Most people who oppose prostitution say they are against it because they believe that prostitution inherently exploits women.
Setting aside the facts that not all prostitutes are women and the existence of high-dollar freelance call girls, it is true that most prostitutes are women and quite a good many of them are indeed exploited and abused.
I agree that steps must be taken to end such exploitation and abuse.
But I don't agree that prostitution is inherently exploitative, nor do I think the solution is to keep it illegal. Rather, I believe that legalizing it will bring it out into the open, where it will be easier to address the forms of exploitation and abuses common to sex work.
It's interesting to note that there are many legal occupations where exploitation and abuses of various kinds are common. I can guarantee you that many fast food workers, some factory workers, janitorial and cleaning staff, migrant workers, to cite a few examples, are often exploited and treated unfairly.
However, no one suggests that the only proper solution is to abolish the occupation altogether and make it illegal. It would be viewed as akin to throwing the baby out with the bathwater. Rather, people work to improve conditions in such jobs, believing that exploitation is not inevitable.
Why should prostitution be any different? Oh, wait, it involves SEX! Prostitution is inherently exploitative because no matter how willing both parties are and no matter how much money the woman makes and no matter the conditions, they are not having sex for the "right" reasons, thus it is necessarily exploitative. Have I got that right?
Give me a break. Keeping prostitution illegal and wrapping sex up in a mystique has done nothing all these hundreds of years to protect those who are truly abused and exploited. Legalizing it, bringing it into the light of day, and rationally looking at ways to improve the conditions and status of sex workers, in the same way exploitation is addressed in other occupations, would be a more effective approach in my opinion.
Thoughts?
Showing posts with label work. Show all posts
Showing posts with label work. Show all posts
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Worked to Death
Those who have been reading my blogs for any length of time know that I take a "work to live, don't live to work" approach to life. Barring the minority of people who have creative, fulfilling jobs they'd do for free if they could afford to, most of us have jobs that are merely a means to an end. That is, we work in order to acquire the resources, i.e. money, we need to live.
For most of us, it is not in our best interests to work any more than necessary to achieve this goal. Indeed, in many cases, our time is more precious than money, and many of us have made the decision to accept a lower standard of living, in order to have the precious time in which to really live and to spend as much time as we can in our time on Earth doing the things that really matter to us.
Recently, I've read several news stories about a Japanese man who lived to work and ultimately ended up literally working himself to death. This man, a 45 year old lead engineer for Toyota, worked an average of 80 hours of overtime a month in the months preceding his death. This involved working nights and weekends, and frequent trips abroad.
The Japenese, well-known throughout the world for their penchant for workaholism, even have a word for overwork induced deaths -- "karoshi".
This man's family sued and a Japanese labor bureau recently ruled in their favor, stating that the man died from overwork. Their ruling will allow his family to collect benefits from his work insurance. This is but one among many other similar suits.
I'm glad the man's family won their case, but it's a matter of closing the barn door after the horse has escaped. It's time to reconsider what role work plays in our lives and what life is all about in general. I'm not singling out the Japanese, as the "live to work" mindset can be found anywhere.
We should work to live, not live to work. Work is a part of life, not the purpose of it. As the old saying goes, no one on their deathbeds ever wished they'd spent more time at the office.
Thoughts?
For most of us, it is not in our best interests to work any more than necessary to achieve this goal. Indeed, in many cases, our time is more precious than money, and many of us have made the decision to accept a lower standard of living, in order to have the precious time in which to really live and to spend as much time as we can in our time on Earth doing the things that really matter to us.
Recently, I've read several news stories about a Japanese man who lived to work and ultimately ended up literally working himself to death. This man, a 45 year old lead engineer for Toyota, worked an average of 80 hours of overtime a month in the months preceding his death. This involved working nights and weekends, and frequent trips abroad.
The Japenese, well-known throughout the world for their penchant for workaholism, even have a word for overwork induced deaths -- "karoshi".
This man's family sued and a Japanese labor bureau recently ruled in their favor, stating that the man died from overwork. Their ruling will allow his family to collect benefits from his work insurance. This is but one among many other similar suits.
I'm glad the man's family won their case, but it's a matter of closing the barn door after the horse has escaped. It's time to reconsider what role work plays in our lives and what life is all about in general. I'm not singling out the Japanese, as the "live to work" mindset can be found anywhere.
We should work to live, not live to work. Work is a part of life, not the purpose of it. As the old saying goes, no one on their deathbeds ever wished they'd spent more time at the office.
Thoughts?
Monday, September 3, 2007
I Work to Live, I Don't Live to Work
This morning, I read an interesting articles on Alternet which I ended up leaving a novel-sized reply to. What follows is my comment to the article. Go to Alternet and read The Vanishing American Vacation first, then come back here to read and respond to my reply.
I am most definitely NOT a workaholic. My job isn't who I am; it's just a means to an end. And I believe my time is as important as, or even more important, than my money.
I don't want to work one hour longer than is necessarily in order to adequately support myself. To this end, I'm willing to accept a lower standard of living in order keep as much of my time for my own purposes instead of that of an employer. I want my time now to enjoy, instead of waiting until retirement when my energy level and health may not be at the level it is now. Indeed, there is no guarantee I'll even live that long.
To workaholics I'd ask, what good is all that extra money if you're too tired to enjoy it and always at work, anyway?
Like the majority of Americans, I don't work in an intrinsically rewarding or creative job. My job means nothing more to me than a source of money to support myself with. I do a good job when I'm there, but I'm simply not going to invest any more of myself than is necessarily earning a living.
Indeed, more employers these days are offering fewer or no benefits: less paid sick leave, less paid vacation time, etc. Many employers think they "own" an employee 24/7; expecting an employee to always be on call, changing their work schedules any time without notice, and that they can dictate a employee's behavior off the clock in their private lives -- random drug tests typically indicate off-time drug/alcohol use, not whether an employee is intoxicated/high on the clock, employers have fired people for adultery, to cite a few examples. They don't invest in us, so why should we invest any more than necessary in them?
More jobs are also going from 8 hour days to 10 and 12 hour schedules. Our ancestors who worked hard to get the 40 hour week are no doubt whirling in their graves to see a creeping return to the sunup to sundown schedule of the 19th century. As for me, I wouldn't accept a job with these hours -- it's bad for one's health to live this far out of the work/leisure/rest balance. I've had to accept making less money that I might otherwise, but the gain in time is worth it.
My current job offers no paid vacation whatsoever. But when I had jobs that did, I made sure to take every day allotted to me. But even now, I still take an unpaid day off here and there, tacked onto a weekend. Of course, I'm stuck taking the hit of a day's pay lost, but the time gained outweighs the money lost.
After all, no one ever said on their death beds that they wished they'd spent more time at the office.
I Work to Live, I Don't Live to Work
I am most definitely NOT a workaholic. My job isn't who I am; it's just a means to an end. And I believe my time is as important as, or even more important, than my money.
I don't want to work one hour longer than is necessarily in order to adequately support myself. To this end, I'm willing to accept a lower standard of living in order keep as much of my time for my own purposes instead of that of an employer. I want my time now to enjoy, instead of waiting until retirement when my energy level and health may not be at the level it is now. Indeed, there is no guarantee I'll even live that long.
To workaholics I'd ask, what good is all that extra money if you're too tired to enjoy it and always at work, anyway?
Like the majority of Americans, I don't work in an intrinsically rewarding or creative job. My job means nothing more to me than a source of money to support myself with. I do a good job when I'm there, but I'm simply not going to invest any more of myself than is necessarily earning a living.
Indeed, more employers these days are offering fewer or no benefits: less paid sick leave, less paid vacation time, etc. Many employers think they "own" an employee 24/7; expecting an employee to always be on call, changing their work schedules any time without notice, and that they can dictate a employee's behavior off the clock in their private lives -- random drug tests typically indicate off-time drug/alcohol use, not whether an employee is intoxicated/high on the clock, employers have fired people for adultery, to cite a few examples. They don't invest in us, so why should we invest any more than necessary in them?
More jobs are also going from 8 hour days to 10 and 12 hour schedules. Our ancestors who worked hard to get the 40 hour week are no doubt whirling in their graves to see a creeping return to the sunup to sundown schedule of the 19th century. As for me, I wouldn't accept a job with these hours -- it's bad for one's health to live this far out of the work/leisure/rest balance. I've had to accept making less money that I might otherwise, but the gain in time is worth it.
My current job offers no paid vacation whatsoever. But when I had jobs that did, I made sure to take every day allotted to me. But even now, I still take an unpaid day off here and there, tacked onto a weekend. Of course, I'm stuck taking the hit of a day's pay lost, but the time gained outweighs the money lost.
After all, no one ever said on their death beds that they wished they'd spent more time at the office.
Saturday, August 11, 2007
A Shitty Rant
I woke up several hours earlier than I cared to this morning, not feeling well. As the day progressed, my vague malaise developed into full-blown dysentery. Not only was I running back and forth to the bathroom, I felt decidedly woozy.
Because the forecast predicated another sweltering triple-digit day, I thought that it would be better for me to stay home under the air-conditioner, near the toilet, rather than to go out with little sleep, an upset stomach, and a system depleted from repeated diarrhea.
So, I called in to inform them of that fact and I was told that I couldn't be out unless I had a "doctor's excuse". I don't know about you, but I don't know anyone who goes to the doctor for diarrhea. All I wanted to do was avoid the sun, rest and stay near a toilet until it ran its course. Not every ailment that indicates that a person should stay home necessarily needs a doctor's care.
