Master Of All Trades
I have easily understood thoughts on writing. What I compose, drips with brilliance, intrigue and excitement. The scrawling of others is drivel. I consider myself the gold standard of all I lend my hand to. I haven’t always been a writer but have mastered music, painting, bocci ball and square dancing as well. I have the skills to lead the F.B.I. and the moxey to command the Mafia. I am compassionate enough to give my coat to the cold, my meal to the hungry. Conversely, I have dissected a store clerk alive, who had claimed to have swallowed the combination of a safe. Knowing all, tended to leave me restless but I would master that as well.
Lying on the beach one day in St. Croix, Virgin Islands, reading about a crime boss being convicted for murder, I took a notion for lawyering. Returning home, I had my credentials prepared, my resume chocked full of riveting cases, I’d won and hung out my shingle. Not one to learn on a curve, I began trying murder cases, with death row in the balance. As I took great joy with my dynamic closing arguments, my clients were poor sports, being marched off to the death house. Once getting the hang of it, as it were, I set more killers loose than a jailbreak. Becoming famous was not in my plan, although my unparalleled performance was deserving. I watched the movie, Shawshank Redemption and immediately fancied myself a warden.
Subsequent to the usual finagling and finally at the governor’s coaxing, I accepted a warden’s position. Following the usual bilking of programming, food service and construction funds, I took garden variety payoffs from the employee unions, drug trafficking allowances and so forth. I addressed minor staff objections. What barbarian among us would object to logging into the day’s record the three prisoners they hugged. I found this an excellent ice breaker for our client/staff relations and group hugs quickly replaced physical cell extractions. Little has been said about the mental anguish suffered by the unfortunate subject of a physical altercation. Who would have thought, I hadn’t the authority to pardon? Having sent the three fellows on death row, who’s cases I had lost on their merry way, there seemed to be an air of labor and public distrust. It was then, I thought it might be amusing to call on the medical field.
I moved to a small town, accompanied with a tale of having been a doctor for thirty-five years and had just lost my wife. I was well received and began conducting initial interviews/examinations for cosmetic breast augmentations and PAP smears. While absolutely nothing was accomplished, the time just flew by. This time however, I stayed too long and after removing a third gall bladder and in preparation for a heart transplant, I was arrested like a common criminal.
In court I was admonished for correcting the judge on parliamentary procedure and finally sentenced to several years confinement. I consider this just another stop in life’s resume building exercise. I exhumed some old paperwork certifying myself a Doctor of Psychology and am conducting seminars for staff, friends and family on, “Being A Better You.” A nice nest egg upon my release in an offshore account. A side note:The Warden is dealing very well with the difficulties suffered from being an underachiever during his potty training stage.