College Jobs Concluded

This is the final posting in the story “College Jobs”. To read the beginning of the story please click on the link on the right side of this page. Thanks for reading!

My heart sank when I heard Efrain’s voice. It had been a long and trying day, and I just wanted to be done for the night. Efrain didn’t have much to say. He wanted to know what I had seen, where she had gone, and who she had been with. I didn’t have the names of the coworkers the woman had gone out to eat with; how could I? Efrain seemed pleased with my efforts. Of course I neglected to mention the incident on the porch.

He didn’t seem to be concerned with the woman spending time with coworkers. It sounded like there was someone else he was waiting for. I had no way of knowing who this person was, but Efrain had asked me to contact him as soon as I saw a new face. I saved the number Efrain had called on into the prepaid phone and put into the bag with my other equipment.

That night I got online and did a quick search of the address where the woman lived. I was dying to know her name and who she was. The address came up on a number of real estate sites, but there was no name attached. One site offered to find the name of the owner for a modest fee of $150. Despite an intense desire to know her name, I wasn’t willing to spend 10 percent of my earnings for that one bit of information. I figured I could do some of my own detective work and figure it out.

The next morning was a Tuesday. I went through the same routine on Tuesday that I had on Monday. Once again nothing particularly exciting happened. The woman and her coworker mixed it up and went to a salad and soup restaurant, but other than where they ate there was no significant variation from the previous day. I sweated it out in the shade of the trees once again then followed the woman home. This job was extremely easy, but the boredom was making me think that it wasn’t worth the money.

Once again there was no mail in the box, so I still didn’t know her name. I wrote down the license plate number on her Malibu and thought that maybe I could somehow use that information to solve my little mystery. Of course, other than typing it into Google and seeing what comes up I had no idea what to do with a license plate number.

Efrain called that night for a brief chat, but there wasn’t much to report. His voice revealed a little more impatience than the first night. It was as if he was expecting something to happen soon and he needed to be ready for it. I assured him that I would let him know as soon as something happened.

“Don’t wait for me to call tomorrow night.” He said. “If you see something, call right away. This is important that you call me. Understand?”

I nodded my head up and down as though he could see me. It wasn’t too much to imagine that he probably could see me. He had probably been in my apartment while I was gone. He probably knew who all of my friends and family were. There was something about Efrain that was making me more and more concerned. He came across as uneducated and a little slow, but he made moves that were indicative of someone who understood organized crime. I began to wonder what Efrain would do when I let him know something “important” was happening.

Wednesday brought a change of schedule for the woman. She had left work an hour early and hurried home, only to reappear in a new outfit a short while later. She had obviously showered and made herself up. She wore a light colored skirt and a dark purple top. Once again she looked dynamite, but the thing that stood out to me was the hand bag in she carried. It was an oversized, brown leather bag that looked almost out of place. It was bulky and looked as though she was carrying something large inside of it. She hurried to her car and took off down the road.

I followed closely behind her car. She left her neighborhood and made her way to the freeway. We traveled north for 20 minutes and she exited the freeway. As soon as the off ramp light turned green she made a quick left and reentered the freeway in the direction we had just come. This was the first time I realized that she might be aware of my presence, and now she was trying to lose me.

My tires screamed as I also made the turn as quickly as possible and followed her back down the freeway. She exited near a large shopping center. We were in a part of town that was obviously built with the intent of attracting people with money. The street was made of small bricks laid in a fashion that created an intricate pattern. By this time the sun had began to set. The street lights were antiquated and cast a dim light over the shoppers who walked from window to window.

The woman parked and walked toward a restaurant on the north-east corner of a small intersection. I was lucky to find a parking spot directly across the street; it wasn’t as crowded as it would have been on a weekend. I watched the woman as she approached the restaurant. She looked around as though she was trying to find someone, or maybe she was trying to make sure nobody was following her. Under her arm she carried the leather hand bag with its bulging content.

From my car I could see the woman approach a table near the window. A man sat at the table and he stood as she approached. They embraced shortly and he kissed her on the cheek. I noticed that on the chair next to the man sat a large, black brief case. To anyone else in the restaurant it would have appeared as though a young couple was just sitting down to a nice dinner date, but all I saw was the brown, leather bag and the large, black briefcase.

I fumbled in my jacket pocket for the prepaid phone that Efrain had given me. I knew that this was the moment he had been paying me to observe, and I knew he would want to know every detail of what was happening. I pushed the send button and waited as the phone rang. Efrain answered and I quickly updated him on the situation. He wanted to know my exact location, so I gave him directions to the restaurant and told him where my car was parked. He cursed me for not calling him sooner, told me not to lose them, and hung up the phone.

I sat in my car and observed the man and woman as they ordered drinks and food. My stomach growled as I watched them receive their salad and bread sticks and proceed to eat. They talked back and forth and occasionally laughed. It would be impossible for me to determine the content of their conversation, but I was dying to know.

