I hired an illegal immigrant

IT WAS THE last of my L.A. initiations. I had already been mocked by co-workers for wearing non-denim pants, got hugged by TV executive Peter Roth and shot a man to impress the Crips. All that was left was to hire my first illegal immigrant.

My buddy Matt suggested that my friend Patty and I hire some guys to help move all the furniture we both bought from him. But I had serious qualms.

These qualms were slightly different from those of the people who held a candlelight vigil for the American worker on Wednesday outside Sen. Dianne Feinstein’s office in Westwood, or the ones who will be there Friday night, mounting a 24-hour hunger strike to persuade her to vote against proposals bouncing around Congress to grant illegal immigrants amnesty.

My qualms were more about awkward negotiations, personal safety and having to make small talk with head nods and hand signals. As Patty and I drove up to the U-Haul office on Hollywood Boulevard, I worried that there wouldn’t be any day laborers in the parking lot. Sure enough, we saw no one. An 18th of a second later, however, a dozen Latino men materialized from the curb and between trucks, grabbing onto our windows and running with our car. The whole thing had a real Nixon-in-Venezuela vibe.

As we tried to walk past them to the U-Haul office, they continued to surround us, yelling, “Pick me! Pick me!” Patty took control by shouting, “We need two people. You guys figure out among yourselves which two.”

This was not effective.

I knew I needed to act decisively and not pick the tiny guy. Unfortunately, because I was focusing so hard on not picking the tiny guy, I immediately pointed to him.

Luckily, I also signaled to his friend, who was less tiny. Even though I’m bad at negotiating, I figured I couldn’t mess up because whatever I offered them had to sound awesome in pesos. So I was surprised when the less-tiny guy, who spoke English, asked for $150 for three hours. I was not surprised when I didn’t argue.

Our new friends were fishing guides in Guatemala when they decided to move here for a little while to make some cash to buy a house. That was eight years ago. They think L.A. is OK, but the money isn’t as easy as they thought, and the work is hard, and the traffic is bad, and they intend to move back home soon. Despite all of this, somehow neither had been the subject of a Steve Lopez column.

They had worked as delivery men for a furniture company, which boded well. They were also skilled negotiators. By the time we got to Matt’s, our new best friends looked at his long spiral stairs and the furniture, which was a bit bigger than we described, and told us the job would cost $250. Realizing this was a sneaky tactic that needed to be nipped in the bud, I immediately agreed.

By the time we got all the stuff out, it was more than the three hours we had thought it would take, and Patty’s house was farther than we figured, and we had endangered our tiny Guatemalan worker’s fragile lower back. In fact, our day laborers pointed out a slew of oral contract discrepancies that even Bert Fields would have trouble parrying. By the time we got to my house, we had agreed to $350.

With tip, Patty and I had parted with $400. They were so good at playing us, that even when they left, we somehow felt we should have given them more. I wondered if I was a direct descendant of a 1960s GM executive.

I didn’t feel bad about hiring them without asking to see their papers. They had values and a work ethic that was wholly American. They sent money to their families and wanted to create a better life for the next generation. They reminded me of my grandparents, who lived on the Lower East Side of Manhattan, doing the hard work that built this country, like moving Asian-themed teak armoires.

Sure, it’s unfair that they’re not paying all their taxes, but plenty of bona fide citizens who get paid in cash don’t either. Nor is it fair that the government gives out farm subsidies and we got most of our Olympic medals by persuading the world to compete in fake sports we made up, like snowboarding. My high school history may be rusty, but I vaguely remember that immigrants have generally been a net gain for this country.

Besides, if my experience is any measure, I’m pretty sure these guys aren’t underselling anyone.