I'm kind of interested in true crime stories. I'm not sure why, but I always have been. A television example, last night there was (finally) a 48 Hours about the Oak Beach cases (it is very clear how careless the initial investigations were); print examples, I was riveted by the books about Martha Moxley, Chester Gillette/Grace Brown, and Mary Beth Tinning. I also like television dramas such as Criminal Minds and CSI. At the same time, I am not the sort of person who feels a strong emotional reaction to current crime news. In fact, I barely follow it. That's a lot easier without 24/7 cable news.
So it is surprising me how relieved I feel about a recent (cold) case's verdict and sentence in Rensselaer County. I am not going to link any stories or write any names. Too weird. If you don't know, you can figure it out in a few seconds on Google. Dude (especially) and his family seriously creep me out. I am sure he is guilty. Beyond a reasonable doubt does not go far enough. It it amazing how advances in technology: forensics and record keeping (the latter due to changes in law) discovered the evidence! Grapevine says he is very disturbed and scary. Pictures from trial speak that too, I think.
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
I forced myself to finish the essays yesterday, one day before the deadline I had set for myself, and one day later than they would have been done had blackboard been cooperative. I finally posted the grades at 8 last night. Long day, and big relief to have it over.
I wanted to be finished because the yard was calling! Things needed watering and I had to weed whack. I wanted to do it first thing in the morning to avoid the heat, so got up earlier than usual and did it, without having essays to grade hanging over my head.
I picked tomatoes today! And not just the usual early varieties such as cherry or grape. I think this may be the earliest ever. Who would think I'd have tomatoes before green beans?
Today is the one year anniversary of "Little" Ande's death. So very sad. I remember a few years ago my cousin's dog died suddenly at about age 6. He was a small dog, and not a breed that is usually short-lived. Shortly afterwards she adopted an adult dog around the same age, to live out the years her late dog didn't get to experience, she said. That struck me, and I did the same thing. It seemed as if Little was cheated, dying so young. So now Teddy Bear -- or Theo Cat -- is living out the rest of his adulthood and hopefully senior years here with us. (He doesn't really respond to his name.) Of course there was also the name coincidence, as TB or TC was called Andy. (He doesn't know that name either. He also doesn't know "Kitty.") He's not very much like Ande, and even though he looks similar to Edna, he's not very much like her in personality, either. Thankfully he's a voracious eater - like a dog, since my poor Little could hardly eat. Here's Little in Samsonville doing something TB/TC could never do (because mean people took away his front claws), anyway, what a cutie pie:
I wanted to be finished because the yard was calling! Things needed watering and I had to weed whack. I wanted to do it first thing in the morning to avoid the heat, so got up earlier than usual and did it, without having essays to grade hanging over my head.
I picked tomatoes today! And not just the usual early varieties such as cherry or grape. I think this may be the earliest ever. Who would think I'd have tomatoes before green beans?
The green beans are coming, though.
My favorite annuals this year are white wave petunias.
The tiger lillies have arrived! Mine are always later than other people's, not sure why.
Today is the one year anniversary of "Little" Ande's death. So very sad. I remember a few years ago my cousin's dog died suddenly at about age 6. He was a small dog, and not a breed that is usually short-lived. Shortly afterwards she adopted an adult dog around the same age, to live out the years her late dog didn't get to experience, she said. That struck me, and I did the same thing. It seemed as if Little was cheated, dying so young. So now Teddy Bear -- or Theo Cat -- is living out the rest of his adulthood and hopefully senior years here with us. (He doesn't really respond to his name.) Of course there was also the name coincidence, as TB or TC was called Andy. (He doesn't know that name either. He also doesn't know "Kitty.") He's not very much like Ande, and even though he looks similar to Edna, he's not very much like her in personality, either. Thankfully he's a voracious eater - like a dog, since my poor Little could hardly eat. Here's Little in Samsonville doing something TB/TC could never do (because mean people took away his front claws), anyway, what a cutie pie:
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Still grading essays (it's a big class). Still no resolution to my problems with assessing discussion and uploading from a spreadsheet. (I did get a response yesterday, but it wasn't helpful.)