I also resented the hell out of this because my job doesn't provide any health insurance whatsoever -- I can't be running back and forth to the doctor for every small ailment, considering that I have to pay full price out of my pocket every time I visit. If it's something that will pass on its own, I prefer to treat myself with common sense methods at home and save money, especially considering the pittance I earn each week. It's also not logical to assume that if an ailment doesn't require a doctor's attention that a person is therefore fit to work.
If I had a job in an office where I was seated to do my work with a desk near a restroom, I'd have gone to work, no problem. But in my job, I spend large amounts of time with no convenient access to a rest room, so that changes the situation completely in my book.
And it's not as if I'm providing some vital service -- they'd have survived a day without me, I'm sure. Indeed, when I did have a job that was a vital service, I had a much easier time taking a day off when I was sick.
So, I was obliged to drag my weary, worn-out ass to work and suffer through a shift and several more bathroom expeditions. I was sorely tempted to take a shit on the floor and say, "See! I told you I was sick!"
Thoughts?
Because the forecast predicated another sweltering triple-digit day, I thought that it would be better for me to stay home under the air-conditioner, near the toilet, rather than to go out with little sleep, an upset stomach, and a system depleted from repeated diarrhea.
So, I called in to inform them of that fact and I was told that I couldn't be out unless I had a "doctor's excuse". I don't know about you, but I don't know anyone who goes to the doctor for diarrhea. All I wanted to do was avoid the sun, rest and stay near a toilet until it ran its course. Not every ailment that indicates that a person should stay home necessarily needs a doctor's care.
I also resented the hell out of this because my job doesn't provide any health insurance whatsoever -- I can't be running back and forth to the doctor for every small ailment, considering that I have to pay full price out of my pocket every time I visit. If it's something that will pass on its own, I prefer to treat myself with common sense methods at home and save money, especially considering the pittance I earn each week. It's also not logical to assume that if an ailment doesn't require a doctor's attention that a person is therefore fit to work.
If I had a job in an office where I was seated to do my work with a desk near a restroom, I'd have gone to work, no problem. But in my job, I spend large amounts of time with no convenient access to a rest room, so that changes the situation completely in my book.
And it's not as if I'm providing some vital service -- they'd have survived a day without me, I'm sure. Indeed, when I did have a job that was a vital service, I had a much easier time taking a day off when I was sick.
So, I was obliged to drag my weary, worn-out ass to work and suffer through a shift and several more bathroom expeditions. I was sorely tempted to take a shit on the floor and say, "See! I told you I was sick!"
Thoughts?
Thursday, August 9, 2007
Odds and Ends in August
The next time I decide to have sex outside in the summertime, would someone please hit me upside the head and remind me of this post?
I won't go into too much explicit detail here, but the other night I got the urge and called up a lover to see if she could help me out. She told me that she wasn't at home and wouldn't be for awhile, but that she could meet me somewhere.
To make a long story short, we ended up doing the deed outside against her car. When I got home, I realized that my ass and legs were covered in mosquito bites. Very itchy mosquito bites. And trying to scratch that many bites with just my fingers simply wasn't getting the job done. So I got an old hair brush and went to town on myself with that to get some relief. I ended up spending that night periodically scratching like a hound.
I'm still itching some -- the hot weather we've been having hasn't helped things at all.
_______________________________________
Speaking of the weather, we had our first triple-digit high temperature of the summer today. The official high temperature was 104F, which set a record. The lowest temperature of the day also set a record for being the highest low temperature. Unfortunately, the weatherman predicted more of the same for tomorrow, with no rain in sight.
It was so hot today that I thought I saw a guy wearing a red suit and carrying a pitchfork as I drove around town.
Despite it being almost too hot to breathe, let along eat, this didn't stop the usual crop of idiots from ordering pizza. We could have had alien invaders marching down our town's main street, and these cretins would still be ordering pizza. Hell, I'd not be surprised if the aliens would order pizza to be delivered to their spaceship as well!
I managed to get through the night without completely melting into a greasy puddle, but when I got home, I had to literally peel the sweaty clothes off my body. I'd left the air-conditioning on when I'd left the house, so that the cats wouldn't get too hot while I was gone. So, at least I got cool quickly enough once I'd divested myself of my nasty clothes.
____________________________________________
While listening to a radio talk show tonight, one caller said "incentivize" when talking to the host. When I heard this, I yelled at the radio, "That's not a word, you fucking moron!" Out of all types of bastardizations of the English language, I think I despise corporate trendy lingo the most.
_____________________________________________
I read that there was a F2 tornado in Brooklyn yesterday. This is an extremely rare occurrence for New York City, the last time being in 1889. Screwy weather, indeed.
I won't go into too much explicit detail here, but the other night I got the urge and called up a lover to see if she could help me out. She told me that she wasn't at home and wouldn't be for awhile, but that she could meet me somewhere.
To make a long story short, we ended up doing the deed outside against her car. When I got home, I realized that my ass and legs were covered in mosquito bites. Very itchy mosquito bites. And trying to scratch that many bites with just my fingers simply wasn't getting the job done. So I got an old hair brush and went to town on myself with that to get some relief. I ended up spending that night periodically scratching like a hound.
I'm still itching some -- the hot weather we've been having hasn't helped things at all.
_______________________________________
Speaking of the weather, we had our first triple-digit high temperature of the summer today. The official high temperature was 104F, which set a record. The lowest temperature of the day also set a record for being the highest low temperature. Unfortunately, the weatherman predicted more of the same for tomorrow, with no rain in sight.
It was so hot today that I thought I saw a guy wearing a red suit and carrying a pitchfork as I drove around town.
Despite it being almost too hot to breathe, let along eat, this didn't stop the usual crop of idiots from ordering pizza. We could have had alien invaders marching down our town's main street, and these cretins would still be ordering pizza. Hell, I'd not be surprised if the aliens would order pizza to be delivered to their spaceship as well!
I managed to get through the night without completely melting into a greasy puddle, but when I got home, I had to literally peel the sweaty clothes off my body. I'd left the air-conditioning on when I'd left the house, so that the cats wouldn't get too hot while I was gone. So, at least I got cool quickly enough once I'd divested myself of my nasty clothes.
____________________________________________
While listening to a radio talk show tonight, one caller said "incentivize" when talking to the host. When I heard this, I yelled at the radio, "That's not a word, you fucking moron!" Out of all types of bastardizations of the English language, I think I despise corporate trendy lingo the most.
_____________________________________________
I read that there was a F2 tornado in Brooklyn yesterday. This is an extremely rare occurrence for New York City, the last time being in 1889. Screwy weather, indeed.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Brake Checks and Screen Tests
Have you ever given a tailgater a "brake check"? Admit it. You know you have.
Don't know what a "brake check" is? Let me enlighten you. A brake check happens when you get so tired of some moron riding your ass that you decide to slam on your brakes for no reason, which has two possible results. One, the moron gets pissed off at having to slow down or stop and, secondly, he rear-ends you, which would be, of course, his fault.
But the experienced driver is able to determine the right time for a brake check in order to merely piss off the other driver and not be rear-ended in the process.
There is a police version of the "brake check" known as the "screen test". A "screen test" typically happens when the cop has a particularly obnoxious arrestee in the back seat. Once the cop has had enough of the moron's attitude, he or she will slam on their brakes, hard. Because the arrestee is handcuffed with their hands behind the back, they can't brace themselves against the forward momentum and they end up slamming their face on the screen that separates the front seat from the back in a cop car. Hence, the name "screen test".
After performing the screen test, the cop says something like, "Oooops! A dog just ran out in front of the car!"
Works like a charm every time in improving an obnoxious person's attitude.
Don't know what a "brake check" is? Let me enlighten you. A brake check happens when you get so tired of some moron riding your ass that you decide to slam on your brakes for no reason, which has two possible results. One, the moron gets pissed off at having to slow down or stop and, secondly, he rear-ends you, which would be, of course, his fault.
But the experienced driver is able to determine the right time for a brake check in order to merely piss off the other driver and not be rear-ended in the process.
There is a police version of the "brake check" known as the "screen test". A "screen test" typically happens when the cop has a particularly obnoxious arrestee in the back seat. Once the cop has had enough of the moron's attitude, he or she will slam on their brakes, hard. Because the arrestee is handcuffed with their hands behind the back, they can't brace themselves against the forward momentum and they end up slamming their face on the screen that separates the front seat from the back in a cop car. Hence, the name "screen test".
After performing the screen test, the cop says something like, "Oooops! A dog just ran out in front of the car!"
Works like a charm every time in improving an obnoxious person's attitude.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
More Old Journal Entries
March 11, 1989
We brought in two feisty females tonight. They'd gone into a convenience store and started a fight there, knocking down product displays all over the store. One stabbed the other, then they ran across the streett to continue. We found them in the kitchen holding each other at bay with knives; with one holding a baby. Of course, they insisted upon fighting US too and had to be dragged to jail, where they naturally refused to cooperate.
March 17, 1989
The night before last we had a woman call in to report a man jerking off outside her window. JB asked the dispatcher if the complainant could describe the suspect. There was a long pause on the radio (as the dispatchers paused to laugh their asses off, no doubt), then a dispatcher snapped back, "He'll be the one with his pants around his ankles with his dick in his hand", before giving details about his race, age, height, etc. I mean, just how many men did he expect to find at 4 in the morning out there jerking off?
March 20, 1989
JW was hurt pretty bad last night. He'd seen someone that we had an armed robbery warrant on and went to arrest him. The guy resisted him and they got into a fight, fucking up JW's hand -- he almost lost his pinkie finger. While he and the suspect were rolling around on the ground, his backup arrived and pulled the guy off him, who turned out to be hopped up on drugs.
