12/20/2013 Part 3

This is the finale in a mini-series of posts that starts here. Although these documents contained within are part of my life, they are not considered public record until I publish them. All the same, I would appreciate it if all names, places, and references were considered fictional, and the succeeding and preceding accounts and descriptions not be disseminated without express written consent or implied oral say-so.

So it would appear that the documents I scanned into the first post were fairly difficult to read. No matter, you’ve read the story countless times before if you’re a follower. What I didn’t realize when I posted that first narrative, the one with mostly pictures, is that I forgot to include another police report; one from the point of view of another officer. It is critical to the story, and it shows how police work with informants, and how easy it is for them to let somebody go, once they give up some information. I’m sure I could have gone the same route, but I held on to the criminal code of ethics, and ended up doing prison time for it. I have no regrets.

These three pages show the process of observation from a parking lot across the street by a uniformed officer, to what I would assume was a routine traffic stop in the lot of my hotel, to a search of the vehicle which revealed a meth pipe, weed, a grinder, and other various paraphernalia. Oh yeah, and a pistol.

Now, generally a pistol in the vicinity of any amount of controlled substance will be an offense for which all occupants of the vehicle could have been arrested. In this case, the owner immediately started talking about the people in the room, which included me. He gave up my co-defendant’s name, the fact that she had a warrant, and he even went as far as to say that he thought she was selling methamphetamine out of the room. I hope these pictures turn out because the proof’s in the account.

Of all the things that stick out in my head, my words, “Go ahead and search” are the only words I remember saying that night. I remember when I said it, I knew I was fucked, but I was lackadaisical and continued chatting with my co-defendant while we were outside smoking under supervision of a couple officers. I knew I would be going to jail, I knew I would end up in prison, and I knew that my life would change within a matter of minutes. I could have said no, but it would only have been a matter of time before a warrant came. I could have packed up and run when she came back into the room and told me that the cops were outside. But I didn’t. Action, like inaction, is a choice. I chose to accept what was coming to me. I don’t think I knew why I was doing it, but sub-consciously I must have known that this was the time to lay down my sword and surrender. And that is what I did.

Over three years later and my life is free of the chaos I once thrived on. There are challenging times, but nothing as obstructive or destructive as the life that character I played lived. I see it all in my head as a movie. This movie has a happy ending, but I must always remember that, like some of the garbage on the big-screens today, there’s always room for a sequel.

dogCATcher

I only gave the post that title because I thought the word itself was ironic. I mean, the word cat, right in the middle like that, just neat. Looking at it now, I can't even seem to pronounce it correctly in my head because of the emphasis of the capital letters, and I hope you're having trouble with it, too. Man, what a CATastrophe.

Today I went to the one and only Saintly City Cat Show at the Roy Wilkins Auditorium in St. Paul. I had never been to a cat show before, but I had been looking forward to this adventure for weeks, and I was not let down. Yesterday, I went to the Maplewood Mall with Heather and we stopped into Spencer Gifts where she found me the lovely garment you will see below. Sadly, there were very few people who dressed the part of the cat-show roadie. People seemed to enjoy my hat, especially the lady at the coffee shop where we stopped to re-lubriCATe our bodies with energy before seeing the cats. I decided that throughout the day, I would try to communiCATe clever CATchphrases to my friends, but I didn't do very well.

Anyhow, I decided to write this post which will consist of mostly pictures, because it truly was an experience, and I pledged that pictures would be a more substantive part of this blog.

 Yeah, these pictures all uploaded in a strange, random order, so this guy made it to the top of the pile. Whatever this is, it really happened at the cat show.

 Strangely, this is what the majority of the cats looked like.

 This is Mason, my camera gave him blue lips!

 The coolest cats had an odd fascination with the hat you'll see me in below.

 None of the pictures we had taken today captured all five of us.

 This was my favorite cat in the show. He was a Brown Somethingorother, and he was quite friendly. Also, he retailed at $1,200.

 This is Heather doing her famous levitation trick, photo-bombing this cat-man.

 Heather, Mikey, and me.

 This guy got my little green ticket, which attendees gave to their favorite cats for some sort of tally.

These cats, much like many of the people attending the show, were unique.