I had been watching the two eat dinner for half an hour when I heard a knock on my passenger window. My heart sank as I pictured a police officer asking me why I had been watching the couple for the last 30 minutes. I looked to my right and saw Efrain scowling at me through the window. He motioned to the door and I unlocked it. Efrain slid in beside me and asked what he had missed.

“Nothing” I said. “They are just eating and talking, but I can’t tell what they are saying.”

“Ok, you have done well, Wal-Mart man” Efrain replied. That was the first time anyone had ever called me Wal-Mart man.

“Look at those bags they have. I think they are carrying something. They might even be exchanging something” I said, as I pointed to the bags. Efrain looked at me out of the corner of his eye as though I was some kind of idiot. Maybe he was just trying to say, “Slow down, rookie.”

Efrain had a large black bag and began to filter through it. He pulled a large cone shaped object from the bag that had a pair of head phones attached. Efrain slipped the head phones on and pointed the cone at the man and woman.

“What is that?” I yelled.

“It’s a listening device, so I can hear their conversation.”

“What are they saying?”

“Shut up! Just shut up”

I sat quietly as Efrain listened to the conversation. The more of the conversation he heard the more visibly upset he became. Efrain had listened for only five minutes or so, when he took the head phones off. He turned to me and said, “I’m going in there. I need you to come with me.”

“No, I’m not going in there” I argued.

“I need back up. I need some muscle.”

“I’m not back up, and I’m not muscle. I don’t know what’s going on, and I’m not going in there.”

“Look, I need you in there, in case things get crazy.”

“If things get crazy that’s the last place I want to be.”

“Fine! Screw you! Stay out here and wait for me. Don’t do you dare leave.”

The intensity that Efrain spoke with scared me. It gave me a sense that I was in actual danger if I didn’t do as he said. I nodded my head affirmatively, and Efrain put the listening devise on the floor of the car. He got out of the car and began to walk across the street. As he entered the restaurant I could see him reach behind his back and fumble with something in his belt. I thought to myself, “There is no way he is carrying a gun, right?”

From inside the restaurant I could see Efrain approaching the table where the man and woman were sitting.  I quickly grabbed the listening device and pointed it towards the table. The first person I heard speak was Efrain.

“So, who is this then? You think Efrain has no feelings? This is how you treat your man, Efrain?” He was speaking to the woman but gesturing to the man.

“Efrain, what are you doing here? You aren’t allowed to be here!” the woman screamed.

“Love allows me to go anywhere I choose!” Efrain shouted.  

“Efrain I have a restraining order against you. You can’t be within 150 yards of me at anytime ever!”

My heart sank as the woman spoke. At that moment I realized that the entire time I had been aiding a man who was infatuated with this woman, and who had been told by a court of law that he could not be in her presence. Their relationship was romantic, at least from Efrain’s point of view.

“The man stood up and pointed at Efrain. “You need to get out of here, man” he said. “I have no problem removing you from the premises.”

Efrain reached into the belt behind his back, and I feared the worst. I could not believe what was happening, and I could not believe my involvement in it. From behind his back Efrain pulled a small necklace box and slammed it down on the table.

“I came here to give you this, to prove my love is deeper than this morons.” Again Efrain spoke to the woman and gestured to the man.

“That’s it, Efrain. It’s time for you to go” the man said.

“Don’t touch me!” Efrain screamed. “You wouldn’t want me to get my homeboys in here. They are waiting outside in the car, just for the chance to mess you up. They are as pissed as I am that you would come in here trying to take my girl. They are right out there.”

As Efrain spoke he pointed out the restaurant window and directly at me. I quickly ducked behind the dashboard so the couple wouldn’t see me.

“I’ll go outside, but I’m coming back with them” Efrain said.

“That’s it Efrain, I’m calling the police” the woman exclaimed.

That was my cue to get going. I started the car and headed for the freeway. Before I got home I pulled behind a grocery store and dropped Efrain’s listening device and bag into a large dumpster. I threw out the prepaid cell phone and my private investigator kit. I drove home not knowing what was next. Would the police come knocking on my door? Would Efrain ever show back up? Would the woman end up pressing charges against me?

I slid the key into my door and went inside. I sat on the couch and tried to control my breathing. I couldn’t believe I had been stupid enough to get involved in something so crazy. I decided that since I had the rest of the week off of work I would just get out of town for a few days. I packed some things up as quickly as I could and took off for some higher elevation.

I spent the rest of the week and the weekend camping in the mountains and trying to forget what I had experienced that week. On Monday I went back to work at Wal-Mart. I lived in fear for a long time. I looked over my shoulder constantly, but eventually the fear faded and I stopped worrying. I never saw Efrain or the woman again.

College Jobs Part III

This posting is the third part of the story College Jobs. To read the first and second parts of the story please click on the links on the right side of this blog. Thanks for reading!

