R: 11/14/02

Work Diary, 11/14/02

At Kindergarten age, I stood screaming at the drugstore counter as the
clerk refused to let go of my arm. He'd caught me stealing a piece of
taffy, and released me only after my sister added her screech to the
melee.

This past Sunday, I did two loads of laundry, went grocery shopping,
and returned some movies to the rental place.

During my first grade year, two neighborhood boys and I spotted a
go-cart in a fenced yard next to the river. That night, we jimmied the
fence lock and rolled the go-cart back to my house, where we hid it
under an Evergreen tree. Soon after, the owner arrived.

This past Monday, I got up at 5:00 a.m., went to the gym, then work,
then home. I ate dinner, and finished a book.

In my second grade year, my sister and I would visit the amusement park
one weekend, filling our pockets with stolen goods, then have a yard
sale the following weekend. We used aluminum TV trays to set up our
merchandise, happily fencing the loot right under our parents'
noses.

Yesterday - Tuesday - I met with my manager and co-workers at a
restaurant overlooking the municipal airport. We laughed as the
millionaires sauntered across the tarmac to get to their personal jets,
then ate our Eggs Benedict while reviewing the office staffing issues.
Later, at home, I paid the bills.

While in the third grade, a classmate named Willy coaxed me into an
empty apartment and insisted we play swords with our willies. Willy
wasn't my first, and clearly I wasn't his. I admired his Afro.

Today, which is Wednesday, I went to lunch with the office techie. We
had Greek food, then drove across the parking lot to the Starbucks. I
tipped the barrista two dollars.

In the fourth grade, my mother took us to New Orleans for Mardi Gras,
where my sister and I spent a great deal of time swiping ashtrays from
the maid's cart. Then we'd scramble to the hotel roof and drop them
onto the adjacent building, which resulted in a quite satisfying
explosion of glass. We hid in the stairwell when security
arrived.

Tomorrow, Thursday, I will again wake up early, go the gym, and then my
goal is to audit the files currently covering the carpet in my office.
I've even cleared my diary in advance so I'll have time to complete the
task.

In the fifth grade, my friend and I pretended to be a company called
AIFS: American Institute for Foreign Study. This designation allowed us
to take the bus to a fabric store, where we picked up a box of Gold C
books. Gold C was the preeminent coupon source; the books sold for
$8.00, and the non-profit seller kept half the money. My friend and I
made a lot of money.

On Friday, which is the real laundry day in my house, I will go through
at least six baskets of shirts, pants, underwear, and socks. I'll color
coordinate my clothing piles, making sure the whites stay whiter than
white. Most likely, and assuming my partner is out with friends, I will
organize our shoes.

In the sixth grade, I traveled all over Europe with my junior high art
teacher. I drank my first wine, and discovered a peephole in the
showers of our hotel in Florence. While in Amsterdam, I sneaked out of
the hotel and spent a few hours on the streets, wide-eyed yet strangely
comfortable.

This Saturday, my partner will be leaving for a mini-vacation to New
Orleans. I plan to study for my insurance course on bodily injury
claims, as well as take the dog on her lengthy weekend walk around the
lake.

During my seventh grade year, my sister and I infiltrated the high
school across the street, making off with a year's worth of saved
aluminum cans. We dressed in black, and used wire cutters. The cans
filled our apartment dining room. Our take was $45.00 apiece; I used my
portion to eat at my favorite Mexican restaurant for one straight
week.

This Sunday, I will sleep in until 6:30 or so. Because my partner will
still be in New Orleans, I will take the opportunity to do some
cleaning. I might have breakfast with my friend. For the afternoon,
I'll eat leftovers and watch any movies I've rented, particularly those
that need to be returned no later than 5:00 p.m. I'll pay the bills
that come in Saturday's mail.

Respectability seems to have cost me something, and I'm not sure what
it is. How, then, can I want it back so badly?