Today I was working in my class and thinking how I am amazed by the number of students who write "Ms." or even "Mrs." when they email me. Occasionally one even risks "Gina." When a student calls me Gina to my face, I assume it is for one of three reasons: 1) I seem nice and not hung up on status; 2) they are nontraditional students in age 3) my last name is hard to pronounce and they are more nervous about screwing it up than they are about being presumptuous (although I believe this last one has become less common, since the former mayor of NYC became a household name - now everyone, students and others, proudly attempt my name but invariably append "i" rather than "o").*
The reason they call me "Ms." (or "Mrs.") confounds me, however. I don't believe they intend to be disrespectful, or to attack the power imbalance (except on rare occasions, when that was definitely true). They are used to it from high school? They mostly have graduate students as instructors? I don't seem as if I could possibly have a doctorate? (But using "Professor" avoids that issue.) They philosophically believe that only MDs should be called "Dr."? (I know there are people in society for whom that is true, but I find it doubtful in an undergraduate at a public university.) They read the Chronicle and have noticed the convention in that paper? (Again, doubtful.)
I don't (usually) correct them, even though I think they should know enough to call me "Dr." or "Professor." The "PhD" is after my name on the syllabus, after all. In class on the first day, I write my name with the "Dr." in front of it on the board and I tell them about my qualifications in the go-around. In the online class, I have a bio that details my education and experience.
"Mrs." makes a lot of assumptions -- and besides, my surname is my patronym! "Ms." was what I used before finishing my doctorate. (I can't remember the last time someone wrote "Miss" but I never used it, came of age in the Ms. decade. Occasionally, an international student will say "Miss," and this I understand to be cultural.)
Even though I don't embarrass them by calling attention to their mistake, sometimes I will use a discussion of a theory as an opportunity -- say, Domain Theory -- to use students calling me by my first name without asking first or making assumptions about my marital status or level of education as examples of violations of social convention; although there are no intrinsic consequences from the action, as there are for breaches in the moral domain (where intrinsic harm is caused), it is a rule that is socially agreed upon. Another example I use is when we discuss returns to education, and are covering what is a learning society (credentials determine income and status): I tell them a story that always gets some laughs about people treating me differently, when they discover I am not an associate at Stewarts (as they assumed), but am instead college faculty.
Does it seem petty to care about such things? Or is it status "monging?" My parents think everyone everywhere should call me "Dr." because it was a significant accomplishment. I was a first generation college student and it took 22 long years to walk across the stage and be hooded and they are very proud.
Back to grading, doc. (A few of the clever ones who want to be cute call me that and it warms my heart...charming without being disrpespectful, no "tor," no pronounciation issues, no too-familiar first name but it isn't distant either.)
*Added: My name is also hard to spell (even my maternal grandmother couldn't remember) so that might be a reason for writing my first name instead of my last. You wouldn't believe the spellings I see. Long ago, I mentioned it in a story about succumbing to mail order offers that I wrote when I was a kid: "the personalized pencils which proclaimed I BELONG TO GINS GINLCANO."
Today I was working in my class and thinking how I am amazed by the number of students who write "Ms." or even "Mrs." when they email me. Occasionally one even risks "Gina." When a student calls me Gina to my face, I assume it is for one of three reasons: 1) I seem nice and not hung up on status; 2) they are nontraditional students in age 3) my last name is hard to pronounce and they are more nervous about screwing it up than they are about being presumptuous (although I believe this last one has become less common, since the former mayor of NYC became a household name - now everyone, students and others, proudly attempt my name but invariably append "i" rather than "o").*
The reason they call me "Ms." (or "Mrs.") confounds me, however. I don't believe they intend to be disrespectful, or to attack the power imbalance (except on rare occasions, when that was definitely true). They are used to it from high school? They mostly have graduate students as instructors? I don't seem as if I could possibly have a doctorate? (But using "Professor" avoids that issue.) They philosophically believe that only MDs should be called "Dr."? (I know there are people in society for whom that is true, but I find it doubtful in an undergraduate at a public university.) They read the Chronicle and have noticed the convention in that paper? (Again, doubtful.)
I don't (usually) correct them, even though I think they should know enough to call me "Dr." or "Professor." The "PhD" is after my name on the syllabus, after all. In class on the first day, I write my name with the "Dr." in front of it on the board and I tell them about my qualifications in the go-around. In the online class, I have a bio that details my education and experience.
"Mrs." makes a lot of assumptions -- and besides, my surname is my patronym! "Ms." was what I used before finishing my doctorate. (I can't remember the last time someone wrote "Miss" but I never used it, came of age in the Ms. decade. Occasionally, an international student will say "Miss," and this I understand to be cultural.)