I parked my Ford Taurus on the opposite side of the street from the house. I double checked the address that I had received with the one displayed on the curb. It hadn't been hard to find, and it wasn't too far from my apartment either. The house was attractive from the exterior; red brick with a small front yard that looked well maintained. It was not a large house, probably only two bedrooms from what I could tell. The sun had not yet risen. I checked the time on my cell phone - 6:01 am.

I put a baseball cap on and pulled it low over my eyes. The previous night I had prepared my “Private Investigator Pack”. It consisted of some snacks and drinks to hold me over for the day, a change of clothes in case I needed to change my appearance, a pair of aviator sunglasses, and a couple copies of Slam Magazine.

It was cold outside, but I turned the car off as soon as I parked. I did not want to draw any undue attention to myself, and I figured it was best if the car was quiet. Efrain’s note had instructed me that she would leave at 7:00 am, which meant I had an hour to wait. I was tired, but sleep was out of the question. The adrenal that I was feeling, mostly from being scared out of my mind, kept me wide awake.

A lot of deep introspection creeps into your mind when you are sitting in the dark and waiting for a woman to come out of her house. Was I breaking the law? Was I participating in organized crime? Would I end up owing my soul to the Mafia? I still had no clear indication of who this woman was. She was somehow connected to Efrain. The possibilities as to what type of relationship they possessed seemed pretty limited. They were either involved romantically or financially. No matter the relationship they had, I was stuck right in the middle of it, and that made me more than a little uncomfortable.

The sun began to rise around 6:30 and the street became illuminated with light. I sat quietly brooding in my thoughts until just before seven, when I saw the entry light come on and the door open. Efrain’s description matched the woman I saw come out of the house. She was in her mid to late twenties with blonde hair that was above her shoulders and had highlights that made her even more blonde. She wore a skirt and blouse that indicated a business casual dress code. Overall she looked fit and was surprisingly attractive. Immediately I knew that Efrain’s relationship with her must be financial.

She got into her car, a golden Chevy Malibu, and started off down the road. I waited for her to pass then turned the key and pulled into the road. The distance to her work was not far. She pulled into a parking lot adjacent to a small corporate office. It was the kind of place that housed numerous small offices, filled with business that provided services that ranged from dentists to accountants.

I drove to the end of the parking lot and positioned my car so that I still had decent view of her car. The next four hours were quite possibly the most boring of my life. I had anticipated the possibility of a security guard coming to chase me away, but that never happened. I sat in near complete silence the entire morning, waiting for any sign of the woman. I briefly considered the possibility of squeezing in a nap, but I didn't want to risk the chance of missing her if she was to leave. So I sat and waited, hoping that she had not brought a lunch to work that day. I wasn't sure I could last in my car until 5:00 pm.

Around 11:30 I was saved from the monotony of waiting, when a number of people began to file out of the building for lunch. I tried to appear as though I wasn't watching them coming out of the building, but this was surprisingly difficult, considering I was actively observing them. In the second wave of people that exited the building I saw the woman I was following. She exited with a man and a woman who I assumed were her coworkers. They walked to a black Ford Excursion that was parked near the Malibu and began to climb inside.  I was actually glad to see they were climbing into a large vehicle, as I figured it would be much easier to follow; thank you American-made cars.

The small lunch party drove to a nearby restaurant that served Mexican food, parked their car and made their way inside. From the parking lot I could see the table where they were seated inside the restaurant. Lunch was mind numbing and uneventful. I made a quick note on a piece of paper that the woman had gone to lunch with two people who appeared to be coworkers; one male and one female. It didn't seem as though they were in a hurry, so I jumped out of the car and ran to the Wendy’s next door. I sat in the car and ate a dollar menu heart attack until the three returned to work.

The afternoon mirrored the morning hours with one exception; the heat was relentless. Finding shade to park in was futile, so I rolled my windows down and tried to make the best of my situation. The cap I wore protected my eyes from the sun, but offered no relief for the heat. Sweat ran down my face and stung my eyes. I knew it was probably unwise to get out of the car, but I began to fear that staying in the car would ruin my sanity. There were a few trees next to the building the woman had entered, and I made way to the patch of grass that sat between them. From my position between the trees I could see the entrance to the building and the woman’s Chevy Malibu. The temperature must have dropped 10 degrees in the shade, because I immediately felt a sense of relief. My sanity began to return.

I waited patiently in the shade and sipped lukewarm, grape PowerAde for the next few hours. My favorite flavor has always been grape, but many vending machines only carry Berry Blast or Fruit Punch flavors. Luckily I had planned ahead. At 4:30 the woman exited the building and walked in the direction of her car. I jumped to my feet and walked briskly to my car, all the while attempting to look normal.

