The Fountain

This is a true story.

The Teacher Recruitment Center was a strange environment for me. On one level, it was the best job I ever had. The people I worked directly with and the work environment we created were un-imaginably great. On the other hand, the people we worked for were some of the worst I have ever experienced. It was a grant funded program, so our operating expenses were covered by the state, however, the agency that volunteered to house our office wanted to use much of our funding for their own projects. During the first year and a half, we had to have the state intervene several times to remind our overseers that they could not use the grant money or our staff for their purposes, and that they could not refuse to let us spend the funds as we saw fit.

As one might imagine, this didn’t do down well, and it created an environment of deceit, and distrust. It was not a rare occasion that they reminded us that they could replace us with “more cooperative” people. As it turned out, they couldn’t; we worked for the state. So, they frequently searched our offices and computers after hours for reasons to terminate us and send the program to another agency. There was nothing to find and their actions and antics showed them to be petty and unprofessional. Their conduct and the problems they caused are the reason the program was terminated.

It was in this environment that the following events occurred.

I had an office. At first it was a private office, but they decided that I needed to share it with two other staff members. If they had known how well we got along and how well we worked together they would have changed their tiny little minds, so we complained a lot. In this office I had several personal effects, books, art, a radio and a small fountain.

This fountain held about a pint of water and was made of slate painted to look like jade. It was cheap but it made a soothing noise…most of the time. Sometimes it could create a great deal of noise, and get very loud. It took some time, but we eventually noticed that when the fountain got noisy, something bad was about to happen or someone was near by working or plotting against us. It never failed. On one occasion, I was being reprimanded by my boss when the fountain made so much noise that he turned and looked at it. He then asked if it was broken. I told him no and we continued the conversation. When we had both calmed down, the fountain became quiet. He never came back into my office again.

Towards the end of the project, I could tell when one of the overseers was coming over just by the sound of the fountain. One person, working in the office but not part of the team, would walk by my office and the fountain would get loud as she approached and quieter as she passed by; the Doppler Effect. On several occasions she would try to sneak up on us and see if we were working or not, and when she got near the door she either found us looking at her or one of us would speak to her before she got to the door, she never came in either.

The Envelope

This wasn't where he wanted to be. Actually, he would have preferred to be anywhere else. This wasn’t his first time here. Oh no, Josh had seen this rodeo before, which was kind of the point. Mom and Dad did not like being called at work because of their miscreant son’s latest exploits. Being sent to detention was no big deal; hell, he had an assigned seat. Getting caught screwing off IN detention, that was going to be hard to explain. Being punished for not following the rules is one thing, but not following the rules when being punished for not following the rules is a deeper kind of stupid, as his father had pointed out the last time.

The Dean of Students, Dr. Scholl, was in charge of student discipline, hence the nickname “Dean of Stupids”. His secretary, Carol, was in her early twenties and was always getting hit on by the braver male population, faculty included. Avoiding his normal banter, Josh had just taken a seat outside the office and waited for the teacher overseeing detention, Mrs. Johnson, to come in and lodge her complaint. This in itself was note worthy, because the teachers normally sent the students down carrying the report. Only major transgressions warranted a personal delivery, and the lack of conversation told Carol that this was serious.

Mrs. Johnson was taking longer than expected, and when she did arrive she handed Carol a large manila envelope, and walked away without a saying word. Josh hadn’t seen the envelope before, but he knew what was in it. Carol looked inside the envelope and was startled by its contents. She looked at Josh, who at this point was taking a keen interest in the floor tiles. Carol got up and took the envelope to the Dean. Carol was with the Dean for several minutes before she returned to her desk. She looked at Josh and chuckled to herself. The sound of her chuckling wounded Josh. He thought she was laughing at him, and in a way, she was.

Dr. Scholl shouted for Josh to join him in the office. Josh stood up and walked into the office like he had done at least once a week since he started high school. But this time was different. This time Carol had laughed at him and didn’t wish him luck, she just chuckled again. Josh saw the contents of the envelope on the Dean’s desk, the current issue of Playboy magazine. Dr. Scholl put the magazine back into the envelope and handed it to Josh. Josh took the envelope and looked at Dr. Scholl for an explanation. Dr. Scholl, just looked at him and then to the envelope.

Written on the envelope was note to Josh’s parents asking them to review the contents of and sign the envelope then have Josh return it to the Dean the follow day। Initially, Josh couldn’t believe his luck. Then it sank in. He would have to tell them himself when they got home and ask them to sign the envelope. This was obviously a job for Dad. He wouldn’t get too upset. He is, after all, a guy.

A Taxi, Love and a Scarf

I recognized her from down the street. She hadn’t changed much in all these years. She wore her hair a little shorter, but otherwise the same. A business suit, a silk scarf and a designer tote; not what she wore in college but it suited her. She always had an air of success. She was the type of person people turned to when they needed guidance. She appeared to breeze through college and grad school, only those close to her knew how hard she worked and how driven she was to her goals and ambitions. She liked to be compared to a duck on a pond, cool and collected on top, but paddling like hell underwater.