As expected, the people ranged from normal to fanatic, and I think we were right down the middle. We were yelled at by one particularly mean woman when we got too close to the cages containing the cats that were currently being judged, but that was as far as it went. Some people just really love cats, and some people only have cats in their lives, and she was not the former. Overall, it appeared that everybody was just there to have a good time, make a little money, and show off a few good CATs. I will go again next year.

12/20/2013 Revisited (Again, for the Second Day in a Row)

As I stated in my last post, I would share this link with you of a post I wrote a couple years back about the night of the incident. It's actually just the beginning of a few posts in which I weave in and out of the story, which I tended to do in my earlier work. I wrote this post about a year later on my current blog about the same night, but I think with more depth and understanding. So far, I've given you quite a bit of homework if you aren't a follower of this blog, as these three links are fairly important because they tell this story from so many angles.

What I see right away is a chain of events that were set in motion far in advance of the arrest. I don't mean like from my first hit of weed 20 years before that night, I mean the car in the parking lot. Actually, the blue Toyota that the report refers to was a car I had been in possession of for a few days and I had just been dropped off in it for the final time. The owner drove it away, with my dog Willie, to bring him to a safer place for a few days while I made some poor choices.

 I had been at that motel for two days which is usually about when management catches on and you have to find a new place to deal. I don't know if it was an employee or a guest that called in the suspicious activity, but they were spot on. The cops had just missed the blue car, but fortunately for them, another criminal pulled up at the right time and they were not very bright.

As is shown in the report, when the officer approached the car, there was paraphernalia in plain sight, which is all an officer needs to remove everybody from the vehicle, conduct a search, and find the weakest link to point out somebody they really want. The report states that a meth pipe and a pistol were both found in the glove compartment. The next line states that he went to talk with Aricc, a.k.a. Red. There is no further mention of the pistol, which should have been p.c. for an immediate felony arrest because it was within reach of a controlled substance. The reason is that Red gave up Meri, a.k.a. Katy, and told the officers he thought meth was being sold from the hotel room. Red is what people refer to as a rat. Don't be like Red.

I've stated time and time again that I'm grateful I went to prison, and that it changed my life, because it did. But I do still hold resentment in my periphery because he broke the criminal code, and talked to the police. I was always proud to see the statement I made regarding making no statement whatsoever, and the next time I spoke it would be to my attorney.

When I talked to my attorney the next day, he told me to be quiet during the arraignment, and asked if I could come up with $80,000 for bail. He had a serious look on his fat face when he asked that question, so I knew I was fucked.

In the end, everybody that was in the car with the meth and the gun went home. One of them received a ticket for possession of a small amount of marijuana. The two people from the hotel room went to jail, and thus began the long process of moving my life in a different direction. Last I heard, my codefendant wasn't doing very well. She was facing some more serious drug charges and was in and out of jail. It has been over two years since I had any contact with her, and I'm certain I will never see her again.

In my next post, I will scan some more of the police report, this time dealing with the aftermath of a drug-bust. There's some pretty intense investigation that goes on after the handcuffs are put on, and the warrant to unlock my phone and its contents produced some pretty intriguing information. That's all next time on Fixing Broken.

12-20-2013 Revisited (Again)

Recently, as a result of having to do some leg-work accessing some old information to be considered for a position at Amazon, I received a copy of the police report from the night of my arrest at the Super 8 Motel in Rochester. The next few posts will be simple, this one in particular because I need to get out the door. I will be posting the report, with a few comments, and an afterword, well, afterward.

 

 

This brings back more memories, and the night becomes clearer in my head. On the next post, I will share a link to one I wrote about the events that transpired inside that room at the same time as the police were thinking about what to write from the outside. Sorry for the lack of original scriupt here, but I gotta go, I'm a busy boy!

John Cheese

 We did not take advantage of the fine swimming area, although I offered to use the crane to escort mom into the hot tub.

 

Good morning from Ashwaubenon, Wisconsin, home of fine establishments such as the Econolodge Inn and Suites, Renegades—Fitness, Family, and Food(?), and the Texas Roadhouse.

Even though I’d love to spend some time bashing the worst steak restaurant in the north, from the south, there are many more fun and entertaining things to type about, and my last post was a bit of a downer, so I will keep this one light. Texas Roadhouse was garbage!