She pulled out of the parking lot in a direction opposite of her home, and I followed close behind, assuming that she was going to make a stop somewhere. My day of following this woman had caused numerous questions to arise in my mind. I had ample time to sit and dwell on who she could possibly be and why Efrain would be willing to pay someone to follow her. What did he expect me to find? Where did her expect her to go? Who did he expect her to meet?

The turn signal on the Malibu flashed red as she prepared to pull off the road. The brake lights came on as the car slowed and made its way into a gravel parking lot. I didn't want to bring any attention to myself so I passed quickly and made a U-turn. I parked opposite the street of the gravel lot and looked to see where she had gone. From my car window I could see the woman browsing at a fruit stand. From what I could tell she had purchased a watermelon and a few ears of corn. Was all of this really that important to Efrain?

It didn’t take long to arrive back at the woman’s house. I parked about five houses down the road and figured that I would sit outside until she had turned in for the night, which I realized could take about four or five more hours. The unknowns in this scenario were becoming unbearable. I didn't think I could follow her around for the rest of the week without even knowing her name. I settled it in my mind that I would do some research on the property and its owner when I got home that night.

I had just opened a package of beef jerky for dinner when the front door to the house opened again. The woman came back outside began stretching on the grass in the front yard. Her hair was pulled back, and she wore a college t-shirt and a pair of spandex that nearly floored me. Her appearance confirmed what I had already discovered; she was very attractive.

I tried to conceal the fact that I was watching her from the car parked down the street, by leaning the seat of my car back. She stretched for a few minutes that seemed to last an eternity. The feeling of hiding and watching an attractive woman stretch on her lawn was very uncomfortable. I couldn't wait for her to run off down the road, but then I began to worry about how I was supposed to follow her. I quickly decided that there was no way I could follow her without alerting her, but I did want to take advantage of her being away from the house.

I watched her run until she disappeared around the corner. I quickly exited the car and ran to her front porch. Fastened to the wall next to the door was a mail box. I lifted the lid and peeked inside, hoping for an envelope or even a post card that would reveal her name. The box was empty. I contemplated trying to go inside of her house, but it didn't take long to convince myself that was a stupid idea. I began to turn back towards my car when I heard a voice down the street; she was back! I could see she was talking to someone on her cell phone, and hadn't looked up at her house yet. I ducked low and quickly scrambled to the front of her car. As she approached I slid behind the car trying to conceal myself as much as possible. I thought to myself, “It’s over. There’s no way she didn't see me.” As she approached the door I heard her speak into the phone, “Ok, mom.” She entered the door and a few seconds later I heard the click of the deadbolt locking.

My heart was pounding, my lungs gasped for air, and I could feel sweat beads forming on my forehead.  I walked to my car and drove home; that was enough fun for one day.

The drive home was a blur. My mind was somewhere else and I did not have the power to find it. One thing was certain; I wasn’t going to tell Efrain about my close call today. He wouldn't need that many details. I would give him a rundown of the day’s events, which to me included nothing important, and let him decide whether or not it was a success.

When I reached my house I found a small package at my door. I picked up the package and carried it inside. Before I had time to open the package it began to ring. I ripped open the seam on one side and slid out a prepaid phone that was still ringing. I pushed the send button and heard a familiar voice say, “Hello, this is Efrain.” Apparently he knew where I lived.

To be continued…

College Jobs Continued

This story is a continuation of College Jobs. To read the beginning of this story please click on the link for the posting titled “College Jobs” on the right side of the screen. Thanks for reading! And please feel free to leave a comment and let me know what you think.

I looked down at the pile of money sitting on the table; the thousand dollars didn't look like all that much, but I realized how beneficial it could be. Being a poor college student, the opportunity to get my hands on a thousand dollars in tax free money was too much to pass up, but there was a lot I still wanted to know about the job and about Efrain. He sat in silence across the table from me and let me mull the situation through in my head. I leaned forward on the table and rested on my elbows. In my head I continued to tell myself, “This is a bad idea”, but I sat back against the booth and reached for the cash.

“What exactly do I need to do?” I asked Efrain, trying to sound as tough and to the point as I could. If I was going to get roped into something that made me uncomfortable I wanted to assert as much authority as I could. I wanted him to know I was going to do the bare minimum.

“It’s very simple. You are on her street when she leaves in the morning and you let me know everywhere she goes until she goes home at night. You let me know who she is with and where they go, and most important you don’t let her or anyone else know that you are following her. If you do a good job, who knows, I may require your services again.” 

Efrain was right about school being out next week, so the timing was pretty good for a full time gig; if that’s what I could call this. “Are there any more details?” I asked. “How do I contact you?”

“I will take care of the details. You’ll be at the Wal-Mart this week correct?”

I nodded my head affirmatively to Efrain’s question. The waitress approached our booth, and we both grabbed our menus. I ordered a plate of fish tacos, with a side of beans and rice. Efrain ordered something called a sour crème enchilada and a pitcher of coke for us to share.