They brought both of them to the hospital at the same time. One idiot nurse made comments about police brutality and the Captain climbed all over her, pointing out that this guy had held up people at gunpoint and had hurt people and that there was a badly hurt officer in the next room.
Later on, the jailers reported that he refused to go to court, threatening to beat up anyone who came into his cell.
March 24, 1989
All the loonies are out in force tonight. We have a regular nut who comes in all the time just to see if we're all right and then proceeds to talk about all her ailments and operations. She is harmless, however, and not all that irritating, like a lot of unbalanced people can be.
March 25, 1989
One of the dispatchers had a woman call all the way from New Jersey. She wanted to know if Jessica Hahn (from the Jim Bakker scandal) worked for one of our local radio stations. She wanted to ask her who had done her nose job! She went on to say she'd even called the Playboy mansion looking for her! Every time I think I've heard everything, I hear about something like this that shows me that I haven't heard everything and probably never will. Nuts are infinite in their ways to be nutty.
April 8, 1989
Some teenager missed the curve at the lake and drove his car right into it. We didn't know a thing about it until he showed up at the ER. A good part of the night was spent at the lake with wreckers trying to get the car out of the lake.
April 12, 1989
We've been having a lot of problems with the patrol cars lately. As an example, last night AJ had one run on him. As he was chasing the suspect's car, his car stalled out and he rolled backwards into a ditch. I can just see him now, beating the steering wheel, saying "Damn, damn, damn, damn", as he sat there in the ditch watching the guy get away.
April 21, 1989
We picked up a stabbing victim at one of the movie theaters. The guy had gotten stabbed somewhere down in the hood and his friends were trying to get him to the hospital when their car died in front of the theater. They called us and we took him to the hospital and caught the one who stabbed him shortly after that.
While all this was going on, a domestic argument call was dispatched. When the two officers arrived, they heard shots coming from inside the house, prompting them to call for backup. The entire shift rushed down there with the exception of one rookie who was left to watch the stabber from the incident above. It was close to shift change and the officers about to come on duty, quickly signed on duty and headed out there as well. All of us surrounded the house.
And the hero of the day turned out to be the one female officer on the scene, who was one of the two officers originally dispatched to the call. When the gunman came out of the house, she quickly tackled, subdued, and handcuffed him, ending the standoff.
Later on, she and the other officer originally dispatched came up to a group of us, holding up a screen door full of bullet holes, saying, "See, he really DID shoot at us!"
We brought in two feisty females tonight. They'd gone into a convenience store and started a fight there, knocking down product displays all over the store. One stabbed the other, then they ran across the streett to continue. We found them in the kitchen holding each other at bay with knives; with one holding a baby. Of course, they insisted upon fighting US too and had to be dragged to jail, where they naturally refused to cooperate.
March 17, 1989
The night before last we had a woman call in to report a man jerking off outside her window. JB asked the dispatcher if the complainant could describe the suspect. There was a long pause on the radio (as the dispatchers paused to laugh their asses off, no doubt), then a dispatcher snapped back, "He'll be the one with his pants around his ankles with his dick in his hand", before giving details about his race, age, height, etc. I mean, just how many men did he expect to find at 4 in the morning out there jerking off?
March 20, 1989
JW was hurt pretty bad last night. He'd seen someone that we had an armed robbery warrant on and went to arrest him. The guy resisted him and they got into a fight, fucking up JW's hand -- he almost lost his pinkie finger. While he and the suspect were rolling around on the ground, his backup arrived and pulled the guy off him, who turned out to be hopped up on drugs.
They brought both of them to the hospital at the same time. One idiot nurse made comments about police brutality and the Captain climbed all over her, pointing out that this guy had held up people at gunpoint and had hurt people and that there was a badly hurt officer in the next room.
Later on, the jailers reported that he refused to go to court, threatening to beat up anyone who came into his cell.
March 24, 1989
All the loonies are out in force tonight. We have a regular nut who comes in all the time just to see if we're all right and then proceeds to talk about all her ailments and operations. She is harmless, however, and not all that irritating, like a lot of unbalanced people can be.
March 25, 1989
One of the dispatchers had a woman call all the way from New Jersey. She wanted to know if Jessica Hahn (from the Jim Bakker scandal) worked for one of our local radio stations. She wanted to ask her who had done her nose job! She went on to say she'd even called the Playboy mansion looking for her! Every time I think I've heard everything, I hear about something like this that shows me that I haven't heard everything and probably never will. Nuts are infinite in their ways to be nutty.
April 8, 1989
Some teenager missed the curve at the lake and drove his car right into it. We didn't know a thing about it until he showed up at the ER. A good part of the night was spent at the lake with wreckers trying to get the car out of the lake.
April 12, 1989
We've been having a lot of problems with the patrol cars lately. As an example, last night AJ had one run on him. As he was chasing the suspect's car, his car stalled out and he rolled backwards into a ditch. I can just see him now, beating the steering wheel, saying "Damn, damn, damn, damn", as he sat there in the ditch watching the guy get away.
April 21, 1989
We picked up a stabbing victim at one of the movie theaters. The guy had gotten stabbed somewhere down in the hood and his friends were trying to get him to the hospital when their car died in front of the theater. They called us and we took him to the hospital and caught the one who stabbed him shortly after that.
While all this was going on, a domestic argument call was dispatched. When the two officers arrived, they heard shots coming from inside the house, prompting them to call for backup. The entire shift rushed down there with the exception of one rookie who was left to watch the stabber from the incident above. It was close to shift change and the officers about to come on duty, quickly signed on duty and headed out there as well. All of us surrounded the house.
And the hero of the day turned out to be the one female officer on the scene, who was one of the two officers originally dispatched to the call. When the gunman came out of the house, she quickly tackled, subdued, and handcuffed him, ending the standoff.
Later on, she and the other officer originally dispatched came up to a group of us, holding up a screen door full of bullet holes, saying, "See, he really DID shoot at us!"
Tuesday, May 8, 2007
Employers, Privacy, and the Internet
Recently, I read a news story about a cop who was fired from his job for using a chat room to solicit sex and to email explicit photos of himself while on duty. He was not fired for his actions, which were legal because his target was an adult, but rather for engaging in them while on duty. His activities came to the attention of his superiors because the woman turned over the photos and chat logs to her local police department, rather than simply to ignore and/or block him.
As I read this, I thought back to my own years on the force, and how it was a good thing that it was before the internet era. I freely admit I had sex several times over the years while on duty. And I was not in any way unique among my fellow officers in this respect. I knew another guy who regularly had assignations while on duty -- indeed, we had several women in common.
Before I worked there, an older officer had been having sex in his patrol car and had inadvertently sat on the button that keyed his walkie-talkie. At that time, if you had an open mike, no one else could transmit, not even the dispatcher. But everyone could listen, including every yahoo in the county with a police scanner. This was a potentially dangerous situation because if an important call came in, there was no way for dispatchers to send officers to the scene.
Needless to say, his entire encounter had an audience. Every sigh, every groan, every grunt was heard, unbeknownst to him. The shift commander sent other officers looking for him, racing up and down streets to find where he'd parked the car. This was no easy task, as he'd parked in an out of the way place to avoid attracting attention.
But he was not fired. In fact, he served for many more years until leaving voluntarily when he retired. It was definitely a different world back then -- he'd not have gotten by with it today
The first officer mentioned above, however, dug his own grave with his total lack of discretion. If he'd not told the woman he was a cop, she'd have just put him on "ignore" and blocked him and that would have been the end of it. Indeed, if I were still on the force, I'd not have mentioned the fact on my blog, and no one would have known what I did for a living.
I've seen several bloggers who have had their freedom of speech and blogging privacy compromised when their employers happened upon their sites and objected to the content. I've known several people who had to give up their blogs for this reason, though they sometimes open new blogs making stronger efforts to conceal their identities.
The internet is a double edged sword; it offers people anonymous interactions online, while at the same time making one's private actions easier for employers to trace. Discretion has always been important when engaging in casual sex, no matter the environment, but it's especially important now in the computer age.
Thoughts?
As I read this, I thought back to my own years on the force, and how it was a good thing that it was before the internet era. I freely admit I had sex several times over the years while on duty. And I was not in any way unique among my fellow officers in this respect. I knew another guy who regularly had assignations while on duty -- indeed, we had several women in common.
Before I worked there, an older officer had been having sex in his patrol car and had inadvertently sat on the button that keyed his walkie-talkie. At that time, if you had an open mike, no one else could transmit, not even the dispatcher. But everyone could listen, including every yahoo in the county with a police scanner. This was a potentially dangerous situation because if an important call came in, there was no way for dispatchers to send officers to the scene.
Needless to say, his entire encounter had an audience. Every sigh, every groan, every grunt was heard, unbeknownst to him. The shift commander sent other officers looking for him, racing up and down streets to find where he'd parked the car. This was no easy task, as he'd parked in an out of the way place to avoid attracting attention.
But he was not fired. In fact, he served for many more years until leaving voluntarily when he retired. It was definitely a different world back then -- he'd not have gotten by with it today
The first officer mentioned above, however, dug his own grave with his total lack of discretion. If he'd not told the woman he was a cop, she'd have just put him on "ignore" and blocked him and that would have been the end of it. Indeed, if I were still on the force, I'd not have mentioned the fact on my blog, and no one would have known what I did for a living.
I've seen several bloggers who have had their freedom of speech and blogging privacy compromised when their employers happened upon their sites and objected to the content. I've known several people who had to give up their blogs for this reason, though they sometimes open new blogs making stronger efforts to conceal their identities.
The internet is a double edged sword; it offers people anonymous interactions online, while at the same time making one's private actions easier for employers to trace. Discretion has always been important when engaging in casual sex, no matter the environment, but it's especially important now in the computer age.
