Serve & Protect

I had my first ride in a police cruiser today. Now, I know what you're thinking, "Finally! They've gotten that whack-job of the streets!" But it wasn't like that at all.

We're doing remote buy-back on campus this week, and we tend to walk back and forth from the store since it's not that far. Well, our whole slogan is "Cash for Books" so, as you can image, that entails carrying a fair load of cash back and forth.

Usually, this is done at the end of the day when all three of us get in the van to lug the purchased books back. But today, our police detail offered to have a cruiser take one of us back to the store with the bulk of the cash. Since I was leaving early today, that was me.

Now, I expected that I'd ride up front, I suppose because I don't see myself as the criminal type. And that's where the officer who escorted me was heading, until the officer behind the wheel jerked his thumb at the back seat, so that's where I ended up. 

Don't get me wrong, he was perfectly polite, but it was a little disconcerting sitting behind those bars (attempting to hide the store logo on the plastic bag in my lap) while being chauffeured around the Square by Cambridge's finest. Especially when the radio began to crackle.

Possible shooting. Suspects afoot. You could feel the tension jump. When my escort picked up the radio, my first thought was, He does know I'm still in the back seat, right? As he responded in some sort of affirmative, I wondered if he was going to turn on the siren and speed right past my drop point, as he had already gone the weird way around.

"I'm going to let you off here, okay?" he said, as he screeched to a halt at the entrance to the alley and leapt from the car to open my door. 

"Oh, sure, yeah, great!" I don't think he heard me. 

The lights and sirens were on before I could get the door closed. And off he sped, to serve and protect.

Case In Point

I am so easily distracted by my electronics.

I Love Technology

It is at once the boon and bane of my existence. It allows me to do so many things. And in so doing, keeps me from doing so many things.

I was exploring Twitter today. Very interesting. 

So many little things to integrate.

I love it when things dovetail.

I'm such a nerd.

Why?

I have the job that I have because I was desperate to get into Boston. I love my parents, but I just had to get out on my own again. So I caved and took a retail position that I am totally overqualified for. Now that I've gotten my yearly raise, I make a whole dollar over Massachusetts minimum wage. Next year, if I'm good, I might be in line for another whole quarter per hour raise.

Now, once I was in Boston (or thereabouts) I figured I'd find another job that was a little more along the lines of my general talents and abilities. Unfortunately, that was the exact moment at which the economy took a nose dive. The fifty or so Craigslist ads per day which I had been perusing in New Hampshire went down to three. Businesses closed, companies conducted layoffs, and everyone (even in my ridiculously profitable industry) went around whispering "Recession!" as if it were some sort of charm.

Not only that, but I had the brilliant idea that I would go back to school to escape this nightmare of an employment future. When I told my bosses that I would need to go down to part-time, they recommended I just cut back to 30 hours so I could keep my benefits and it would be less likely that I would be seen as some fat to trim when the budget got tight. Okay, makes sense, so I stupidly agreed.

Fast forward four months. I have just a week and half to finish and revise a 10-page research paper for one class and create from scratch a final project for another. I also have to make up for some time I needed last week for the aforementioned paper which I took out of my regular work schedule. So, I'm working 36 hours this week (and dodging guilt trips at work for not offering more of my time during their busiest season) and I will not be able to get everything finished. 

I would lament that I should have simply gone down to part-time anyway, but the only other part-timer in my department has already been let go, so that probably would have ended badly. I would have simply gotten another job, but I don't have the time to even look, let alone interview. 

What am I supposed to do? Why is it that this country does not believe in investing in the future of its workforce? Why wasn't I born in Sweden so I could go to school for free and with government help for room and board? Why is it that the suffering I experienced this semester has to be drawn out into the decades it's going to take me to pay off my loans?

What the hell, man?

So Many Videos, So Little Time

I should be working. I have been working. For the last 10 hours straight before I slept. But one's brain can only focus on the gothic, and thereby horrific, implications of Joyce Carol Oates for so long before one must break for something lighthearted and utterly frivolous. 

Luckily, the internet is FULL of that sort of stuff. You can't go very far without stumbling across it. Or, in my case, you're cruising Facebook and you click on a link which takes you to YouTube where you see a video advertised that reminds you of one you saw two years ago and you spend a moment searching for that video only to find that--ta da!--it's still there, and it still makes you laugh.

I love the internet.

Cats Are Queer Articles

My kitty and me have an agreement: I keep her in tuna, and she keeps her cute little yap shut. More often than not, it is me that forgets the deal. Her favorite time to remind me of this is first thing in the morning. 

She has this uncanny ability to sense the exact moment when my consciousness hovers closest to the surface. She usually sits approximately 2 millimeters from my nose (or eyeball) and mews quietly at an ever increasing pitch until it is impossible for me to do anything but get up and rectify the situation. It feels something like this:

Although she has not used a baseball bat on me yet, I suspect she knows where she can lay her paws on one.

I was a particularly good human the other day, though, and was rewarded accordingly. I came home from work to find that the critter's food dish was empty. She was doing the usual belly-up wiggle dance to inform me of this fact. I filled the dish and waited for her to signal her approval.

She went over to the dish, gave it a cursory sniff, and when she looked up at me I could hear her thinking, "You boob!" She did an about face, marched over to the fridge, and plopped down at the edge of the door. She stared plaintively at the door and then glanced at me with a look that said, "You know the good stuff is in here, bozo."

Playing the good pet, I dutifully retrieved the open can of tuna and filled her tuna saucer. Andromeda oversaw the whole operation, and I know she must have been pleased at my speed and efficiency. Usually she scolds me for the unbearable amount of time it takes to get the fish from the can to her dish, but this time she never let out a single sound!

Am I well trained, or what?