“The fish tacos are good, man.” Efrain said with a smile. “Don’t worry about the details for now. I’ll get you everything you will need.”

“Why do you want me to do it again?” I asked. “Don’t you have a friend or relative that could do something like this for you?”

“No, this girl, she is close to me. She knows all of my friends and all of my relatives. I need it to be someone she has never seen before. You’ll do fine, I’m sure of it.”

I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Efrain didn’t seem to be interested in talking about my assignment anymore; instead he leaned to the side in an attempt to see a television mounted on the far side of the room. It sounded like there was a soccer game on, and Efrain became engaged in watching it. After about ten minutes of silence, the waitress returned with our food and we began to eat. Efrain was right, the fish tacos were good.

I glance over at Efrain as he cut into his enchiladas with a knife and then took a bite with his fork. He shook his head and began to call to the waitress. She walked over at a quick pace and smiled down at both of us.

“What can I do for you?” she asked softly.

“These enchiladas have a lot of sour crème in them.” Efrain said. “I think maybe too much sour crème.”

“Those are the sour crème enchiladas. Is it not what you ordered?”

Efrain was visibly annoyed and responded coldly, “I guess I expected something with less sour crème. It’s a lot of sour crème, ok?”

The waitress reached down quickly and began to ask if he would like anything else. Efrain cut her off and replied that he didn’t need anything else. He stood up from the booth and began to reach into his pocket.

“Look” he said, “I’ve got to go. I will get you more details, and you will start on Monday.” He pulled his hand from his pocket and threw $20 on the table. He looked me square in the eye and said, “Don’t ever order the sour crème enchiladas” then he turned and walked out of the restaurant.

My meeting with Efrain had not been even remotely similar to anything I had expected or could have imagined. He was such a strange person, and I wasn’t sure I could figure him out. Sometimes he spoke with a lot of confidence and made me think he could possibly be part of a mafia group. Other times he seemed to be some kind of insecure loner. Whichever way I looked at Efrain or the situation I couldn’t believe that I had accepted his offer for “employment”. I didn’t know what would happen next or how he would contact me, but I was sure of one thing; that I wasn’t sure about this.

… … …

A few days had passed since my second encounter with Efrain. He had not tried to contact me, and honestly I was hoping that he wouldn’t try again. I began to doubt whether the whole job offer was legitimate or not. 

Could it have all been some kind of weird joke? Or maybe he had changed his plans and was looking for someone else to work for him. There was just one problem with these kinds of hopeful thoughts; I had an envelope with a thousand dollars in a drawer at home.

It was a Saturday night, which meant there was only one more day until my assignment was supposed to begin. I worked the evening shift from 5:00 pm to 10:00 pm, the whole time expecting Efrain to sneak up on me again. In preparation for the next week of sleuth work I had requested the week off at Wal-Mart. I figured that if this “job” didn’t work out with Efrain I could probably get my name put back on the schedule and wouldn’t miss out on a pay check anyways.

My shift came and went with no sign of Efrain. I was sure he didn’t have my phone number or know where I lived, so I expected that the only way he could contact me was to find me here. I wasn’t scheduled to work on Sunday, so it seemed like Efrain’s chance to get me the rest of the info I would need had passed. It was actually a huge relief. I still couldn't psych myself into any kind of positive thinking in relation to the situation. I said goodbye to a couple of my coworkers and headed towards my car. As an employee I was expected to park at the far end of the parking lot to allow customers the better parking spots.

Due to the late hour the parking lot was essentially deserted. There were a few cars here and there from late shoppers and some employee cars scattered along the edge of the lot. It was well after sunset and pretty dark outside, but as I walked to my car I could see through the flood lights that there was nobody around. It looked as though Efrain had no-showed and I was relieved. Now I just had to figure out what I was supposed to do with the money he gave me.

I reached my car and slid the key into the door. As it opened I saw that something had been placed on the driver’s seat; it was a large, manila envelope. My heart skipped a beat as I realized what it must be. I sat in my car and opened the envelope to see the contents. In the dim light cast by my overhead lamp I saw a picture of a blonde woman who appeared to be in here late twenty’s. There was also a hand written note. It had an address and at the bottom it said, “She leaves around 7:00 am. Be there by 6:30.”

I knew then that I had made a huge mistake.

To be continued...

College Jobs

It’s nobody’s dream to become an accountant. Well, at least it was never my dream to become an accountant. In fact I’m not sure I have ever spent time dreaming about a career at all; maybe as an NBA basketball player, but that I’ve been assured of is a true pipe dream.

When I was a college student I began to realize that the manner in which I had spent my entire life was quickly coming to an end, and I would out of necessity be required to join the ranks of the gainfully employed. I looked around and took note of those who graduated and subsequently found a well paying job and those who did not. It occurred to me that accountants had strong job security and were compensated fairly well. With no other dream job to entice me in another direction, I applied to the accounting program, at a well respected school, and in time received my undergraduate degree in accountancy.

