Virtual Scapegoat

[Motorboat Cruiser]

When I was about 13, I was playing drums in a band that accompanies the school choir. I fell in love with the sound of a particular cymbal that belonged to the school. I would use the cymbal during rehearsals and performances and then return it to a supply room. On the last day of the year, we played a concert somewhere, I forget where, and at the end of the show, my mom came to pick me and my drums up at the venue. I proceeded to leave the cymbal on my stand and bring it home with me. It is the only thing I have ever stolen in my life.

A few years ago, I donated a bunch of my old equipment to a local school. My hope is that it somehow repaired some of the bad karma from a very bad decision I made when I was young.

[Eliza Hodgkins 1812]

Ever read A Confederacy of Dunces? During his time as a file clerk, Ignatius J. Reilly is responsible for filing all of the receipts and inventory for the company he works for. His filing system? The garbage can.

For about the last year of my job in NYC, that was my filing system, too.

[Tref]

Originally Posted by Eliza Hodgkins 1812

Ever read A Confederacy of Dunces? During his time as a file clerk, Ignatius J. Reilly is responsible for filing all of the receipts and inventory for the company he works for. His filing system? The garbage can.

For about the last year of my job in NYC, that was my filing system, too.

Haha!

I have a similar story. I was brought in for a weeks work at some trucking company. To this day I am not sure what they did there. Hauling stuff, most likely. I could hear CB radio talk going on all day long. But it was a nice, easy week. It was strange, as I had nothing to do. No work. They set me up at a desk and barely talked to me again. So, I got to thinking, could I possibly extend this great job? So, even though my week had ended, I showed up the following Monday and returned to my desk. At the end of the week I brought my card in to be signed and it was. A few days later I received a cheque in the mail. I showed up again the following Monday. And so on, and so on. Occasionally I would be asked to run some errand, but otherwise, I was left alone. I remained at the job for three or four months, maybe longer.

I began to arrive at work early so as not be noticed and I would prepare a small breakfast in their kitchen. Usually aboutt the time I was settled in my desk, with my food and radio beside me and I would hear my co-workers begin to file in. Then I would put two imposing stacks of folders on my desk. As the day progressed I would move these folders one by one behind me creating a new stack. This new stack would presumably be called, The Finished Pile, if I had ever been challenged, but I never was. I did this everyday.

Then Christmas came. The place was decorated up with bunting and there was a nice tree, etc. Everybody was jolly. One morning I got to my desk and there was a sealed letter waiting for me. OK, I, figured, the jig was up. I had been caught. But instead, it was an invitation to the Christmas party! Later, that same afternoon, I was sitting in my office eating lunch when there was a knock on my door (I took to closing my office door so nobody would be inclined to step in and ask a lot of questions. One more thing, my so called office was only a file storage room with a desk, phone, but no computer. It also had a nice view of these giant salt mountains at the edge of the bay. But I digress ...)

Anyway, so, there is a knock on my door. It was the owner of the company. I had met him only once on my first day during brief orientation. He looked in, smiled and said, "Hey, you coming to the Christmas party?"

"I sure am," I said. I grinned real big.

"Great," he replied and shut the door.

I sighed with relief.

Then the door opened again. It was the owner. This time he look confused. "Who are you?" He said.

I told the truth. "I was brought in to do some filing."

"Last summer?" He asked. "Hmmph." And then he was gone.

It was over. The axe was dropped about forty five seconds later. I was all ready gathering my things together when I got the call. I still remember those days salt mountain quite fondly.

Its a true story, for what's its worth ...

[wendybeth]

So, Bartleby- did you go to the party?

[Eliza Hodgkins 1812]

Originally Posted by wendybeth

So, Bartleby- did you go to the party?

Great nickname! Ah, Bartleby.

[Ghoulish Delight]

Originally Posted by Eliza Hodgkins 1812

Great nickname! Ah, Bartleby.

It doesn't sound like Tref was doing much scribbening at that job, though.

[Tref]

Originally Posted by wendybeth

So, Bartleby- did you go to the party?

I did go, but it was an uncomfortable evening, and I kept to myself. In my deffense I didn't know anybody and they didn't know me. I may have pulled my standard move of getting up to make a phone call and never returning.

One day, I will relate my favorite work scam ever. To this day I still can't believe I pulled it off. (Nobody was injured and nothing was stolen, though I did collect a mighty fine paycheck.)

[€uroMeinke]

In sixth grade, my friends and I formed the “Interceptors Club,” we enjoyed all things that had to do with espionage and especially James Bond. From our viewing and reading we learned that by placing tape over the door latch, we could prevent our teacher from locking up the classroom during lunch or recess – as was the practice. So, while the other kids were out playing, we were in the classroom rifling through their desks and checking out their personal belongings.

Our greatest find was a love letter written between classmates. Innocent 6th grade love – with all the accompanying embarrassment and cruelty. We provided the later. We duplicated the letter and distributed it to the class – incognito, of course. We almost got in trouble, but at the last minute the lad confessed to actually writing the letter – red faced and humiliated, while we laughed and joked for days.

[Gemini Cricket]

I stole a bag of poi when I was two.

[jdramj]

When I was about 10 years old, I thought I could drive my Mom's fire engine red Datsun z??? (her true baby and also a stick shift). I turned the key, released the brake, popped it into gear and it jumped forward and hit my Dad's tool chest. I quickly set the brake and got the key out of the ignition. I ran into the house and put the key back exactly as I had found it. I was an only child...amazingingly enough, I was never questioned or punished.