Thoughts?
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
A Page From My Journal
Here are a few more entries from the handwritten journal I kept when I was on the police force:
February 5, 1989
One day in roll call, awhile back, the shift Lt read a report that M had taken about a stolen car. The car had no seats and had to be cranked with a pair of pliers. When the Lt read this, I laughed and said that this was really M's car and he was too ashamed to claim it as one of his. (Note: M is the same officer I wrote about in previous entry, "Tightwad") Everyone laughed because they all knew this was typical of the cars M drove.
February 6, 1989
When we were on our last third shift, there was a fire down at F & S.. An old house at the back of the property burned. A dog came from near the place and looked at all the officers and then back at the house. One officer had already noticed an odd smell and when the dog came up. someone remembered that there was an old man who sometimes stayed there as a self-appointed night watchman. We checked to see if he was in there and, sure enough, he was in there face down in one of the rooms. He was burned pretty badly, so it was awhile before he was found and recognized as human remains. Most of his arms had burned off and what remained had drawn up to his shoulders. He died of smoke inhalation.
February 11, 1989
I had desk duty tonight and I had to deal with a crazy drunk woman on the phone all night long,. She was calling the Crime Stoppers line and started of the bat belligerent and abusive. She started off by saying we weren't worth a damn and didn't care about doing anything. I asked her what the hell was she calling us for then if she believed that.
I took the information she had to give, such as it was, and she cursed at me for not getting emotional about it. She hung up on me when I told her it would be referred to the Sheriff's Department, as it wasn't in our jurisdiction.
Three hours later, she called back to curse at me some more and to demand to know why we hadn't caught him yet. It seems as if all the nuts come out of the woodwork on third shift. But no matter how unbalanced they are or how tenuous of a grip they have on reality, they always remember to call us. No matter what else they're incapable of doing; they're capable of dialing our number.
This Crime Stoppers line, which was meant to be a place where people could give anonymous tips about a variety of crimes, doesn't really work as it was intended to. In reality, it is a nut hotline for people, usually of the paranoid variety, to call when there's no one else who will listen to their paranoid prattle. Sometimes there are legitimate tips, especially when a major crime has recently been committed, but, far and away, the majority of the calls are from these paranoid cranks, who think that all their neighbors are criminals. 99% of the calls are about drugs and the callers either don't realize or don't care that a careful investigation usually must be conducted before a person is arrested for selling drugs. These callers think they can call this line and we'll run right over there and arrest the person in question just on their say-so. And most of the time, they don't tell you enough to go on; not even an accurate address. Plus, the calls are never about any specific incidents; it's always "all the time".
(that same night) I had an interesting nut come in. She came running in here saying that she had been poisoned, but she refused to go to the hospital. I called upstairs and the dispatcher called the Sergeant in, to see if she'd listen to a higher-up better than she did me. While waiting for him to arrive, she kept talking and it dawned on me that she was a Looney Tunes. The clincher was when she said she thought the Black Panthers had done it to her. And she'd driven here from two counties over to tell us this. She said she did this because one of our detectives had told her to stay out of our town.
February 25, 1989
A deaf man came up to me and handed me a piece of paper with a woman's name and address on it. I figured that he wanted me to call her for him. I radioed the dispatcher, explaining what I had and asked her to call the number for him. After the dispatcher called, she relayed that he was a relative of the woman on the phone and I told the dispatcher that he wanted his relative to come pick him up. The woman was very happy and appreciative when she arrived, and it was nice to deal with someone happy for a change, who appreciated our help.
Thursday, April 12, 2007
On Call?
Not long ago, when I was on my day off, my cell phone rang. I looked at the number calling and saw that it was coming from my place of employment. Because I am not paid to be "on call" and because my job is in no way an essential, critical position such as a doctor, nurse, and the like, I felt no guilt in ignoring the call. They don't pay me enough to give a shit to come in on my day off if they happen to be shorthanded. It was my day off and there was no way that work was going to intrude on my personal time.
I guard my time and my privacy carefully. My land line phone is never hooked up unless I am using it to initiate an outgoing call. I don't answer my cell phone unless I recognize the number and I want to speak to that person at that time. If I'm in bed for the night, taking a nap, or having sex, I'll even shut the cell phone off entirely, so I don't have to be annoyed by the incessant ringing. My phone has voice mail capability, so if something comes in that is important, I can return calls later on at my leisure if I so choose.
Before the advent of cell phones, if an employer happened to call someone who wasn't paid to be on call who wasn't home, they were just out of luck. I just make sure that this still holds true in my case. If I'm not scheduled, I'm not available. Period.
Thoughts?
I guard my time and my privacy carefully. My land line phone is never hooked up unless I am using it to initiate an outgoing call. I don't answer my cell phone unless I recognize the number and I want to speak to that person at that time. If I'm in bed for the night, taking a nap, or having sex, I'll even shut the cell phone off entirely, so I don't have to be annoyed by the incessant ringing. My phone has voice mail capability, so if something comes in that is important, I can return calls later on at my leisure if I so choose.
Before the advent of cell phones, if an employer happened to call someone who wasn't paid to be on call who wasn't home, they were just out of luck. I just make sure that this still holds true in my case. If I'm not scheduled, I'm not available. Period.
Thoughts?
Wednesday, March 7, 2007
Job Applications and Resumes
During my life, I've had periods where I had to work several short-term temporary jobs in a relatively quick succession. I've also had a couple of employment gaps between jobs for various reasons. For this reason, I've always used a "functional" resume; that is, one that highlights the most important jobs I've had, as opposed to a chronological resume, which lists every piddly little job a person has had.
However, most job application forms provide spaces between the jobs one lists for the purposes of explaining any gaps in employment. I understand employers asking why a person left a particular job, but I resent the hell out of being expected to justify gaps in employment, as if there is something inherently suspect about not being continuously employed. There are many reasons for employment gaps: health problems, family problems, going to school, sabbaticals, taking a long time to find suitable employment after leaving a job, and so on. I don't think employers necessarily need to know what someone was doing during those gaps.
Just as annoying, but not nearly as ubiquitous as the employment gap questions are the kind of applications that ask you what your hobbies are or what sort of organizations or clubs you might belong to. My personal life is private and none of the employer's concern.
I guess I'm a bit like my father this way. Back in the forties, when employers wanted you to specify your race on applications, my father would always check the box marked "other", then fill in "Human" in the space provided.
Thoughts?
However, most job application forms provide spaces between the jobs one lists for the purposes of explaining any gaps in employment. I understand employers asking why a person left a particular job, but I resent the hell out of being expected to justify gaps in employment, as if there is something inherently suspect about not being continuously employed. There are many reasons for employment gaps: health problems, family problems, going to school, sabbaticals, taking a long time to find suitable employment after leaving a job, and so on. I don't think employers necessarily need to know what someone was doing during those gaps.
Just as annoying, but not nearly as ubiquitous as the employment gap questions are the kind of applications that ask you what your hobbies are or what sort of organizations or clubs you might belong to. My personal life is private and none of the employer's concern.
I guess I'm a bit like my father this way. Back in the forties, when employers wanted you to specify your race on applications, my father would always check the box marked "other", then fill in "Human" in the space provided.
Thoughts?
Saturday, November 25, 2006
Still More Old Journal Entries
Here are a few more police-related entries from an old handwritten journal of mine:
December 12, 1988
We got a funny denial from a shoplifter on Saturday. We got her stealing a pair of jeans from K Mart. She had put them on in the changing room, but had neglected to remove the heavy plastic magnetic tag from the pants. She had pulled her sweater over it to try to hide it. Of course the tag set off a buzzer when she tried to leave the store.
When we got her to the jail. she claimed that she had worn the jeans into the store and that they were not her jeans; she had borrowed them from a friend and that the friend must have stolen them. We rolled our eyes at her expecting us to believe that crap. For one thing, the buzzer would have gone off when she first entered the store. Secondly, it is too much of a coincidence that she would go into the very store where her "friend" had supposedly stolen the pants from. And, lastly, no one would put on a pair of jeans with a huge plastic tag, 4 inches long, 2 inches wide, and a half inch thick, stuck to them.
December 21, 1988
When I arrived last night, the jailer was printing one that B had got up at the mall. I said, "What're up to?" to the jailer, and the prisoner snarled, "Arresting assholes, that's what!" I laughed and said, "You said it, I didn't!"
It turned out that this guy was racing around the mall, hit a curb, took off, then hit a curb again. When B finally caught up with him and asked for his license, the idiot said, "What for??"
When the kid's father came to get him in the morning, he acted as if the kid was the injured party. Probably that's where the kid got his attitude from.
December 22, 1988
The jailer on second shift, M, had a particularly nasty prisoner to process last night. One of our regular winos came in that was so drunk that he'd pissed all over the patrol car, pissed all over the jail, and pissed all over himself. M had to wear rubber gloves to remove his property from him and had to carry him to his cell. M complained that he wasn't into golden showers. And the drunk didn't remember a thing the next morning.
December 23, 1988
J stopped a guy tonight and when he went up to the car window, the guy said, "What the hell do you want, you ugly old thing?" While this was going on the guy on the pasenger side was busily pouring out his beer onto the sidewalk. J told me that he would have pulled this SOB out of the car and taught him a thing or two if there hadn't been an old couple watching them intently from the sidewalk.
December 29, 1988
The last arrest we had last night was a real lulu. A domestic call came in and while the officers dispatched were talking to this man and his mother, the man freaked out and resisted arrest. He was so high that repeated blows with a PR-24 had no effect on him. They had to fight him to get him into custody. This is the difference between a drunk and someone hopped up on drugs. A drunk will feel blows from a PR-24, but someone on drugs may not.