I wasn’t always so logical or calculated when it came to opportunities to make a little dough. During my days as a starving student I would often accept any job offer that presented itself. This was mainly part of an effort to prolong the occurrence of any negative interactions with my landlord. The jobs I took never seemed to be very long-term or reliable, but there was one job that was an exception to this reality; Asset Control at Wal-Mart.

It was explained to me that an Asset Controller’s job is simple yet precarious. The essential functions performed by an asset manager include blending in with the regular shoppers, observing those shoppers to ensure they do not attempt to appropriate any of the store’s merchandise, and calling in the big guns when a situation got too heavy. The primary reason that the job can become precarious is the possibility of a shoplifter confronting the Asset Control personnel, which in my case didn’t happen very frequently. The job itself was far less exciting than it may sound. I essentially pretended to be shopping, which I dislike to begin with, and spent my time observing normal people doing normal things. It was like watching a reality show about your next door neighbor, which really is not riveting television.

We were instructed to focus our efforts on people who “fit the bill”. Shoppers wearing large sweaters or jackets, or carrying oversized purses or handbags; individuals who continue to return to an aisle numerous times in one visit; and people who don’t pass the “smell test”. Some people may be inclined to call that profiling, but as my manager used to say, “The guns don’t go bang without the bullets.” I never felt too bad about it though, because I never called in a situation where I didn’t see a theft act.

Most of the time my job in Asset Control was mind numbingly boring, but it paid well and seemed to have a long shelf life. I was content to faux-shop three or four times a week as long as it paid my living expenses. At the time the thought of seeking other employment opportunities had not crossed my mind, but one evening I was presented with an opportunity and it pricked my interest. I was in the clothing department pretending to shop for socks, while keeping an eye on a group of teenagers who appeared to be in the store to simply pass some time. I was holding a pair of socks and thinking to myself, “Why don’t they make socks in a can?” - When I heard a male voice behind me whisper, “You’re blown.”

The first thought that crossed my mind was that there was no way that comment was directed to me. I turned slowly towards the source of the voice; not really sure what to expect. Apparently this person was talking to me, because I saw a round, smiling face staring right at me. He was Latin American, about 5 feet 7 inches and slightly overweight. His hair was a dark, brown mop on his head.

“Huh?” was all I could think to respond.

“You’re blown. Your cover is blown.” He laughed to himself as I stared blankly back at him. “It means I know who you are; like from Bourne Identity”, he said again, with an exaggerated smile. “I mean; I know what you’re doing. You’re a security guard under cover.”

“Yeah, it’s my job. How did you know? Are you with asset management too?” I asked.

“No, but I’ve seen you here before. You’re here like every day. Plus you have a radio, and I’ve heard you rat people out before.”

“So, do you need something? Are you looking for a job?”

“No, no, nothing like that. I actually have an offer to make to you.” I nodded slowly to indicate some sort of acknowledgement, despite not having any idea where he was going with this statement. “I don’t want to blow your cover” he said as he handed me a yellow sticky-note, “Meet me here after your shift.”

Again I nodded to him, but he turned and walked quickly away. As an asset controller I had experienced some very interesting things, but nothing quite like that. I wasn’t sure what to make of the man I had just met or the conversation I had just had. I looked down at the sticky-note in my hand and saw that he had scribbled the name of a restaurant, La Casita, across the note. At the bottom he had signed it “Efrain”.

I spent the rest of my shift in a heated debate with myself; was I going to meet Efrain at the restaurant or was it all just too weird for me? What could this guy possibly have to offer me? What was he going to ask me to do? The possibility of some kind of danger awaiting me at my meeting with Efrain had crossed my mind, but we would be meeting in a public place. I was also pretty sure I could handle myself if he tried to attack me or something.

I evaluated the reasonableness of discussing the situation with my manager, but I worried that it may cause my manager to lose faith in me if he knew that I had been found out. What kind of an undercover shopper gets found out by random shoppers? Talking to my manager, I decided, was not the best plan of action. I settled on keeping my appointment with Efrain just to see what he was after. When my shift was over I took the long walk across the parking lot, climbed in my car, and headed to La Casita.

The restaurant was dark and eerily quiet inside. The lighting was dim; the only source being the old chandeliers that hung from the ceiling.  I told the hostess I was meeting someone named Efrain, and she directed me to a booth in the back corner of the dining room. There was a large pillar five feet from the table that hid us from the view of anyone who may have been in the restaurant. I saw Efrain and he gestured for me to sit down, so I slid into the booth and sat opposite the table from him. The cushioning on the booth was thick and comfortable, but the table was greasy so I set my hands in my lap.

Efrain smiled at me and began asking me what I would like to eat. “Anything, my man, it’s on me.”

“I’ll start with water”, I said as the waitress handed me a menu.

“Take a look and let me know what you feel like” Efrain said, gesturing to the menu. “The food here is real good.”