I pulled my cab up to her at the curb. She had a wedding ring. I hope he appreciates what he has. She climbed in the back and gave me the address. I caught her looking at me in the rearview a couple of times, but she never spoke to me other than giving me her destination. Most of the trip she was busy on her smart phone, doing lord knows what, maybe even just trying to look busy. I didn’t try to make small talk as I normally would. It was a minor blessing that she didn’t recognize me. After all these years, she had made it. She had a high-powered job and husband, probably a family, and I was driving a cab. Most folks never credited me with having much promise. I liked to enjoy life while I was living it. Success to me was defined differently.

I never wanted to rule the world or have more money than I could spend. That, to me, is not success. It gives too many people demands on your time. I have a job I like; it gives me the time and money to do the things I enjoy. Some call me a failure or an under-achiever; well, that is their opinion. It’s them forcing their values and expectations on me, expecting me to either live their life or at least validate opinions. That’s not my job. They should deal with their own issues, and not expect me to deal with their issues for them. I noticed that she had taken off her scarf, so I turned the air conditioning up in the back seat. If she noticed, she still said nothing. She was busy writing a note.

In college she was always taking notes, writing things down to use or memorize later. She had the best notes in class. I never took notes. I read the texts, listened to the lectures and got passing grades. She had plans for graduate school and a career track. I planned on graduation. She was an honor student, Phi Beta Kappa, and all that. I was barely above average. She used to hate my jokes about going to more honor society meeting than she did…I was a waiter.

I don’t know how or when we fell in love. But one day, we did. On some levels we were identical, middle-class, Christian upbringing, public schools paying our own way through college. But in others we were diametrically opposed. She was and honor student, salutatorian, student council, homecoming princess. I was troublemaker, shop class major and sometimes jock. She never got in trouble; I always did. She graduated with honors; I was honored to graduate. I guess it’s just another case of opposites attracting.

I met her in the commons our sophomore year. She was stressing a mid-term exam the following week, and I didn’t want to go skiing alone. I talked her into coming by promising to get away from campus and study together all weekend. I didn’t bring a book and she never opened hers. After that, we were inseparable. It started to unravel just before she left for graduate school. We could tell our career plans did not coincide with one another’s, mainly because I didn’t bother to make any. I was happy with an office job I was lucky to get and she was looking at fortune 500 companies to take over. I came home one day after work and she was gone. She left a note-saying goodbye.

I never saw or heard from her again, until I saw her standing at the curb flagging down a cab. When we arrived at her destination, she looked at me and smiled as she gave me fifty-dollar bill for a thirty-five dollar fare. Before I could offer her change, she was gone. I lost her in the crowd of pedestrians on the sidewalk almost as soon as she stepped away from the cab. I looked in the back seat and saw her scarf. I grabbed it and started to get out of the cab when I noticed the note. She had tucked the note she had written into the scarf and left it on the seat. I got out and looked for her, but she was gone, again.

The note was simple. “I never stopped loving you. If you can forgive me for leaving you, call me.” She put her number on the bottom. I don’t know if it was her office or cell, if she would answer or her assistant. I wondered about her husband and her marriage. She wasn’t the type of person to cheat, or at least she didn’t used to be. I wondered about how things would be between us after all these years. I wondered if we were the same crazy kids from so long ago, just maybe a bit older, perhaps a bit wiser. I wondered if we could have the kind of relationship we used to have. Could I fit into her world, or she into mine? I guess the only way to find the answers is to call. One thing is certain, if I don’t call, I will never know.

I guess I’ll call…

A Question of Ethics.

I knew what I'd done as soon as the door closed. Five years of busting my ass for this company, for this family, had come down to a two-word question: “Will you?” And a one-word answer: And, “No.” I worked diligently for five years and now have nothing to show for it, and a possible shattered reputation for my efforts.

I just couldn’t bring myself to lie to a client. The client had a multimillion-dollar investment in our equipment and many more millions in production revenues depending on its output. They sold the client one product and shipped a “New and Improved” version. The new series never worked, even in the R and D lab. It was buggy and very poorly designed. The owners had maneuvered me into their scheme before I could figure it out. But this was too much, even for me. They let me have the R and D boys disassemble one of their returned units and start to redesign and repair it for the client. We then had a meeting with client and gave them firm dates for shipping and final repairs. When we returned to the factory, they instructed the R and D boys to literally push the units aside and work on a new project for a new prospective client, and told me string the old client along with excuses and new problems. Hence the question: “Will you?” and my reply, “No.”

I learned my ethics in politics of all places. Even in the trenches of political campaigning there are hard and fast rules. Rule number one is, “You lie, you die”. It’s okay and even expected to mislead and avoid hard positions; to redirect questions and to tell the people what they want to hear, just don’t lie. Just as soon you lie, the media and the opponent find out about it, and they always do faster than you imagined possible; you die politically. Your chances of winning are cut to nil. How often have you watched a candidate try to defend or deflect the effects of a lie to the media? Every election, that’s how often. It happens at every level, and the results are the same; money that should have been used sending out the message is used trying to fix the mistake; a mistake that can’t be fixed. You can unbreak an egg, and you can’t untell and lie. Once a trust is broken it will never be the same. The same is true in business and every other aspect of life.