Let me tell you a little, first, about me and my love for comedy. I’m really young, like in my 30’s, but my taste for the humor and fun in life began back in the 1900’s with shows like S.C.T.V. and Monty Python’s Flying Circus, and Fawlty Towers. Now, some of you may already know this, but John Cleese was a main actor in the two latter programs, and my inspiration as an aspiring comedian at an impressionable young age. To say it lightly, he’s a bit of a legend, a hero, and maybe an idol in my book of things, and I had been looking forward to this show for quite some time.

I thought it would be a good idea to bring mum along for her birthday present because she was the one who introduced me to British humor back in the 20^th century.



 

Before we went to the show, however, we decided to take a tour of the city by roundabout way, and have a look at Lambeau Field, home of the failed 2016-17 Green Bay Packers. I had always wanted to check it out because they are our biggest rivals, and it’s nice to see where their weaknesses come from. Unfortunately, I was unable to get any insider information. We were greeted by a man in a yellow reflective vest and I asked if we could take a spin around the building and take a few pictures. He said yes. In fact, I’m not sure if he had the authority to say no, but we followed the obvious circumference of the building, and got these shots.

 

 



Here’s what I noticed. Unlike the spaceship we have as a monstrous obscenity in the middle of our city, Lambeau field seemed unobtrusive, and part of the surrounding neighborhood. I didn’t feel threatened by the simple design, and there was a parking lot that surrounded the stadium. It seemed quite user friendly.

On to it then: We arrived at the UofW Green Bay, and wound our way through to the Weidner Center for the Performing Arts. I’m not good at describing buildings because I don’t know any terminology, so I will state that I believe it was made from bricks. We went in and had this picture taken in front of the poster, and toured the four-floors, but were not allowed a sneak-peek at the theater.

 This area was called a resting room. It was like a bathroom with a bed instead of a toilet. I would like to see more of these in places around town, especially at work.

 

Although hard to read, the sign on the door says HOUSEKEEPING. I found it to be quite sexist right under the WOMEN sign.



 

Finally, the doors opened, and we were let in. It was a beautiful theater, reminiscent of Orchestra Hall back home, but not as blue. We were seated about half-way back on the lower level, and were shown a screen with Holy Grail trivia with clips of Flying Circus playing in the background.



Promptly at 7:30, the lights dimmed, and some man wandered on stage. He was a radio D.J. and announced the start of the show. Very quickly, we were shown the movie in its entirety. People were shouting lines out from all over the theater, and there was nearly constant laughter throughout. And immediately after the show, another radio guy came out and introduced John Cleese. He was wearing a cheese hat.



Here are some of his talking points: His grandpa changed their last name from Cheese to Cleese because he was tired of being made fun of. I would have done the same.



They were having trouble getting the money to finance the making of the film, so they turned to some famous musicians. The Holy Grail was entirely funded by Pink Floyd and Led Zeppelin to the tune of 230,000 pounds back in 1974. A few years later, when looking to fund Life of Brian, they were again assisted by a rather well-known gentleman in the music business, George Harrison.

He didn’t understand why we call football, football, or why anybody would want to play it this far north.

He told the story of his first true love; writing. For the first series of Fawlty Towers, he was paid a mere 6,000 quid for 42 weeks’ worth of work. He survived off of doing commercials and would use that money to pay his way while he spent his time writing for movies.

There’s so much I just can’t cover because I can’t remember it all. One thing is for sure, as a 77 year-old man, he still had his wit, and his laughter was infectious and loud. I wasn’t close enough to see, but I’m sure he had a sparkle in his eye.

As I sit here in room 138 of the Econolodge, I remember the last time I was I was in a hotel room. It was December of 2013, and I was living room-to-room. I was a homeless and hopeless drug dealer, and I was going to get arrested that very night. I know if I were still part of that former crowd, I would never have thought to do something like this; something meaningful and fulfilling. This trip had a lot to it, and I’m grateful I had the opportunity.

Many miles later, and I'm safe and sound at home. The long drive was well worth it. I got to see a living legend, and I got to spend some time with my mom. Of course for me, it's right back into the fray in the morning, and my two days off went by quickly, but I will never forget them.