The situation was not quite what I expected; there seemed to be no other customers in the restaurant besides us. In the background I could hear the soft sound of a radio playing Mariachi music. I had a feeling of déjà vu, like I had watched this scene in a mafia movie before; the only difference was that this place was Mexican and not Italian. “But”, I thought to myself “there is a Mexican mafia”. I took a quick look behind me and saw that all of the booths were empty. Efrain wasn’t talking anymore; he just looked down at his menu. I wasn’t really interested in eating at this point, it would have made me more comfortable to hear what Efrain had to say and then leave. I decided to break the ice as quick as possible.

“Why did you want to talk to me here?” I asked quietly. Efrain looked up at me slowly; his smile was now gone. He didn’t strike me as the type of person who would be involved in any mafia type activities. He just looked so weak and unintimidating. He was wearing a jacket, so I thought it may have been possible that he was wearing a gun. If he was part of the Mexican mafia he was definitely at the bottom of the pecking order.

“I want you to do something for me, and I am willing to pay you for it”, he replied.

“What is it?” I asked.

“You are good at what you do, at the Wal-Mart. You blend in well. You watch people and they don’t even know that you are watching them.”

“But you knew who I was. I can’t be that good.”

“I knew who you were because I knew what to look for.” He smiled as he said this, as if he was proud of himself. “Other people they don’t know to even look.”

“Go on”, I said.

“I have a person I want you to follow. She is very important to me, and I need you to make sure she is safe. I am concerned for her.”

“Who is she?”

“She is a friend of mine that I am concerned about. That is all you need to know. I want you to follow her for one week and tell me everything you see. Where she goes. What she does. Who she meets.” He slowed down has he said this last part. I started to think that this was not something I would feel comfortable doing; especially without more information.

“Don’t you need a license to do something like that? Wouldn’t I need to be a certified private investigator?” I asked.

“No. You can do it. This is America. You can do anything you want.”

“I don’t think I want to do that.”

“I’ll give you $1,000” he said with a stern face. “Next week school is out. Take some time off of work and do this for me, and I will reward you for it.”

“I don’t know I said”, but in my head I was thinking about the $1,000. That was lot more than I would make at Wal-Mart in that amount of time. I started to shake my head and Efrain reached into his jacket and pulled out an envelope. He set it on the table and slid it across to me. I reached down and opened the envelope to see what was inside; there were ten crisp, hundred dollar bills.

To be continued…

Carpool Lane Concluded

This post is the third part of the story “Carpool Lane”. To read the first and second parts of the story please click on the link to these postings on the right side of the page. Thanks for reading!

The highway patrol officer had only sounded his siren once, so the two of us were driving along in silence. The lights in my rear view mirror continued to flash red and blue. It was an eerie feeling. I don’t like to be the center of attention, but at that moment I knew that thousands of people were watching me be pursued by a law enforcement officer. I began to sweat as the embarrassment of the situation crept over me. I continued to drive the speed limit, waiting for a safe opportunity to merge right and allow the cop to confront me. I told myself not to panic.

In my head I began to imagine the many possibilities of why I was being pulled over; it may not be the fact that I was illegally driving in the carpool lane. Maybe I had a bad brake light. Maybe my tags were expired. No, I had renewed those a few months ago. Maybe the officer wasn’t pulling me over; maybe he just wanted to pass me. I looked to my right and saw an opening in the traffic. I slowly merged over and waited to see what the highway patrol car would do. He didn’t speed up to pass me instead his blinker came on right away and he move in behind me. I guess that was enough evidence to know that he really was after me.

I looked for another break in traffic so I could merge right and pull onto the shoulder. Traffic was slow and congested, but it moved along steadily. Of course the carpool lane was moving along much faster. As I looked into my rearview mirror I saw a car quickly approaching in the carpool lane. One word came to my mind, “buffer”. I’m not sure what possessed me to do it, but before I could think again I had the pedal to the medal and I was taking off in the carpool lane. I watched my RPM’s climb higher than I had ever seen them before. I had gone from slowly crawling to flying down the freeway in a manner of seconds. My buffer had come in behind me at the perfect time. The highway patrol officer had not had enough time to react, so he was stuck a quarter of a mile back with two cars between us.

High speed chases were a brand new thing for me. I had seen plenty of them on television, but I knew they always ended poorly. What I really needed was some help. I looked to the passenger seat on my right. “Well, what do we do now, Tim?” I yelled out. I’m not sure why that name came out, but it seemed fitting that the mannequin now have a name. He was no longer just an inanimate object for me to exploit, he was an accomplice. Tim gave no response, so it was up to me to formulate a plan. “Thanks for the help, Tim!” I screamed, as I continued to accelerate.

