I remember a time in Jr. High School... (do they still
have those?)... when I made the first of my friends who was not
"cool". I do not think that I realized this at the
time, because I thought that he was full of great ideas and
visionary style.
I sat next to this guy in a few classes and was amazed by
his organizational skills. He sat down and popped open a
briefcase! He had all of his stuff in there not to mention some
"forbidden" artifacts like Coke a Cola, chips, and gum.
What a stud.
Well... I HAD to have one and bugged my parents for DAYS
before Dad finally caved and forked over one of his. Another
misguided dufus bummed one off of his Dad, and the Three
Musketeers of Dorkdom were born. Little did we know that if you
were searching for an item to carry around that LOUDLY says
"BEAT ME UP", a briefcase would always come in on the
top ten list of "Punch me" accessories.
SO.. of course it happened. We were tormented by two
"thugs" for the next few days. They were merciless and
cruel as they hammered home the obvious (to all but us) status
change that our new fashion statement afforded us. I lived in
fear until I could no longer stand the hell that my life had
become. I then chose the only possible option for a peer
conscious weenie such as myself. I ditched the briefcase and laid
low till the heat was off. This took ALOT longer than I had
figured. I still saw the face of the larger and meaner of the
pair in my SLEEP. Although psychologically scarred for life, I
felt that given a decade or so and a brush with borderline
alcoholism I could put my life back into some sort of order.
Well kinda.
I'm the Asst. Manager of a finance company office in
another city in Florida and across my desk comes the application
of one Mrs. Meanist Thug. She is in my office, extremely
distraught, as her nere' do well husband of 2 years is in jail
and she needs the tidy sum of $750.00 dollars to make his bail.
If she cannot make bail, he will be "angry". If she
cannot make bail, he will be transferred from the
"cushy" city jail to the "not so cushy"
county jail where many large sweaty men named "Bubba"
will be waiting for him to drop the soap. He is terrified. She
pleads that I am their last hope... and tough decisions are my
job.. time to consult the Company Policy
Manual.
Now....
I need to feel that I am not a petty individual. I want to feel
that I am compassionate and forgiving of the fellow inhabitants
of the hotel humanoid we call earth. I like to think that I was
fair, and I like to think that I followed company policy to the
letter. I turned down his application based on the many glaring
reasons NOT to make the loan. I like to think that I had to
follow company policy and deny the loan.
I'm pretty sure that I wasn't following company policy
when I laughed my ass off all the way home that evening.
Course... I never really checked the manual to find out.
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