion drifts into politics, government regulations and the unions are blamed for our economic woes.

"Regulations," she continued to say. "Just regulations. They're killing me. You should see all the inspections and certificates I had to get before they let me open my door to business. I was almost bankrupted before I could cook my first scrambled eggs."

"That not only sounds crazy--about the knives," I said, "Not that I doubt you, but it must be Maine's regulations not the federal government."

"It's all the same to me," she said, turing to take the orders from a couple who had slid into a booth while we were discussing who could and couldn't handle knives in a restaurant.

"You mean to tell me," Rona joined in, "That a 17-year-old couldn't wash this knife?" She was waving hers in the air. "It's just a knife to butter toast, for God sakes, not one with a sharp edge. Even it it was, it's crazy. Seventeen-year-olds can drive."

"And join the army with their parents permission," another counter person said.

"It's gotten out of hand," Sarah the owner-waitress said, "And it's not doing Obama any good."

Here we go again, I thought; and not wanting to see my blood pressure rise, I tried to deflect the direction of the converation, "It's good to hear that high school kids are willing to wash dishes for the summer. And that you have an open job and want to hire someone."

From another booth a local contractor said, "I've got good jobs open. We have a contract to put in some new culverts along Pemaquid Road. They're hopefully getting ready to repave it. It's falling apart. Jobs digging ditches."

"Nothin' wrong with that," the lobsterman said, "It's an honest day's work. I did some of that when I was young. Helped get me straightened out. Built confidence and a good work ethic."

"I agree with all of that" the contractor said, "And there are youngsters willing to take it on. But my problem, too, is with all the regulations. especially from the environmental people. I have to have this girl from the state looking over my shoulder all day--it could be a guy, too," he added nodding in Rona's direction. "She watches us to make sure that there's no run off into any of the creeks along the road or one of the ponds."

"That's a good thing, no?" said the women in the booth. "I mean, we have to take care of our water. If we don't, who will?"

"I'm all for that, mind you," the contractor said, "I'm no tree-hugger, but I care about the land and water. I fish. I hunt. I want to be able to eat what I catch. And I've been doing this kind of work since I was nine. I worked for my grandfather and then my father. They taught me the right way to do things. I don't need someone looking over my shoulder. And it has an effect on getting the job done and what it costs taxpayers. I used to be able to put in five culverts a day but now with the same size crew I can only do three."

"The other day I wanted to hire a kid to do some cleaning up for me," Sarah said as a kind of non sequitur, "And the one I wanted to hire, when I asked him to sweep up, told me he didn't know how to use a broom. A broom! Can you believe that? What's happening to us?"

Everyone knew what she meant by her plaintive question.

"I know I don't sound like one, but I consider myself a Liberal," she confessed.

"Maybe the only one here," the contractor said with a good natured laugh.

"Voted for Obama last time around," she winked over toward him, "and plan to do so again. But he's got to do something about all those regulations. They're killing small businesses like this one."

"But aren't they from the state?" the woman in the booth asked, "The regulations about the 17-year-old dishwasher?"

"I s'pose."

"Then what would you have Obama do? He didn't come up with the crazy one about the knives."

"She's right," the contractor said, getting up to pay his check, "Actually, you're both right. It's more the state's regulations killing us, but Obama could do more too. I didn't vote for him first time around and don't intend to come November--even though I think Romney's a horse's ass--but he needs to speak out about this. It would even do him some good. Politically. If he talked about smart regulations."

"I agree with that," I said, opting not to add anything about my own voting.

"And while he's at he he should do something about the unions," the lobsterman added, also getting up to leave. "They're out of control and killing the economy."

"But only about 12 percent of the workforce are union members," I tried to say.

He waived me off. "Trust me, I know what I'm talkin' about--most of our problems are because of those unions. Like I said, they're out of control. Always wantin' something for nothin'."

"Look at the concessions the autoworkers made to save their jobs," the man in the booth said.

But by then both the contractor and fisherman had left. They had lots of work that needed to get done.