 

 

Vinting

What in the fuck is going on with you people? I’ve never seen such disrespectful, uneducated commentary since I was in prison. I’m talking about outright verbal attacks over Facebook regarding political views. Frankly, it’s disgusting, and cowardly. I still haven’t seen one good point from a Trump supporter either.

There is one big difference between verbally assaulting somebody over social media, and orally challenging a person’s views behind bars; you’ll get your ass whooped if you’re not careful. I think that’s what this country is missing; good old fashioned beat-downs. With everybody cutting each other down from a distance, regardless of age, gender, color, abilities or disabilities, or all of the other variables we have these days including sexual orientation, gender association, etc. there is no real chance to defend oneself against these monsters with Trump-like mentalities. For a while there I thought the whole school bully thing was a joke. I mean, when I was a kid, when the school bully fucked with me, I chased him and threw rocks at him until I hit him in the head and made him cry. I thought that these days about the same thing was going on, but it appears to have gone to a whole new level. I could be wrong, but I think it’s called trolling. Anybody want to help me on this?

What I’m trying to say is that there’s no real platform to fight back against these Trump supporters because when their fraudulent misinformation is brought into light, and the monster is revealed, they simply pack up and leave a conversation; remaining mute like they should have done in the first place. I’ve seen some pretty awful stuff. I’ve seen some iffy threat-level threads, and I’ve seen old women attacked for their views by either children, or adults with a child-like mentality.

My family consists of more women than men. It’s safe to say that most of those women were at one or more of the various women’s marches this week, and I couldn’t be more proud to say that. I would have been there, too, but my work schedule did not allow for that. I keep seeing their posts with pictures from their marches, and am grateful that no tormenter has honed in on these honored moments. I’m not a violent man. Hell, I’m not much of a fighter. But I do value the protection of family at any cost. And I’m grateful that I haven’t yet had to hand out my address over social media to some troll trying to beat down someone that I love.

I have to say this, as much as I detest the fact that a pussy-grabbing, orange baboon of a man was somehow elected by less than half of the popular vote, I still respect and appreciate the opinion of every man, woman, or otherwise associated, of every race, all of the time. In fact, that’s a great part of this country for now; everybody has a voice. How long will that last under the Trump regime? I’ll leave that question unanswered.

So, am I suggesting violence as a justified means of fighting back? No. I was only stating what I think; my opinion. But these trolls are taking over the internet, and they’re having a negative impact on vulnerable people, and soon enough, it will affect you if it hasn’t already. A good rule of wrist when it comes to bullying is; ignore them and they will go away eventually. Don't antagonize them, and they will run out of steam.

I can’t go on any longer on this topic. I’m not a political person, and I wasn’t even eligible to vote because I’m a dirty convicted felon (I would have written in Obama for a third term). It makes me sick seeing so many terrible people out there, and it can only get worse with a president who supports sexual assault, greed, and gender inequality.

Just try to focus on the things you love for the next four years, and see if we can’t get a real human as president again.

Background

It took eight days for Amazon to notify me that they were starting to do my background check, and two more to tell me that they discovered a felony from 2013 that they needed more information about. Here’s how the conversation went:

Vincent,

 

While conducting your pre-employment background check, our vendor Accurate Background discovered the below case(s). A criminal record will not necessarily disqualify you from consideration for employment. The Company follows applicable law. In order for us to determine your eligibility for employment, we need additional information from you. This is an opportunity to be forthcoming and honest and to provide additional information in conjunction with the background check.

 

To be respectful, your responses will be maintained in a confidential file that will be made available only to those on a need-to-know basis. If you are hired, your response will not be maintained in your regular personnel file.

 

Please acknowledge receipt of this email as soon as possible, but no later than Tuesday, January 24, 2017. If you are unable to complete the below within one week of receipt of this email, please provide an explanation for the delay and an expected completion date. If you do not have all the information requested, please provide what you have readily available, and then let us know when, and if, you can complete the remaining items. Your timely response will help us in our review process.

 

If we do not receive a response on or before the due date, your background check will be deemed closed, and you will no longer be eligible for consideration of employment with Amazon.