Even though I don't embarrass them by calling attention to their mistake, sometimes I will use a discussion of a theory as an opportunity -- say, Domain Theory -- to use students calling me by my first name without asking first or making assumptions about my marital status or level of education as examples of violations of social convention; although there are no intrinsic consequences from the action, as there are for breaches in the moral domain (where intrinsic harm is caused), it is a rule that is socially agreed upon. Another example I use is when we discuss returns to education, and are covering what is a learning society (credentials determine income and status): I tell them a story that always gets some laughs about people treating me differently, when they discover I am not an associate at Stewarts (as they assumed), but am instead college faculty.
Does it seem petty to care about such things? Or is it status "monging?" My parents think everyone everywhere should call me "Dr." because it was a significant accomplishment. I was a first generation college student and it took 22 long years to walk across the stage and be hooded and they are very proud.
Back to grading, doc. (A few of the clever ones who want to be cute call me that and it warms my heart...charming without being disrpespectful, no "tor," no pronounciation issues, no too-familiar first name but it isn't distant either.)
*Added: My name is also hard to spell (even my maternal grandmother couldn't remember) so that might be a reason for writing my first name instead of my last. You wouldn't believe the spellings I see. Long ago, I mentioned it in a story about succumbing to mail order offers that I wrote when I was a kid: "the personalized pencils which proclaimed I BELONG TO GINS GINLCANO."
Monday, July 11, 2011
It's like a sauna outside! So no stove. Tonight's dinner (plus lentils, hummus, Chobani plain yogurt dip and Food That Tastes Good multigrain chips). I bought the big tomatoes on the left, but that will be the last tomato purchase for a while. After this past weekend, I have plenty of cherry and grape tomatoes like the ones on the right, and other larger varieties coming very soon. This must be close to the earliest I've ever been picking tomatoes. My sister grew the lettuce, and I grew everything else (besides the tomatoes, Italian and curly parsley, spinach, basil, chives, cilantro).
I was looking for these jpegs to post for July 4 - couldn't find them, gave up. I found them today! It's OK, like Elwyn's birthday month we can have an Independence month. Someday I will restore the collecting virtual museum, but until then, here are the flag / statue / patriotic ones. (I may have others now, I made these scans a few years ago.)
Weekend was unbelievably busy. Visited Long Island on Saturday.
Headed to Bridgeport from Port Jefferson on the ferry.
Back in Castleton, the tomatoes have really arrived! And the aggravation with blackboard patiently waited for my return (not to worry).
Finally, calling all Capital District and thereabouts carnivores: go to the Troy barbecue competition on Saturday and vote for General Joe's BBQ for the people's choice award!
Friday, July 08, 2011
So. Is it unreasonable to expect more than an automated response after two days? To then follow up and hear nothing? Even if it is only "you've really found a glitch, don't worry, we're working on it?" Hello?
There are things I don't write about here. Some personal things, some professional things. I'd like to write a lot more about this. Suffice to say, I believe instructional support has to be 24/7, 7 days per week. Or at least 12/7, 7 days per week. It was that way "back in the day," in the infancy of online delivery. Faculty really had a partner. Part of the job description was that time was flexible, people worked from home a lot and were often available, or at least the turn around was fast and not dependent on time of day or day of the week. It was necessary to break the outdated concept of "seat time." For the level of commitment required, there was a lot of freedom.
Sadly, my experience since our campus absorbed this function has been we follow a 9-5 model, 5 days per week...with generous vacations that are often ill-timed. Imagine if the instructor worked that way!
Seventeen essays done, twenty to go. (A few students didn't submit one.) The first writing assignment is often a rude awakening for some students that she really expects us to buy the books and read them. I'm burnt. Time for a break.
There are things I don't write about here. Some personal things, some professional things. I'd like to write a lot more about this. Suffice to say, I believe instructional support has to be 24/7, 7 days per week. Or at least 12/7, 7 days per week. It was that way "back in the day," in the infancy of online delivery. Faculty really had a partner. Part of the job description was that time was flexible, people worked from home a lot and were often available, or at least the turn around was fast and not dependent on time of day or day of the week. It was necessary to break the outdated concept of "seat time." For the level of commitment required, there was a lot of freedom.
Sadly, my experience since our campus absorbed this function has been we follow a 9-5 model, 5 days per week...with generous vacations that are often ill-timed. Imagine if the instructor worked that way!
Seventeen essays done, twenty to go. (A few students didn't submit one.) The first writing assignment is often a rude awakening for some students that she really expects us to buy the books and read them. I'm burnt. Time for a break.