January 25, 1989
On my last day out at the jail, they brought in two women and one man. They had been fighting like cats and dogs. It was so that B had to wait outside with the women while I processed the man. He was nothing compared to the women. One of them was a little feisty, just giving the minimum of cooperation. While I was booking her, the other woman, still outside, was shrieking like a banshee, which set this woman off, and effectively ended any cooperation. We put her back in the patrol car and started on the next one. I said "we" because this is what it took. She threw herself down into a mud puddle, thoroughly drenching herself. Five of us had to pick her up and carry her into the jail. I grabbed one of the pockets of her jeans, making her legs airborne. She ineffectively kicked at me, but I didn't feel much in my combat boots. When we got her inside and sat her down, she threw herself on the floor. Really classy female....not.
December 12, 1988
We got a funny denial from a shoplifter on Saturday. We got her stealing a pair of jeans from K Mart. She had put them on in the changing room, but had neglected to remove the heavy plastic magnetic tag from the pants. She had pulled her sweater over it to try to hide it. Of course the tag set off a buzzer when she tried to leave the store.
When we got her to the jail. she claimed that she had worn the jeans into the store and that they were not her jeans; she had borrowed them from a friend and that the friend must have stolen them. We rolled our eyes at her expecting us to believe that crap. For one thing, the buzzer would have gone off when she first entered the store. Secondly, it is too much of a coincidence that she would go into the very store where her "friend" had supposedly stolen the pants from. And, lastly, no one would put on a pair of jeans with a huge plastic tag, 4 inches long, 2 inches wide, and a half inch thick, stuck to them.
December 21, 1988
When I arrived last night, the jailer was printing one that B had got up at the mall. I said, "What're up to?" to the jailer, and the prisoner snarled, "Arresting assholes, that's what!" I laughed and said, "You said it, I didn't!"
It turned out that this guy was racing around the mall, hit a curb, took off, then hit a curb again. When B finally caught up with him and asked for his license, the idiot said, "What for??"
When the kid's father came to get him in the morning, he acted as if the kid was the injured party. Probably that's where the kid got his attitude from.
December 22, 1988
The jailer on second shift, M, had a particularly nasty prisoner to process last night. One of our regular winos came in that was so drunk that he'd pissed all over the patrol car, pissed all over the jail, and pissed all over himself. M had to wear rubber gloves to remove his property from him and had to carry him to his cell. M complained that he wasn't into golden showers. And the drunk didn't remember a thing the next morning.
December 23, 1988
J stopped a guy tonight and when he went up to the car window, the guy said, "What the hell do you want, you ugly old thing?" While this was going on the guy on the pasenger side was busily pouring out his beer onto the sidewalk. J told me that he would have pulled this SOB out of the car and taught him a thing or two if there hadn't been an old couple watching them intently from the sidewalk.
December 29, 1988
The last arrest we had last night was a real lulu. A domestic call came in and while the officers dispatched were talking to this man and his mother, the man freaked out and resisted arrest. He was so high that repeated blows with a PR-24 had no effect on him. They had to fight him to get him into custody. This is the difference between a drunk and someone hopped up on drugs. A drunk will feel blows from a PR-24, but someone on drugs may not.
January 25, 1989
On my last day out at the jail, they brought in two women and one man. They had been fighting like cats and dogs. It was so that B had to wait outside with the women while I processed the man. He was nothing compared to the women. One of them was a little feisty, just giving the minimum of cooperation. While I was booking her, the other woman, still outside, was shrieking like a banshee, which set this woman off, and effectively ended any cooperation. We put her back in the patrol car and started on the next one. I said "we" because this is what it took. She threw herself down into a mud puddle, thoroughly drenching herself. Five of us had to pick her up and carry her into the jail. I grabbed one of the pockets of her jeans, making her legs airborne. She ineffectively kicked at me, but I didn't feel much in my combat boots. When we got her inside and sat her down, she threw herself on the floor. Really classy female....not.
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
Underemployment and Health Care Benefits
I was talking the other night with someone about my not having health insurance on my job. I also spoke about the lack of good employment opportunities in my area, especially jobs with benefits.
It seems as if many employers would rather overwork fewer employees than employ sufficient people to get the job done while working a normal 40 hour week. I believe one of the biggest reasons for this is to avoid having to pay benefits to more people. The result is that available work is not distributed evenly. Some people are overworked, and many more are either underemployed (having jobs with no benefits and/or insufficient hours) or unemployed.
A national health insurance program that isn't tied to a person's employment seems as if it would go a long way toward lessening this problem. It would take the monkey off the backs of employers, which would presumably make them more likely to hire more full time workers.
What I don't get is why more major corporations do not support a national health care system, similar to what works in Canada and Europe, as it would take a financial burden off them, while allowing them to hire more employees. Surely, such support would make it easier for such legislation to be enacted and implemented.
Thoughts?
It seems as if many employers would rather overwork fewer employees than employ sufficient people to get the job done while working a normal 40 hour week. I believe one of the biggest reasons for this is to avoid having to pay benefits to more people. The result is that available work is not distributed evenly. Some people are overworked, and many more are either underemployed (having jobs with no benefits and/or insufficient hours) or unemployed.
A national health insurance program that isn't tied to a person's employment seems as if it would go a long way toward lessening this problem. It would take the monkey off the backs of employers, which would presumably make them more likely to hire more full time workers.
What I don't get is why more major corporations do not support a national health care system, similar to what works in Canada and Europe, as it would take a financial burden off them, while allowing them to hire more employees. Surely, such support would make it easier for such legislation to be enacted and implemented.
Thoughts?
Friday, September 29, 2006
Time or Money?
While driving today, I heard a talk show host blithely assert that working forty hour weeks was for "losers". He went on to state that all the "successful" people he knew regularly worked many more hours than that. These comments were made indirectly in relation to saving for one's retirement. As a conservative, he lamented the idea of the government doing anything to help people in their old age.
He and I obviously have a very different view of what success is. Yes, spending every available waking hour possible devoted to one's job will most likely make a person end up with more money available for both spending and saving.
But at what cost? People can get so caught up in making a living that they forget how to live. This man obviously didn't consider that most people are not working at fulfilling, inspiring careers -- most of us have jobs that we tolerate, if we're lucky, that are merely a means to an end. And all the ambition in the world won't make fulfulling careers available to everyone who will just work hard enough for it. Someone has to flip the burgers, carry the bags, drive the buses, and so on.
It's more than a little insensitive to suggest that these people and others in less than rewarding jobs spend even more time doing them, to the neglect of the things in life that really matter to most people: our families, friends, lovers, spouses, and hobbies.
We only live once and we have to live in the now; not spend our active, productive years focused solely on our retirements -- we don't even know if we'll live that long.
He went on to describe the retirements of such "losers" who thought that working 40 hours a week was sufficient -- condemned to the horrors of living in a double-wide trailer!
Well, I think that's a fair trade-off for having actually fully lived and enjoyed my life during my prime years, instead of spending every possible moment working. Indeed, what of the workaholic who drops dead from overwork before he can even enjoy the fruits of his labor in retirement? Who is the "loser" here?
Time is just as valuable a commodity as money; even more so, in my book. Having less money but having had a full life is a fair exchange, I'm thinking.
After all, no one ever says they wished they'd spent more time at the office when they're on their deathbeds.
Thoughts?
He and I obviously have a very different view of what success is. Yes, spending every available waking hour possible devoted to one's job will most likely make a person end up with more money available for both spending and saving.
But at what cost? People can get so caught up in making a living that they forget how to live. This man obviously didn't consider that most people are not working at fulfilling, inspiring careers -- most of us have jobs that we tolerate, if we're lucky, that are merely a means to an end. And all the ambition in the world won't make fulfulling careers available to everyone who will just work hard enough for it. Someone has to flip the burgers, carry the bags, drive the buses, and so on.
It's more than a little insensitive to suggest that these people and others in less than rewarding jobs spend even more time doing them, to the neglect of the things in life that really matter to most people: our families, friends, lovers, spouses, and hobbies.
We only live once and we have to live in the now; not spend our active, productive years focused solely on our retirements -- we don't even know if we'll live that long.
He went on to describe the retirements of such "losers" who thought that working 40 hours a week was sufficient -- condemned to the horrors of living in a double-wide trailer!
Well, I think that's a fair trade-off for having actually fully lived and enjoyed my life during my prime years, instead of spending every possible moment working. Indeed, what of the workaholic who drops dead from overwork before he can even enjoy the fruits of his labor in retirement? Who is the "loser" here?
Time is just as valuable a commodity as money; even more so, in my book. Having less money but having had a full life is a fair exchange, I'm thinking.
After all, no one ever says they wished they'd spent more time at the office when they're on their deathbeds.
Thoughts?
Thursday, July 27, 2006
More Old Journal Entries
Following are more entries from my old journal from my police days...
August 27, 1988
This past weekend, I drew jail detail. I went in there on Saturday morning to find there were 15 people on the A side, 3 more than capacity. And half them belonged in a detox center, not jail. I ended up sending one to the hospital for the DTs (some of the winos called it the DDTs) and he was at the ER for 4 hours before they brought him back. This was nothing compared to what second shift had. An hour after I left, one of the trusty prisoners totally flipped out in DTs. The trusties were sitting on the carport getting some air and this guy suddenly started jumping through the weeds like a rabbit. They finally corralled him and took him to the hospital, but the they ended up sending him right the hell on back to us.