 

Case Details:

-           Location: Olmsted County, MN / Case Number: 55-CR-13-8208 / Offense Description: Drugs - Possess 6 Grams Or More Cocaine/Heroin/Meth - 2nd Degree (Felony – Guilty) / Filing date: 12/20/2013

Information Requested:

 

1.       Describe the facts surrounding each case (things to include: what happened, who was involved, how did the police or courts get involved).

 

2.       Do you have any court documentation or a police report regarding the above listed offense(s)?

a.        If yes, please scan and email to ………..or fax to …………

b.       If no, please contact the applicable court and obtain copies of the entire case file. These documents should include a police report explaining the circumstances of the offense or conduct.

 

3.       If applicable, provide documentation of rehabilitation efforts post-offense (examples: education, training, community involvement, recovery from substance abuse, etc.).

 

4.       Provide any additional information you would like us to consider when determining your eligibility for employment.

Yikes, that’s a lot of personal information, and the first sentence appears to be a fragment, but I’m pretty open about my past and my criminal history, so here’s how I replied:

Yes, I was arrested for, charged with, and convicted of, the felony you discovered while completing the background check. This should not have come as a surprise, as I explained it on my application, but I am happy to comply with your further instruction. I need a little time to come up with the paperwork, but I can fill in some of the blanks in the meantime.

 

On 12/20/2013 I was arrested in a hotel room in Rochester with an acquaintance, with math. I was in a downward spiral of life that had been spinning wildly out of control for years, and truthfully, that arrest was a blessing.

 

I ended up going to prison from 7-7-14 through 9-8-15. During the last six months, I was part of the Challenge Incarceration Program. Cup is an intense, boot-camp style treatment program during which I had the opportunity to start my life anew. 

 

My life now is filled with happiness, family, and a network of sober friends that keep me going. I am active in recovery, attend weekly meetings, and work with a sponsor in a 12 step program. It’s not always easy, but it is worth the effort I put in. You are free to contact my current employers, and my family, and even my parole officer for any referents you may need. You will never have a better employee than me.

 

I will send a full copy of the police report and disposition when it becomes available to me. If it takes longer than a week, I will update you.

 

Thank you for your consideration,

 

Vincent Maertz

As you can see, ducking auto-correct changed a couple of my words around and I sent the email out without proofreading first; a rookie mistake. But, no worries, they replied with an appreciative tone, and gave me some time to come up with all of the other information. I’m not exactly sure how to secure a copy of the police report, but that’s why I’m essentially doing a copy-and-paste post here. I need to start making some calls, and doing a little leg-work to get all pertinent information to Amazon to get this ball rolling.

Peace!

Grandma

Yesterday started out like any other day, aside from the fact that my car wasn’t working again, for the second day in a row. It was my own fault, as I was too stubborn to buy a new battery when I was told it needed one three weeks ago when I had the starter replaced.

Last night my mom came over with jumper cables and my roommate and I jumped it and it started right up. We were about to go battery shopping when my mother and I got simultaneous messages telling us that my grandma was in the hospital. The message simply stated, “At regions with mom (grandma to me). She is confused and complaining of a severe headache. They just took her in for a scan”. That was the only prompt we needed to drop what we were doing and get to the hospital.

When we arrived we were told that each patient was allowed only two visitors, and my aunt was already back there, so we would need to rotate in and out and change the rotation if more family arrived. I went back first.

When I found my way through the maze of a hospital, my aunt was sitting alone and she said that Nina (that’s what I call her) was being escorted to the bathroom. I took the opportunity to run a few tests on myself because I rarely have access to medical equipment. You know what, I’m sick of people in hospitals always telling me that I’m not allowed to use the equipment and, I’m not a doctor, and please leave. But I digress.

She came back to the room, arm-in-arm with a nurse. I was in the doorway, and there was a moment of hesitation before she recognized me. There was a glaze over her eyes, and a morose undertone in her voice. She wandered over to the small but medically high-tech bed and fumbled her way on top. She appeared to be having difficulties with basic motor skills, which brought into question some very light discussion of the possibility of a stroke on the car-ride over; it’s not a stroke. Please don’t let it be a stroke.