This week's harvest! :-)
I always say bugs hate me -- but maybe that should be bugs love me? They love chasing me, swarming me, stinging me, biting me, sucking my blood, injecting me with toxins, giving me diseases. And I won't even kill them (unless they are eating my eggplant or cucumbers, but even at that, my methods of control are relatively benign). Fine -- hate me, love me, but they will not keep me inside.
Thursday, July 07, 2011
I couldn't wait any longer for an answer to what is wrong with the reporting tool, so I manually went through and corrected the data! I felt like I was back in the early days of online delivery. I won't be doing a midpoint report to students if I have to use this method, so I hope they find a work around soon. This has delayed my essay grading, but I still managed to get seven done. Only about 30 to go!
The hoe out the office project came to a screeching halt as soon as I got sinusitis. I believe the dental visit was the cause, but exposing myself to all the dust contributed. It's too bad, as I was on my way to completely transforming the space. As it is, I made a big improvement, more than I have done with all my "paper" etc. in years. I was thinking a minimalist, or even that woman who writes (or used to write?) the getting organized blog for the TU would probably have to be hospitalized if they visited my home office. Or at least they'd think I should be hospitalized. It's funny, because when we discuss philosophy in my classes, I use my disdain for materialism as an example of something I must tolerate in others in our society. Yet, here I am, attached to "stuff." I suppose I see a difference in being a saver v. being a consumer.
Anyway, before my teeth and sinuses decided to rebel (reading the above, I wonder if that was psychological?), I had intended to scan and post something wonderful here for Independence Day. Occasionally when doing extreme paper sorting and organization, one scores a find that's like meeting up with a long-lost friend. When I found this newspaper article again, I was delighted, in particular because the electronic version is on my lamented Iomega drive. Scanning it using OCR isn't really possible (at least as a fast job) since it is in columns. A PDF would have to be on my (Verizon-hosted) website, and that is where it will go eventually, but in the interest of speed and simplicity, I will share it here as a series of JPEGs instead. I decided to take the time today while Blackboard is not cooperating. Can't just allow paralysis to set in!
This was published in the Kingston Freeman on 20 March 1929, and was a reprint of an article about Benjamin Turner's July 4, 1876 speech at Crispell's Grove in West Shokan.
Anyway, before my teeth and sinuses decided to rebel (reading the above, I wonder if that was psychological?), I had intended to scan and post something wonderful here for Independence Day. Occasionally when doing extreme paper sorting and organization, one scores a find that's like meeting up with a long-lost friend. When I found this newspaper article again, I was delighted, in particular because the electronic version is on my lamented Iomega drive. Scanning it using OCR isn't really possible (at least as a fast job) since it is in columns. A PDF would have to be on my (Verizon-hosted) website, and that is where it will go eventually, but in the interest of speed and simplicity, I will share it here as a series of JPEGs instead. I decided to take the time today while Blackboard is not cooperating. Can't just allow paralysis to set in!
This was published in the Kingston Freeman on 20 March 1929, and was a reprint of an article about Benjamin Turner's July 4, 1876 speech at Crispell's Grove in West Shokan.
Still waiting on a solution to my troubles with blackboard. Anxiously waiting...it's only a six-week course and it will be half over this weekend.
The plants love this heat...but I do not. However - I picked tomatoes! "Only" grape tomatoes, but still. I picked two last week, today there was a handful. I also picked wild blackberries. I am enthralled by wild fruit! I will brave thunderstorms, Lyme disease, heat exhaustion for a half cup. Remember bugs hate me! So far I have gotten two bee stings this summer. Luckily I am not allergic to them.
The plants love this heat...but I do not. However - I picked tomatoes! "Only" grape tomatoes, but still. I picked two last week, today there was a handful. I also picked wild blackberries. I am enthralled by wild fruit! I will brave thunderstorms, Lyme disease, heat exhaustion for a half cup. Remember bugs hate me! So far I have gotten two bee stings this summer. Luckily I am not allergic to them.