I came in the next day and they had him locked in a cell, totally off his rocker. The floor of his cell was completely covered in water and soggy newspapers. He had allowed the front part of his bunk to collapse and he was sitting on the tilting bed, as is. He thought he was in a big truck and wanted me to set the brake before it went out of control. He was talking to people that weren't there and was having an earnest conversation with the toilet. The hospital had sent Librium back with him, but that was like pouring a glass of water on the Chicago fire.. I was annoyed that the hospital had sent back a person so obviously in need of medical help. They do it all the time and I hate it because we are not set up to take care of sick people and we are not medically trained. The jail is in one sense a dumping ground. We end up having to take the people they won't take elsewhere. A lot of the people we get don't really belong in jail, but they can't get the help they need elsewhere, because of financial reasons. A middle class alcoholic can go to a detox center, the poor ones end up in jail.
August 28, 1988
The mall has a big problem with loud, rowdy teenagers loitering there, picking fights with each other, drag racing around the parking lot, and so on. A group of them mugged a 72 year old woman the other day. Another officer proposed a funny solution -- we bus all the winos from the viaduct to the mall and move the teenagers to the viaduct!
August 29, 1988
Last night we brought in one who was bucking for the "Asshole of the Month" award. He was very sarcastic and belligerent, verbally abusing everyone in sight. He refused to use the phone because he thought it was "bugged". When he was put in the cell, he promptly dismantled the bed and flooded the cell. When he bitched about this, I told him he had made his bed and that now he could lie in it. Later on, he started whistling for the jailer instead of calling him by voice. I don't know about the jailer, but hell could freeze over before I would come in response to a whistle. The day I respond to a whistle is the day I strap on a dog collar.
September 26, 1988
The fair is gone and not a moment too soon. It ended with a bang, as usual. Second shift had a rip-roaring drunk brought in last night. He ripped up the fingerprint cards and threw them at the jailer. When he was put in his cell, he promptly broke the toilet in there. They decided to send him to the county mental tank. They put him in the paddy wagon and he promptly did a donkey act, kicking out the back door of the van, and running into the field with handcuffs on.
October 6, 1988
Today, about a half hour before we got off, someone got shot at one of the projects. Another officer was bringing a prisoner to the jail as the call went out over the radio. When he heard that, he just shoehorned the guy out the door to the jailer and sped off. The shooter turned out to be one of our regulars and he had shot this guy in the leg in a fight over a woman. Dumbass.
October 24, 1988
Last night the Sgt. called out on the radio that he was opening the gas pumps, asking if any units needed gas. The dispatcher responded, "10-4!". The Sgt popped back, "J, I didn't think you needed any more gas!"
November 25, 1988
Tonight, a guy was arrested, caught trying to steal a pickup truck. When questioned about it, he said he was sick of walking. Yet, he had $170 in his pocket. Too cheap to call a cab, I guess. I told him he should have tried to steal a Pinto instead of a truck -- that way he would have only been charged with petit larceny!
August 27, 1988
This past weekend, I drew jail detail. I went in there on Saturday morning to find there were 15 people on the A side, 3 more than capacity. And half them belonged in a detox center, not jail. I ended up sending one to the hospital for the DTs (some of the winos called it the DDTs) and he was at the ER for 4 hours before they brought him back. This was nothing compared to what second shift had. An hour after I left, one of the trusty prisoners totally flipped out in DTs. The trusties were sitting on the carport getting some air and this guy suddenly started jumping through the weeds like a rabbit. They finally corralled him and took him to the hospital, but the they ended up sending him right the hell on back to us.
I came in the next day and they had him locked in a cell, totally off his rocker. The floor of his cell was completely covered in water and soggy newspapers. He had allowed the front part of his bunk to collapse and he was sitting on the tilting bed, as is. He thought he was in a big truck and wanted me to set the brake before it went out of control. He was talking to people that weren't there and was having an earnest conversation with the toilet. The hospital had sent Librium back with him, but that was like pouring a glass of water on the Chicago fire.. I was annoyed that the hospital had sent back a person so obviously in need of medical help. They do it all the time and I hate it because we are not set up to take care of sick people and we are not medically trained. The jail is in one sense a dumping ground. We end up having to take the people they won't take elsewhere. A lot of the people we get don't really belong in jail, but they can't get the help they need elsewhere, because of financial reasons. A middle class alcoholic can go to a detox center, the poor ones end up in jail.
August 28, 1988
The mall has a big problem with loud, rowdy teenagers loitering there, picking fights with each other, drag racing around the parking lot, and so on. A group of them mugged a 72 year old woman the other day. Another officer proposed a funny solution -- we bus all the winos from the viaduct to the mall and move the teenagers to the viaduct!
August 29, 1988
Last night we brought in one who was bucking for the "Asshole of the Month" award. He was very sarcastic and belligerent, verbally abusing everyone in sight. He refused to use the phone because he thought it was "bugged". When he was put in the cell, he promptly dismantled the bed and flooded the cell. When he bitched about this, I told him he had made his bed and that now he could lie in it. Later on, he started whistling for the jailer instead of calling him by voice. I don't know about the jailer, but hell could freeze over before I would come in response to a whistle. The day I respond to a whistle is the day I strap on a dog collar.
September 26, 1988
The fair is gone and not a moment too soon. It ended with a bang, as usual. Second shift had a rip-roaring drunk brought in last night. He ripped up the fingerprint cards and threw them at the jailer. When he was put in his cell, he promptly broke the toilet in there. They decided to send him to the county mental tank. They put him in the paddy wagon and he promptly did a donkey act, kicking out the back door of the van, and running into the field with handcuffs on.
October 6, 1988
Today, about a half hour before we got off, someone got shot at one of the projects. Another officer was bringing a prisoner to the jail as the call went out over the radio. When he heard that, he just shoehorned the guy out the door to the jailer and sped off. The shooter turned out to be one of our regulars and he had shot this guy in the leg in a fight over a woman. Dumbass.
October 24, 1988
Last night the Sgt. called out on the radio that he was opening the gas pumps, asking if any units needed gas. The dispatcher responded, "10-4!". The Sgt popped back, "J, I didn't think you needed any more gas!"
November 25, 1988
Tonight, a guy was arrested, caught trying to steal a pickup truck. When questioned about it, he said he was sick of walking. Yet, he had $170 in his pocket. Too cheap to call a cab, I guess. I told him he should have tried to steal a Pinto instead of a truck -- that way he would have only been charged with petit larceny!
Tuesday, June 6, 2006
Some Old Journal Entries
Last night, I found an old journal I'd written during my years on the police force. Following are some entries from that journal:
July 18, 1988
I had an interesting female shoplifter from the supermarket last night. I took her to the jail, where the female jailer took her to the bathroom to search her for any other shoplifted items she might have had hidden about her person.
The jailer had her to lift her skirt, which revealed some kind of bloomer type pants underneath. There was a rip about where the leg met the torso and the suspect had a package of barbecue beef wrapped like hamburger meat, half-eaten, that she'd stuffed up there. And she wasn't wearing any panties, either. At first, the jailer thought she was having her period and that the pad had slipped.
I'm surprised that I didn't smell anything in the police car because when the woman pulled the package out from between her legs, the stench almost made the jailer faint -- it would have knocked a buzzard off a carcass!
I may never eat barbecue beef ever again.
August 3, 1988
Yesterday, one of our regular winos was found dead down on the viaduct. One of the cab drivers down there called it in, saying they saw someone they thought might be dead lying on the railroad tracks. It turned out that he'd slipped and hit his head, but that isn't what killed him. It turned out when he fell, he got his head wedged between two concrete pillars and it had caved in the side of his head and probably broke his neck. He had been dead for some time as rigor had completely set in and EMS had quite a time dislodging him from the spot.
August 5, 1988
The county had a funny call the other night. They came upon a man along the side of the road, wearing nothing but a pair of briefs. He was not drunk, but he could not remember -- or so he said -- how he got there, how he happened to be in that state of undress, only that he wanted to go back to his home town 30 miles away in the next county.
It seems to me that he must have taken a header out some woman's window when her husband came home, or something of that nature.
They were planning to take him to the county line, but the next county's officers didn't want to take him without any clothes. They tried to find him some pants, but were unable to do so. The other county eventually agreed to take him as is. A strange twist to this story was when a woman called and asked about him and her husband. The two were supposed to be somewhere together on an errand. The guy in the underwear didn't have a clue about what she was talking about, however.
A screwy story all around.
August 16, 1988
I had a funny arrest the other night. I brought in two drunks from a local bar. They were both laughing and joking during the entire booking process. As I put them in their cells, one guy walked into a cell and pulled the door closed on himself, as I locked the other one in. I got a big kick out of how willingly he went into the cell.
August 22, 1988
One of our regular winos got out of jail on Friday and got right back in again on Saturday. A call came in describing a white male standing out in the middle of the road. I knew right away that it was "Tippy Toes". He was yelling and screaming by the time I got him to the jail, saying he was going to kill me. As we got out of the car, he knocked the ticket book out of my hands and sent his own glasses skittering across the pavement. Even though he was handcuffed from behind, he kept raising those chicken wings he has for arms to try to hit me. I was laughing my ass off at this pathetic spectacle, saying, "You're a real tough guy, huh?" Once I got him inside, his pants fell down to his ankles and I marched him to his cell this way.
September 2, 1988
On one call last night, a domestic call, one officer called out to another on the radio warning him that it was possible that the suspect had a gun on him. The second officer replied, "That will make two of us!"
October 5, 1988
One of the jailers did something funny last night. He counted the prisoners and kept coming up with one extra. After counting three or four times, it suddenly dawned on him that he'd been counting himself!
______________
That's it for now. I'll post more from this journal on another entry.