Laying down she listened to my aunt and I talk about her in the third person, as the third person. I guess that makes sense. She exhibited some signs of confusion earlier in the day when she was trying to get a ride from Uber. It was attributed to her general confusion with technology but the muddling continued throughout the day and was luckily picked up by my aunt who drove her in. Nina has been hospitalized before for low blood-sodium, a condition which can show stroke-like symptoms, and she is prone to migraines, although they are infrequent.

I looked down at her in her bed. My grandmother has always appeared to me as a strong, beautiful woman. For the first time I saw her age, and the woman in that bed appeared frail and vulnerable. And as uncomfortable as that made me, and as much as I didn’t want to see her like that, I knew I needed to stay in that room for her. I bent over and gave her a hug and kissed her on her forehead, as I’m sure she did to me countless times as a child. I will remember this, but this is not how I will remember her. This was just a glitch in a long life of good health.

It was not a stroke. All of the symptoms were the result of a migraine headache, although her blood –sodium was also low. They did keep her overnight to watch over her, and complete an M.R.I. for safety. I think we are now more acutely aware that we need to watch out for the danger signs associated with growing older and passing on those instructions to her husband so he can report any sudden changes or concerns, not just to the family, but to Doctors if necessary. It is unlikely that this was preventable, but had it been a stroke, time would have been of the essence, and things could have been different.

But they aren’t. She will be just fine after some rest and relaxation, and she will be back to being confused about regular things like Uber in no time.

I love you, Nina.

 

Squirrels

To write an entire post about an apple is a bold move, but somehow it was read more times than some of the recovery based posts that I have written recently. I see what you people are after.

Here are some updates regarding some important events of the last few months of this blog, and one, completely random, story.

I ran over a small, toothy, English-speaking bastard of a dinosaur that… Oh, nope that was a weird dream I had. A while back, I wrote a post entitled, A Tenth Dig in which I shared the story of my first real date with a human female in years. Later, just before the holidays, I reported that that relationship status was on hold at best, but I am happy to say that now that we are together, and we had a nice little day-date in Stillwater this past weekend, the pictures of which most of you have seen on Facebook. I’m not just hopeful that this will blossom into something long-lasting; I’m enthusiastic because I know it will. It takes a little effort, and some reciprocity to build a foundation for a good future in a relationship, and I think that’s what we’re doing now. It’s still new, but I have high-hopes; more on that later.

After a bumpy December in the household, I’m, happy to report that we now have three, sober adults living here again. It all started here a little over a month ago, and things have started to come around for my friend who went through some tough stuff. Of course it’s not over, and there’s always potential for disaster in this life we have chosen, but with some hard work, honesty, and more hard work, this will all be a distant memory soon enough.

For about a month there has been a squirrel living in our ceiling. I’m not crazy, he’s been up there making a home for himself (or herself) and today he’s scratching, or chewing his way through the kitchen ceiling, and that’s what woke me up. A few months back, we had the same problem only it was with a rare black-squirrel, and we decided to do something about it. My housemate bought some expanding foam to fill in the holes left by the rodent, and when he finally got around to performing the actual task, this happened: Well, first off, I should mention that nobody that lives here has any talent with even basic hardware, I don’t even have the right size hammer for the one box of screws I own. Either way, when he sprayed the foam into the quarter-sized hole in the ceiling, the results were catastrophic. The foam is propelled outward rather violently, and we didn’t know it, but Black Stevie (that’s what we named him) was home at the time. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him jump from the hole between the roof and the outer wall, and on top of my car. He was covered from head to tail in the sticky, quick-hardening, white foam. It was both funny and tragic at the same time. He ambled around for a while, and jumped back to the house so we went outside to assess the damage. When we turned the corner we saw him; he was staring at us with hatred in his eyes. Actually, he didn’t care about us at all. He was standing on the wall—like squirrels can do—and chewing away at his new outfit. He did look distressed.

We took the opportunity to fill-in the rest of the ceiling so he wouldn’t be tempted to go back in, and he never did. He ended up moving into a tree in front of our house, and slowly but surely, throughout the summer, he changed back to black and he appeared to eventually be happy and healthy.

The new squirrel will probably have to learn a similar lesson soon because he’s making progress toward the human side of the house through the thin ceiling, and we simply can’t have any more pets living here.