I didn’t have many options, stay and be marginalized and fired at their convenience, or go for a quick break; resign now and walk away। I opted for the break. I figured that they are going to blame me for as much as they can, so I needed to set the record straight. I may not find a comparable job any time soon; some will call me disloyal, but I have a clear conscience.

Seven-Meter Board

Seven meters, twenty-one feet, it doesn’t seem like a long way. It’s the length of the typical, suburban garage; maybe as long as your driveway or backyard; not very far at all on the horizontal plane. Looking down at it is a different story altogether. It’s a massive distance when you plan to travel it using gravity; or any other means in which gravity may come into play, and gravity always comes into play on the vertical plane. Standing at the edge of a seven-meter diving platform for the first time and looking down at the surface of the water below is what you may call a “Come to Jesus” moment.

Do you know what Hare Courting is? It’s a sport in which you take two hunting dogs; if you’re using a male hare; one if you’re courting a female or if you just want the hare to have half a chance; if you use three dogs, you may as well just drop the hare into the kennel; you go to a large open field and release the hare first and then the dog or dogs. They call it courting because if the dogs catch the hare, the hare is fucked. Not proper fucked, mind you, but dead. It doesn’t take much imagination to come to some idea what the hare’s heart rate is during such an event. Well, compared to what my heart was doing at the edge of the seven-meter board, hare courting is a Zen moment.

The water looked deep and inviting. Not to mention cold and unforgiving, and a long way down. The smooth surface of the water was almost hypnotic. The shimmer of the lights reflecting off of the surface looked like strands of pearls dancing on the water; so beautiful and yet so unforgiving. It reminded me of a crocodile lying patiently, motionless and emotionless waiting for his prey to come to him. The pool stared up at me knowing I was its next victim.

I’m not a small guy; a little braver than most, or dumber as argued by some, I’m not as prideful as others, but I do have a healthy self-image. I am strong willed and not easy to intimidate. But when a little eight-year-old girl starts calling you “chicken” and telling you to “jump or climb down”, it hurts. And any chance इ had with her cute, divorced mother just died. When a whole class of eight-year-old divers starts to laugh at you, it hurts a lot.

At this point retreat is not an option. I tried to visualize Greg Louganis in a forward one and a half pike; over and over in my mind. I can do this off of the one meter board, that tiny little sliver of fiberglass way down there on my right, so why not from up here? Because this seven times as high as that little board and the impact from the attitude will kill me. Yeah sure the little girl can do it, but she’s tiny. Force equals mass times acceleration. She has no mass, therefore no force at impact. Obviously this is suicide for a man of my size.

There comes a point in a man’s life when he has to decide whether he can live with the shame of failure or if death is a better option; to decide on a course of action and stick to it regardless of the consequences. Semper Fidelis as the marines say, death before dishonor। I couldn’t go back down the ladder; partly because she was already on her way up. Knowing that my decent will look more like Jerry Lewis falling off of a stage than Greg Louganis winning a gold metal, I had only one option, gravity.

A Gas Station, A Lie And A Necklace.

“You’re seeing her again, aren’t you?” it was a statement more than a question. Chris could tell by the tone of Jody’s voice that they were going to have the ‘Lisa’ conversation again, and wasn’t looking forward to covering old ground; not again; not now at least. This was to be their weekend to rebuild their relationship.

“No, I’m not. Why would you say such a thing? Chris asked.

“I saw her at the gas station when I went to fill up for our trip. She seemed surprised that it was me in your car and not you. By the time she realized who was driving it was too late to pretend she didn’t see the car. Was she supposed to meet you this morning? If memory serves, you wanted to go get gas this morning. Isn’t that right?” Jody asked in return.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I haven’t seen her in months.”

“Really? Then how do you explain her necklace in the console. You know the one I’m talking about, you gave it to her for Valentine’s Day after she broke us up the last time; the diamond set in a broken heart. She knew right where it was; almost like she put it there herself.” Jody stated flatly.

“It must have been there for a long time.” Chris said trying to deflect the accusation.

“No. It wasn’t there last week when I used your car when mine was at the dealership. I noticed it when I got in, I just didn’t look closely enough to see what it was.” Jody stated.

“Did she say anything?” Chris asked hesitantly.

“Are you expecting a message?” Jody asked sarcastically.

“No I am not.” Chris said firmly. “As I said, I haven’t seen her in months.”

“Well then, this will be as much of a surprise to you as it was to me. She wanted to give you back your ring.” Jody said as he reached into his pocket and taking out the ring. “The ring I gave you last weekend when we promised each other a fresh start; a new beginning. No more lies, no more cheating, no more ex’s in our lives; just us, starting over….again.” Jody said, no longer able to hide the pain in his voice.

“You two will never understand. I love you both very, very much. My love for her is different than my love for you, but no less strong and meaningful. I won’t pick between you and I won’t let either of you force to choose between you. I will not choose the one that forces a decision. If you love me, you won’t make me choose between you. Why can’t you two let me love you both?” Chris asked choking back her tears and taking the ring from his hand. “Why?”