July 18, 1988
I had an interesting female shoplifter from the supermarket last night. I took her to the jail, where the female jailer took her to the bathroom to search her for any other shoplifted items she might have had hidden about her person.
The jailer had her to lift her skirt, which revealed some kind of bloomer type pants underneath. There was a rip about where the leg met the torso and the suspect had a package of barbecue beef wrapped like hamburger meat, half-eaten, that she'd stuffed up there. And she wasn't wearing any panties, either. At first, the jailer thought she was having her period and that the pad had slipped.
I'm surprised that I didn't smell anything in the police car because when the woman pulled the package out from between her legs, the stench almost made the jailer faint -- it would have knocked a buzzard off a carcass!
I may never eat barbecue beef ever again.
August 3, 1988
Yesterday, one of our regular winos was found dead down on the viaduct. One of the cab drivers down there called it in, saying they saw someone they thought might be dead lying on the railroad tracks. It turned out that he'd slipped and hit his head, but that isn't what killed him. It turned out when he fell, he got his head wedged between two concrete pillars and it had caved in the side of his head and probably broke his neck. He had been dead for some time as rigor had completely set in and EMS had quite a time dislodging him from the spot.
August 5, 1988
The county had a funny call the other night. They came upon a man along the side of the road, wearing nothing but a pair of briefs. He was not drunk, but he could not remember -- or so he said -- how he got there, how he happened to be in that state of undress, only that he wanted to go back to his home town 30 miles away in the next county.
It seems to me that he must have taken a header out some woman's window when her husband came home, or something of that nature.
They were planning to take him to the county line, but the next county's officers didn't want to take him without any clothes. They tried to find him some pants, but were unable to do so. The other county eventually agreed to take him as is. A strange twist to this story was when a woman called and asked about him and her husband. The two were supposed to be somewhere together on an errand. The guy in the underwear didn't have a clue about what she was talking about, however.
A screwy story all around.
August 16, 1988
I had a funny arrest the other night. I brought in two drunks from a local bar. They were both laughing and joking during the entire booking process. As I put them in their cells, one guy walked into a cell and pulled the door closed on himself, as I locked the other one in. I got a big kick out of how willingly he went into the cell.
August 22, 1988
One of our regular winos got out of jail on Friday and got right back in again on Saturday. A call came in describing a white male standing out in the middle of the road. I knew right away that it was "Tippy Toes". He was yelling and screaming by the time I got him to the jail, saying he was going to kill me. As we got out of the car, he knocked the ticket book out of my hands and sent his own glasses skittering across the pavement. Even though he was handcuffed from behind, he kept raising those chicken wings he has for arms to try to hit me. I was laughing my ass off at this pathetic spectacle, saying, "You're a real tough guy, huh?" Once I got him inside, his pants fell down to his ankles and I marched him to his cell this way.
September 2, 1988
On one call last night, a domestic call, one officer called out to another on the radio warning him that it was possible that the suspect had a gun on him. The second officer replied, "That will make two of us!"
October 5, 1988
One of the jailers did something funny last night. He counted the prisoners and kept coming up with one extra. After counting three or four times, it suddenly dawned on him that he'd been counting himself!
______________
That's it for now. I'll post more from this journal on another entry.
Wednesday, February 22, 2006
Times A-Wastin'
Most jobs have dead spots during the work day when workers have nothing constructive to do. Instead of risking being caught doing nothing and either being chastised or given pointless busy work to do, some workers have mastered the art of creatively wasting time. That is, they know how to look busy, while actually doing nothing.
Having worked in many jobs with lots of dead time, I've pretty well mastered the fine art of time wasting. Which method I use depends on the type of job and the expected amount of downtime available.
On the police force, in patrol cars, there's not usually a whole lot of actual downtime. But as we were assigned to particular zones and not the entire city, sometimes on a quiet second or third shift night, there wasn't a whole hell of a lot to do after driving through our zones, checking things out. Though we'd ride through and check the area more than once, in between rounds there were opportunities for a bit of goldbricking,which typically took the form of stopping at convenience stores and chatting with the clerks, returning to the station to chat with the dispatchers and jailers and taking our time in the bathrooms. There were some on third shift who even pulled into secluded alleys to park and catch 40 winks. I never slept on duty, but now and then I did engage in a few quickies on a dead night, an example of which you can read on my explicit blog.
When working the desk, there were plenty of ways to waste time. Because there were few higher ups in the station on second and third shifts, one could waste time while not worrying about looking busy. As long as someone remained at or near their posts, inside workers were free to read books, use the phone, play gameboys, etc. Of course, if someone came into the station needing help, we were to stow all the evidence of nonworking activities immediately.
In plant/factory jobs, the tactics differ somewhat. In a plant, when there is a downtime, either because of a machine being repaired or simply waiting for more work to arrive, usually those waiting are expected to clean their area. Usually, the area was already clean from recent previous downtimes, and all that needed to be done was a minimal amount of sweeping. Once we were done with that, there was nothing to do but wait. The higher ups, who'd never worked at our level, couldn't quite get this, and couldn't stand to see people not doing anything, even if there was nothing to do. So, we all found ways to look busy so not to attract any supervisor's negative attention.
There were those who walked around with clipboards, brooms, pallet jacks, carts, etc looking like they were doing something. The key to success with this maneuver was not to stay in one spot too long, but to keep moving around the plant, avoiding supervisory types. If one happened by, one swept a bit, stopping when they were out of sight. If one had nothing in their hands to mime working with, you could always bend over and pick up a piece of invisible trash.
Another key to successful time wasting is to stay out of sight. In addition to keeping moving, avoiding supervisors as mentioned above, one can take extended bathroom breaks and simply hide until the downtime is over. I would find a newspaper, lock myself in a stall, and settle in for awhile. Judging by the amount of people coming in and out, I could usually guess when it was time to return to my station.
Still another tactic was to visit human resources and ask them questions about various things: your insurance, apply for a different position in the plant, whatever. This was one where you couldn't get into trouble, as we were encouraged to bring our concerns to HR at such times.
One could also visit the medical station to get an aspirin, bandaid, whatever. As this station was on the opposite side of the plant from where I worked, this involved a nice little walk, where I could also stop in the bathroom, visit a vending machine, chat with those in other departments, etc.
In the plant I worked at, a visit to one's car was also a possibility. This was a favorite tactic of smokers, who went there to smoke or use their cell phones.
These are a few of my typical time wasting tactics. What are some of yours?
Having worked in many jobs with lots of dead time, I've pretty well mastered the fine art of time wasting. Which method I use depends on the type of job and the expected amount of downtime available.
On the police force, in patrol cars, there's not usually a whole lot of actual downtime. But as we were assigned to particular zones and not the entire city, sometimes on a quiet second or third shift night, there wasn't a whole hell of a lot to do after driving through our zones, checking things out. Though we'd ride through and check the area more than once, in between rounds there were opportunities for a bit of goldbricking,which typically took the form of stopping at convenience stores and chatting with the clerks, returning to the station to chat with the dispatchers and jailers and taking our time in the bathrooms. There were some on third shift who even pulled into secluded alleys to park and catch 40 winks. I never slept on duty, but now and then I did engage in a few quickies on a dead night, an example of which you can read on my explicit blog.
When working the desk, there were plenty of ways to waste time. Because there were few higher ups in the station on second and third shifts, one could waste time while not worrying about looking busy. As long as someone remained at or near their posts, inside workers were free to read books, use the phone, play gameboys, etc. Of course, if someone came into the station needing help, we were to stow all the evidence of nonworking activities immediately.
In plant/factory jobs, the tactics differ somewhat. In a plant, when there is a downtime, either because of a machine being repaired or simply waiting for more work to arrive, usually those waiting are expected to clean their area. Usually, the area was already clean from recent previous downtimes, and all that needed to be done was a minimal amount of sweeping. Once we were done with that, there was nothing to do but wait. The higher ups, who'd never worked at our level, couldn't quite get this, and couldn't stand to see people not doing anything, even if there was nothing to do. So, we all found ways to look busy so not to attract any supervisor's negative attention.
There were those who walked around with clipboards, brooms, pallet jacks, carts, etc looking like they were doing something. The key to success with this maneuver was not to stay in one spot too long, but to keep moving around the plant, avoiding supervisory types. If one happened by, one swept a bit, stopping when they were out of sight. If one had nothing in their hands to mime working with, you could always bend over and pick up a piece of invisible trash.
Another key to successful time wasting is to stay out of sight. In addition to keeping moving, avoiding supervisors as mentioned above, one can take extended bathroom breaks and simply hide until the downtime is over. I would find a newspaper, lock myself in a stall, and settle in for awhile. Judging by the amount of people coming in and out, I could usually guess when it was time to return to my station.
Still another tactic was to visit human resources and ask them questions about various things: your insurance, apply for a different position in the plant, whatever. This was one where you couldn't get into trouble, as we were encouraged to bring our concerns to HR at such times.
One could also visit the medical station to get an aspirin, bandaid, whatever. As this station was on the opposite side of the plant from where I worked, this involved a nice little walk, where I could also stop in the bathroom, visit a vending machine, chat with those in other departments, etc.
In the plant I worked at, a visit to one's car was also a possibility. This was a favorite tactic of smokers, who went there to smoke or use their cell phones.
These are a few of my typical time wasting tactics. What are some of yours?
Friday, February 17, 2006
Disposable Workers
I first heard of "temp" work back in the early 80s. Back then, the purpose of temporary employment was normally different than it is now. People who took temp jobs back then usually were not looking for full time jobs; they typically took such jobs to earn extra money for a specific purpose, teachers working over summer holidays, those, such as housewives and college students, who only wanted to work now and then, and the like. Those wanting full time employment found jobs in the traditional manner, being hired as permanent employees directly after a successful interview.