 

Apples to Apples

Years ago, I wrote comprehensively on the subject of prison food. I am grateful to report that since my discharge from the actual confines of the prison walls, I’ve abstained from frozen mixed vegetables, and processed meats and cheeses in nearly every form. I never did, however, go on a rant about the worst, most deceitful item that plagued the menu, not just there, but in institutions everywhere: the Red Delicious Apple.

Right off the bat, those are a terrific combination of words that leave the reader thinking, Yum, that sounds like a high-quality piece of fruit. I sure would like to eat one! Wrong! The Red Delicious Apple is the worst. Its chalky, bland, starchy, odorless physiognomies leave you in a state of shock, often wondering if, somewhere in a shrub, Ashton Kutcher is about to jump out and inform you that you’ve been Punk’d. Imagine biting into a red spray-painted piece of water-flavored Styrofoam, then don’t change a thing, and that is the rundown of the complex flavors you can expect from the fruit.

Historically speaking, R.D.L.s are responsible for the death of Snow White, and literally every person on the planet, because my knowledge of the bible isn’t that great, and I think Adam and Steve ate them and died, and we are all made from them, er… That can’t be right. That must be some kind of joke. But, I digress from that point, only to continue on my tirade of the offensive apples.

To further prove my point, R.D.L.s were first recognized in Madison County, Iowa in 1880. Iowa! Red Delicious Apples are the most produced, and the least desirable apple in America. So why are they so enthusiastically manufactured? Of course, they are used mostly by jails and institutions around the country to keep the cost of confinement low. They are served up in schools, nursing homes, and anywhere else we put our people when they need supervision. They are cheap because they are relatively inexpensive to grow, and there is a market for them because some people are given little choice but to eat what is offered to them, and that’s disgusting on so many levels.

When was the last time you saw a R.D.L. outside of a bulk-bag at a grocery store or in an institution? Never, that’s when. With so many good looking competitors to peruse, they would sit idly on a shelf until expiration, so they are bagged up and sold five pounds at a time, then they are tossed in lunch bags and eventually thrown out after the chips and cookies have been consumed. They are not even given to teachers as the symbolic gesture of good will, they are merely used as weights to get the paper bag into the garbage can from a distance, where they rot, and eventually turn into something useful; dirt.

My words may come off as thick-skinned, much like the fruit itself, but I assure you that I have much love for other apples, and other fruits, as well, but the time has come to protest the R.D.L. at every level, and put an end to insipid, useless, and dated produce. And while we’re at it, fuck you Russet Potato, and turnips! Oh, and parsnips, too. Come on, man, you’re not a carrot.

Ok, I’ve gotten that off of my chest. I’d like to hear your thoughts on the R.D.L. including any humorous stories, or opinions.

As for me, well, I’m off for the weekend, and then I work seven straight days at the Xcel, then I’m off to Green Bay with my mom to see John Cleese and the Holy Grail. My interview with Amazon wasn’t so much an interview, as a drug test and a few formalities. I’ll know more in a few weeks when everything comes back, and I will keep you posted.

The Early Rounds

This is more like it. I’ve written the last several posts from the comfort of my home, and right away I noticed the differences in the atmosphere here at Nina’s Coffee Café. There’s music, there’re people whirling around and chattering incoherently—or at least that’s my perception by the time their united racket hits my ears—and there’s proper light, now that I’ve moved to a better spot. There are things on the wall to look at when I hit a rut, and people to look at for the same reason. I sat down at my computer and my fingers got to typing without hesitation. I feel as if this is a more conducive writing environment for me. Of course, this paragraph has been just a waste of time for the reader, but I like it.

I’ve made it through the first three days back to work without incident, aside from a minor burn on my wrist. Two days of laminating, and a day in the kitchen today, followed by an interview at Amazon tomorrow morning, a Wild game at night, and a day of laminating to finish off the week. After a weekend without work, I really start to hit it hard again with seven straight days in the kitchen at the Xcel Center. Now you know my schedule.

 

When I was just a boy, not yet a man according to the Jewish faith, I took my first few sips of alcohol at the party after the Shabbat service called the oneg. Now, Microsoft Word absolutely despises that word, and quite frankly, I didn’t even like typing it, but it is a word according to Wikipedia. The overused internet site defines oneg as, “A software service located in Nungambakkam, or a ritual associated with Shabbat.” For the purpose of this post, I will refer to the latter when describing the events heretofore, and heretoafter.