Wednesday, July 06, 2011
Flames
1997
"SINCE YOU OBVIOUSLY PREFER SOMEONE ELSE'S OPINION OVER MINE,"
shouted the e-mail message to someone else
copy to me
"YOU CAN JUST DISCUSS THIS WITH HER,"
it continued
no doubt her is me
"AND I THINK YOU ARE HARRASSING ME,"
the sender was at a full rolling boil
I don't want to discuss this with anyone
"YOU ARE PURSUING ME RELENTLESSLY, LIKE A GAME OF CAT AND
MOUSE,"
too bad
the ice cubes I drop in have no effect
"WHILE OFFERING NO PRAISE FOR ME TAKING ON THIS PROJECT IN THE
FIRST PLACE,"
but the oil the recipient drizzles in
does
1997
"SINCE YOU OBVIOUSLY PREFER SOMEONE ELSE'S OPINION OVER MINE,"
shouted the e-mail message to someone else
copy to me
"YOU CAN JUST DISCUSS THIS WITH HER,"
it continued
no doubt her is me
"AND I THINK YOU ARE HARRASSING ME,"
the sender was at a full rolling boil
I don't want to discuss this with anyone
"YOU ARE PURSUING ME RELENTLESSLY, LIKE A GAME OF CAT AND
MOUSE,"
too bad
the ice cubes I drop in have no effect
"WHILE OFFERING NO PRAISE FOR ME TAKING ON THIS PROJECT IN THE
FIRST PLACE,"
but the oil the recipient drizzles in
does
Doing the early assessments - something that should be a snap - has turned into a nightmare with the Blackboard upgrade. AAAAAARRRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!! (But there should be some symbols in there too, to really capture the sentiment.) I am glad I volunteered for the pilot so I can upgrade when I only have one class to worry about, though.
Tuesday, July 05, 2011
I'm glad I said screw it over the weekend and didn't bother working on hardware installation in the Samsonville computer, because then I would have ruined an otherwise lovely day. I didn't bother switching the CD drive from one machine to another because I was afraid it would be time consuming and aggravating. Well, I'll bet it would have been a snap, but that hardly matters. Uploading the usual feedback for early in the class was a nightmare on its own! OMG. I finally did it about an hour ago -- I think. I can't see what students see in Blackboard 9.1, so who knows. My head is numb!
Monday, July 04, 2011
Saturday, July 02, 2011
The pool is still green! But it's getting there. This is the first summer in two years that Bob can actually work on it the way he wants, so that's good. It will clear up eventually. It is trickier with a Baquacil pool than it is for a chlorine pool, but it's worth it. Fun, beautiful day anyway. I didn't go in, wouldn't even if it had been crystal clear. The water needs to be really warm to entice me and that generally doesn't happen this early in the season.
Technology here is irritating, though. Our home phone connect is not working now that the leaves are on. I have to put the device out in the yard near a tree to get even minimal service. So, we have to get out of that contract and get another phone provider. Then, I had hoped to do some work on my class - cannot have 42 students in an intensive six-week long class and expect to take weekends off, even holiday weekends. But my various machines are not cooperating. I think I will have to cannibalize a couple tomorrow, take the CD Rom from one and put in in another - or maybe just say screw it. That will make next week really difficult, though. What a hassle!
Technology here is irritating, though. Our home phone connect is not working now that the leaves are on. I have to put the device out in the yard near a tree to get even minimal service. So, we have to get out of that contract and get another phone provider. Then, I had hoped to do some work on my class - cannot have 42 students in an intensive six-week long class and expect to take weekends off, even holiday weekends. But my various machines are not cooperating. I think I will have to cannibalize a couple tomorrow, take the CD Rom from one and put in in another - or maybe just say screw it. That will make next week really difficult, though. What a hassle!
Friday, July 01, 2011
I agree with Matilda. "Cottage cheese and tomato soup might be low on calories, but it's not Italian lasagna." Yuck. Tomato soup and cottage cheese! Reminds me of my brother's childhood (non-Italian) friend. This was the days before pasta was part of common lingo. In fact, we called it macaroni. The word "noodles" meant egg noodles to us. Once my mother was making lasagne for dinner and this friend said to her: "I don't like those flat noodles with that pasty cheese." We thought that was so funny. Probably did not like the "sprinkle on" cheese either (another family joke). Meanwhile, I put grated parmesan on ice cream and cereal. Well, not really, but just about.
My Second Lesson in Leadership
1997
During college I worked full-time at a funky plant and gift shop called "What's Upstairs?" Owned by Joe and managed by his small harem, his son Joey and I were the only employees. Joey worked Thursday nights 5-9 and I did the Monday to Saturday shift, 10-5:30 daily. Oversight was light and I basically ran the place, paying myself $3 per hour out of the register.
Joe was a charismatic hippie who drove his microbus or ancient Caddy to craft shows all over the middle-north east. When he stopped in he would discuss his business and life philosophy with me, while sporting his signature leather cap on frizzy salt-and-pepper hair. He had creative ideas for business names, such as "Gifterrarium" and "Sincerely Yours."