Employers used temp agencies much more sparingly than they do now. The most common reason they hired temps was when a permanent employee would be out of work on an extended basis because of illness, maternity leave, and so on.
Nowadays, temping is big business. The traditional type of temp workers still exist, but increasingly, people looking for full time work are resorting, usually reluctantly, to temporary work. This is because many companies, particularly in the blue collar sector, have ceased hiring in the traditional manner. Instead, they hire large quantities of temps, with the temporary workers sometimes outnumbering the permanent ones.
Initially, this shift happened to enable employers to hire people in a "try before you buy" manner. That is, a person was placed in a company as a temporary worker for a fixed amount of time, usually 90 days, in which time they'd be trained. Temp workers were paid about two-thirds the salary of a permanent worker doing the same job and did not receive benefits. Such jobs were advertised as "temp-to-perm", which meant that at the end of the 90 days, a successful trainee would be hired permanently, gaining full benefits at that time.
Naturally, because of the greed that is ubiquitous in our society, abuses of the "try before you buy" system soon overcame the original purpose. Companies began firing temps on their 89th day, then hiring them back as "new" temps to keep from having to hire them permanently and give them benefits. "Contract" temping came into being; that is, companies used people as temps for an unspecified period of time, which can and does extend for years.
Many companies now regularly operate in this manner: a small core of permanent workers with benefits, and a larger underclass of temp workers. The companies do this to keep from having to pay benefits for all their workers and in times of production slow downs, they can eliminate the temps easily, only to hire them back when business picks up again.
After leaving the police force a decade ago, I ran into this stone wall of temp working. All the companies I applied to informed me that I'd have to temp first before being considered for permanent employment. I ended up temping for five long years before one company finally hired me and I encountered all the abuses outlined above. I was at this one company nearly two years and when they no longer could give me any plausible excuses not to hire me permanently, they told me I "wasn't working out" and let me go. It took them two years to decide I "wasn't working out". Heh -- bullshit!
Another guy I worked with was screwed over even more dramatically than I was. He'd worked for fifteen years for one company when they suddenly went bankrupt. He then got stuck on the temp-go-round much as I did, getting mired in years of this type of underemployment. We both ended up at the same companies during that time, as we worked for the same agency. Supervisors wherever we worked praised him as a hard worker and he was a valued employee, usually better than the permanent employees. He was never late, never out sick, and quick to volunteer for any task.
He was married with a small daughter. Both he and his wife worked full time, as him losing his long time job had put a big dent in their finances. His wife had a permanent job with full benefits. He worked second shift and she worked third, so that there would always be someone at home to watch their daughter. There was an overlap of about an hour from the time his wife left home for work and when he would arrive home after finishing work, so they'd hired a babysitter to fill that small gap.
One week, the babysitter suddenly quit without notice. He explained at work that he'd need to leave work an hour early each night for a few days until he could line up a new babysitter, adding that he'd be willing to come in an hour early each night to make up for the lost time. This was a practical solution, as the plant was a round the clock operation.
Despite his excellent record, the company immediately fired him, expecting him to choose his job over his child. They even told him that his wife should have been doing that; that it was her responsibility! He and his wife had decided he would do it because her job was the one with the benefits. At any rate, how they chose to handle it was their own business.
My coworker's story is a typical one among the growing underclass of undermployed, disposable temporary workers. What was once a good idea has turned into a monster.
Thoughts?
Wednesday, December 21, 2005
A Sad Christmas
During the years I was with the police force, I worked on Christmas Day several times. As with hospital workers, our business could not stop just because it was a holiday.
Usually, working on Christmas Day was slow and there would always be a large buffet set up in the roll call room. Every year, we'd empty out the jail as much as possible for Christmas, freeing all those serving time for minor offenses.
But one year, something happened that reminded me of just how crappy some human beings are.
One of the guys on my shift was driving idly through his patrol zone, when he came upon five children, all siblings, walking in the middle of the road. They ranged in age from a year and a half to fourteen.
Though the temperature that day was in the low 30s, none of the kids were wearing coats. Indeed, the littlest one wore nothing but a disposable diaper that should have been changed the day before. And what clothes the others had on were dirty, as were their faces and hair.
The officer put them all in his car and brought them to the station until their parents could be located. They were put into a small waiting room, normally used by those waiting to see the judge.
No sooner than they'd been seated, than the older two started trying to pull the wallpaper from the walls. Indeed, the kids acted as if they'd been raised by wolves. The only one who seemed relatively normal was the five year old girl, who was trying her very best to take care of the baby.
Eventually, the parents showed up at the police station. They were crackheads: skanky and rawboned, with greasy, stringy hair, wearing clothes just as filthy as what their kids had on. The father got right up in the face of the sergeant, telling him the police had no business interfering with how he raised his kids. It was all the sergeant could do to keep from beating the shit out of this guy.
The children were taken from their parents that day, with the three youngest being put into foster care. The older two were turned back to their parents, as I imagine it was thought it was already too late for them to be anything different.
To this day, I wonder how life turned out for those five kids.
Usually, working on Christmas Day was slow and there would always be a large buffet set up in the roll call room. Every year, we'd empty out the jail as much as possible for Christmas, freeing all those serving time for minor offenses.
But one year, something happened that reminded me of just how crappy some human beings are.
One of the guys on my shift was driving idly through his patrol zone, when he came upon five children, all siblings, walking in the middle of the road. They ranged in age from a year and a half to fourteen.
Though the temperature that day was in the low 30s, none of the kids were wearing coats. Indeed, the littlest one wore nothing but a disposable diaper that should have been changed the day before. And what clothes the others had on were dirty, as were their faces and hair.
The officer put them all in his car and brought them to the station until their parents could be located. They were put into a small waiting room, normally used by those waiting to see the judge.
No sooner than they'd been seated, than the older two started trying to pull the wallpaper from the walls. Indeed, the kids acted as if they'd been raised by wolves. The only one who seemed relatively normal was the five year old girl, who was trying her very best to take care of the baby.
Eventually, the parents showed up at the police station. They were crackheads: skanky and rawboned, with greasy, stringy hair, wearing clothes just as filthy as what their kids had on. The father got right up in the face of the sergeant, telling him the police had no business interfering with how he raised his kids. It was all the sergeant could do to keep from beating the shit out of this guy.
The children were taken from their parents that day, with the three youngest being put into foster care. The older two were turned back to their parents, as I imagine it was thought it was already too late for them to be anything different.
To this day, I wonder how life turned out for those five kids.
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
Tightwad
One of the guys I worked with years ago on the police force was a real tightwad. He was a bachelor until his mid-fifties, and had continued living with his parents until they died, when he inherited his childhood home.
His parents had never charged him rent, and he'd also been quite successful with his stock market investments. So, with his lack of major living expenses, combined with his police salary and stock income, he was in a very comfortable financial situation.
You would have never known just how well-off he was by looking at the cars he drove, however. In all the time I worked with him, he never drove anything but junkers on their last wheels. He once told me he'd never paid any more than five hundred dollars for a car, and he never would.
He'd drive the hell out of these old bombs until they inevitably broke down. Unfazed, he'd simply leave them where they died, removing the license plates, then go buy another one. I saw this pattern repeated several times in the decade I worked with him.
One time, he had a car that would not go in reverse. When asked what would he do if he ever had to back up somewhere, he replied that he made sure to park in places where he'd not have to back up, adding that this wasn't his first car with this particular type of malfunction.
In another car, he had grass growing on the back seat. When he'd bought the car, there was a lot of dirt in the seat that he'd not bothered cleaning out. This car had reverse, so he could park anywhere, and he usually chose a sunny spot. When summer came, his back seat started sprouting grass, which he left undisturbed.
One time he bought a car with broken windshield wipers. This wasn't a problem for him until one Friday when there was a torrential downpour. I remember standing in the doorway of the station, watching him pull out of the parking lot with his left arm out the window, wrapped around the windshield, moving up and down in a wiping motion.
As one who has always driven the best car I could afford, I just watched him, shaking my head, not believing that anyone could be that cheap when they didn't have to be.
His parents had never charged him rent, and he'd also been quite successful with his stock market investments. So, with his lack of major living expenses, combined with his police salary and stock income, he was in a very comfortable financial situation.
You would have never known just how well-off he was by looking at the cars he drove, however. In all the time I worked with him, he never drove anything but junkers on their last wheels. He once told me he'd never paid any more than five hundred dollars for a car, and he never would.
He'd drive the hell out of these old bombs until they inevitably broke down. Unfazed, he'd simply leave them where they died, removing the license plates, then go buy another one. I saw this pattern repeated several times in the decade I worked with him.
One time, he had a car that would not go in reverse. When asked what would he do if he ever had to back up somewhere, he replied that he made sure to park in places where he'd not have to back up, adding that this wasn't his first car with this particular type of malfunction.
In another car, he had grass growing on the back seat. When he'd bought the car, there was a lot of dirt in the seat that he'd not bothered cleaning out. This car had reverse, so he could park anywhere, and he usually chose a sunny spot. When summer came, his back seat started sprouting grass, which he left undisturbed.
One time he bought a car with broken windshield wipers. This wasn't a problem for him until one Friday when there was a torrential downpour. I remember standing in the doorway of the station, watching him pull out of the parking lot with his left arm out the window, wrapped around the windshield, moving up and down in a wiping motion.
As one who has always driven the best car I could afford, I just watched him, shaking my head, not believing that anyone could be that cheap when they didn't have to be.
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