I must have been 11 or 12 when I first got drunk at one of these shindigs. I don’t mean just a sip or two, I had done that when I was in single digits, but I didn’t like the taste. At some point, probably after watching adults react, I must have realized that the wine had an active ingredient that made people funny, or laugh, or who knows. I just know that after I took a few gulps of the bitter Manischewitz, I felt lighter, faster, smarter, and everything was funnier. Can you imagine me being any funnier? No, you cannot.

I had a few friends that went to the same temple, and we all caught on to the same thing, at the same time, and we would sneak off together unbeknownst to the adults who were doing their own thing, probably happy that their kids weren’t bothering them.

I don’t remember how often, for how long, or even if it was more than a few times that this happened before the age of 13, but I knew then that I liked how I felt, and for that reason, I looked forward to going to synagogue every week. I mean, what other reason would any child have to look forward to religious services?

I don’t think it lasted long, and I don’t remember going to services after my Bar Mitzvah, and I didn’t much care for alcohol for many years after that. But later in life, even in the worst of times, alcohol made me feel better, even when I had no control over my drinking. Of course, it was a sham, and I was just using it to mask my real problems, but the illusion fooled me, and I loved drinking. I probably still do, I’m just not willing to take a sip to test that notion. I am an alcoholic.

I’m not sure how I had never written a complete story on my first experiences with alcohol, but I’m glad I did.

 

Employed (With a Twist)

Structure, it’s the foundation of my life, and something I’ve held on to that I learned at C.I.P. While I was in the custody of the MN Department of Corrections—specifically the last 182 days—I woke up at 5:20am every day, and we were not allowed to nap or lay in our beds for 16 hours until the command “ready sheets” was given at 9:20. At first it was rough, and I think any of us would have given one of our limbs for a two-hour nap, but we marched on, in the figurative and the literal. Sometime within the fourth month, I started waking up every day before the lights came on, usually by just a few minutes, and I felt refreshed and ready for the day. I needed to learn from this.

Over a year later, and I think I finally have that back. Although I don’t get up quite as early, I’m up and out of ben by 7am almost every day. Poor Ben. Of course, that was a typo, but I let it slide and made fun of it before any of you readers could. You know who you are. Out of bed is what I meant to type, and definitely what I meant to relay.

I have found that when I go for long periods of waking up at nearly the same time, my days are far more productive than if I were to sleep in until, say, 9am. And I have further resolved that I actually enjoy keeping busy throughout the day, and am rarely tired until the last couple hours of the day, usually after I get back from the gym and have showered and eaten. Now, if you’ve read all of that and are still with me, I’ll be amazed. I’m now over 300 words into this post, and I really haven’t decided what to write about. But, now I have it.

I made a decision the other day while I was sitting in my recliner, in the middle of a week off of work, without pay. I realized that even though I like my job at the Xcel Center, and I love working with food, I cannot stay in another dead-end job with absolutely no benefits. So I made a brash decision to apply for a job with Amazon, because they offer full benefits from day-one, and are hiring full-time employees and starting them at more than I make in the kitchen.

I know I wrote a while back about me getting a promotion, and I even wrote two weeks later that I had to have a conversation with them about nothing happening, and it’s now longer than two weeks since that conversation and still nothing has been done. And, even if I did get a raise and more responsibility, I would still have no retirement fund, stock options, P.T.O., and medical and dental insurance. This opportunity with Amazon carries all of those the day I start.

So I filled out an application, and went through a few more steps in the highly-automated process, and I’m going in on Thursday after receiving a contingent job-offer today. Now, nothing is official yet, but my brain is telling me that this is an opportunity that I shouldn’t pass up. Somebody close to me today pointed out the other benefits of doing something that I’m passionate about, and having bosses that like me and appreciate my work. It’s true, I’m keen on cooking, and my bosses love me, but those things in combination with the occasional pat on the back do not pay my rent, or help me obtain regular medical and dental care. I need to work somewhere for more than just a paycheck; I can continue to explore my passion for food with my paid time off.

Does all of this seem a bit sudden? I think so. But I truly think this move, if I decide to make it, will be a good one for me. And that’s it for tonight.