Young as I was, I took him with a grain of salt. It was a good gig for me, a place where I could study for my full-time schedule of night classes and visit with friends, while being quasi-in charge. I never questioned that the owners were rarely around, came in at night and only left me brief notes with boxes of merchandise to unpack. I guess I did think having the manufacturer's tags cut off of everything was odd. I couldn't figure it out, so I forgot about it. I figured it was better than my other option, waitressing in a pizzeria.
One day I arrived at the shop and the door was broken in. Four plainclothes BCI agents were inside. "Do you have identification?" I demanded, remembering what I had learned from cop shows on TV. They most certainly did, I was cooperative, and I made friends for life. They had a warrant for Joe for eleven counts of grand larceny and fraud, and so I helped them to pack up the products they planned to confiscate. Apparently, Joe had made up wholesalers to give himself credit references so he could order merchandise for a variety of phony gift shops, and then sold the merchandise without tags for less than suggested retail price, never paying any of the bills. Any junk which remained was dumped at "What's Upstairs?" This went on for years and years.
The cops advised me to work there no more, and even tried to convince me to become a State Trooper instead, going so far as to drop off a copy of the exam application at my apartment. I was intrigued by the idea. The troopers assured me the beat cop aspect of the job would be short-lived for me; I would be a detective in no time. But I demurred due to my fear of guns, loathing of athletics and that pesky driver's license!
My friends urged me to steal everything that I could before I left the store, but I didn't. It was hard to leave that place, because I didn't want to abandon the plants which had not been confiscated, since I knew no-one else would water them. They had done nothing wrong. I went back a few times to take care of them, but eventually I had no choice. I said a sad goodbye to the huge corn plant, umbrella tree and cacti, nailed the door shut, and left a note with my keys inside. And then I went home. Later I learned that Joe hired an expensive attorney, and because his harem members had signed for all of the stolen products, the charges were pinned on them, and they were left with the public defender.
1997
During college I worked full-time at a funky plant and gift shop called "What's Upstairs?" Owned by Joe and managed by his small harem, his son Joey and I were the only employees. Joey worked Thursday nights 5-9 and I did the Monday to Saturday shift, 10-5:30 daily. Oversight was light and I basically ran the place, paying myself $3 per hour out of the register.
Joe was a charismatic hippie who drove his microbus or ancient Caddy to craft shows all over the middle-north east. When he stopped in he would discuss his business and life philosophy with me, while sporting his signature leather cap on frizzy salt-and-pepper hair. He had creative ideas for business names, such as "Gifterrarium" and "Sincerely Yours."
Young as I was, I took him with a grain of salt. It was a good gig for me, a place where I could study for my full-time schedule of night classes and visit with friends, while being quasi-in charge. I never questioned that the owners were rarely around, came in at night and only left me brief notes with boxes of merchandise to unpack. I guess I did think having the manufacturer's tags cut off of everything was odd. I couldn't figure it out, so I forgot about it. I figured it was better than my other option, waitressing in a pizzeria.
One day I arrived at the shop and the door was broken in. Four plainclothes BCI agents were inside. "Do you have identification?" I demanded, remembering what I had learned from cop shows on TV. They most certainly did, I was cooperative, and I made friends for life. They had a warrant for Joe for eleven counts of grand larceny and fraud, and so I helped them to pack up the products they planned to confiscate. Apparently, Joe had made up wholesalers to give himself credit references so he could order merchandise for a variety of phony gift shops, and then sold the merchandise without tags for less than suggested retail price, never paying any of the bills. Any junk which remained was dumped at "What's Upstairs?" This went on for years and years.
The cops advised me to work there no more, and even tried to convince me to become a State Trooper instead, going so far as to drop off a copy of the exam application at my apartment. I was intrigued by the idea. The troopers assured me the beat cop aspect of the job would be short-lived for me; I would be a detective in no time. But I demurred due to my fear of guns, loathing of athletics and that pesky driver's license!
My friends urged me to steal everything that I could before I left the store, but I didn't. It was hard to leave that place, because I didn't want to abandon the plants which had not been confiscated, since I knew no-one else would water them. They had done nothing wrong. I went back a few times to take care of them, but eventually I had no choice. I said a sad goodbye to the huge corn plant, umbrella tree and cacti, nailed the door shut, and left a note with my keys inside. And then I went home. Later I learned that Joe hired an expensive attorney, and because his harem members had signed for all of the stolen products, the charges were pinned on them, and they were left with the public defender.
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