I remembered a story my brother had told me about a time he out ran a cop. His strategy was to create some distance between the cop and himself, and then he hid behind a building as the cop drove by. I thought that same strategy might work for me. I explained the plan to Tim and asked “What do you think?” I was sure he approved, so I looked to see what the next off ramp would be. My usual exit to the I-17 was now miles behind me. The next exit was 67^th Avenue. I knew if I got off at that exit and turned right there would be a shopping center I could pull into and try to hide. I checked my mirrors and saw that the highway patrol car was still pursuing me, but at this point was half a mile back. I saw a gap in traffic; “Hold on, Tim!” I shouted as I crossed three lanes and exited the freeway in one fluid movement.

The shopping center was on the right just as I had remembered it. I merged onto the frontage road and saw an entrance to the parking lot. Without using my turn signal and barely slowing down I swung my car into the parking lot and headed for the back of the grocery store. It was about a quarter of a mile away from the entrance, so I had a good distance to cover before the highway patrol car came after me. The last thing I wanted to do was draw attention to myself, so I slowed down to 15 mph and gingerly made my way across the lot. My eyes were glued to my rear view mirror. Just as I reached the corner of the building I saw the highway patrol car exit the freeway and zoom down the frontage road. It stopped at the light at 67^th Avenue and made a right. I released a sigh of relief as the car disappeared down the road, lights still blazing.

Behind the grocery store, I pulled my car next to a dumpster and killed the engine. I rested my head on the steering wheel and breathed heavily. “Tim”, I said quietly. “I don’t think we can be friends anymore.  I know I got you into this, but I think we need to part ways”.  Tim sat there silently with no expression.  “I do want my clothes back though” I said. I opened the door and walked around to the passenger side. I pulled Tim from the car and took off the aviator sunglasses, the Hershey’s hat, the mullet wig, and my old Chicago Bulls t-shirt.  Tim was a little heavier than I had remembered. I lifted him up to look at him for the last time. His head hung down as if he were defeated.  I set him on the rim of the dumpster then slowly pushed him inside.

As I drove out of the parking lot, I looked in each direction for signs of the highway patrol car or any backup he may have called. It appeared that there was nobody looking for me. I navigated my car slowly to 67^th Avenue and turned left towards home.  The drive home was a rush of negative emotions and realizations. I was depressed and despondent. The feeling of freedom I had while driving in the carpool lane seemed a distant memory. I knew I was done skirting the law. I had flown to close to the sun on wings of cheap glue and rash ideas.

By the time I reached home I had made peace with the fact that I would have to return to the much longer commutes in the much slower lanes. That was alright though; I wasn't cut out for a life on the lamb. I realized that maybe I belonged in the safe lane, and that I was a little more risk averse than I had previously allowed myself to believe. My wife was checking the mail as I pulled into the drive way. She walked up behind the car and smiled. We kissed each other and she asked, “Where’s the mannequin?” I smiled and shrugged my shoulders. “Who, Tim?” I asked. She gave me a puzzled look.  “He’s not coming back” I said. I turned and walked inside, and closed the door behind me.

Carpool Lane Continued

This story is a continuation of the story carpool lane. To read the beginning of the story click on the link for “Carpool Lane” on the right side of this site, or scroll down to see the story. Thanks for reading!

My alarm clock jolted me out of bed at 6:00 am. It was cold and still black as night outside. I couldn’t help but think of how fortunate I was for the discovery of the light bulb; the genius invention that made man independent of the sun. I rolled over in bed and contemplated the scenario I would face later that day. How could I possibly avoid the carpool lane now? I had tasted speed and knew exactly what it tasted like. I concluded to take the only plausible course of action that morning; I called in sick. The only thing that could be better than illegally driving in the carpool lane was to avoid the commute altogether. Besides, if my package was on schedule, it should have been arriving that same day.

The mailman in our neighborhood usually comes in the late afternoon. Oddly enough, knowing his schedule didn’t help my impatience throughout the day. I paced anxiously through the house. Every time a car drove by or a door slammed I flew to the window to see if my package had arrived. Each time I met with disappointment. The sounds that had sent me flying to the window were just something like Judy, the neighborhood snoop across the street; or Russell, the guy next door who was perpetually recovering from an appendectomy.

I grew more anxious as the day went on; 3:00 pm came and went. 3:30. 4:00. 4:30. I sat and watched the digital clock on my microwave; each minute that passed brought a sudden flash and then the far right digit would increase one number. This process repeated itself until the digit hit nine, and then it would start all over again at zero. My anxiety was making me crazy. The sound of the door bell snapped me out of my trance. I ran to the door, the whole while praying it wasn’t nosey Judy just stopping by to be neighborly.

I opened the door to see a pair of blue shorts and a matching hat. The mailman was trying to steady himself as he held a large, awkward looking box. “This one wouldn’t fit in the box”, he yelled at me with a smile. I swung the door wide open and helped him set the box just inside our doorway. He stepped back outside; I never looked up or said a word as I closed the door behind him.

I stood in my living room, smiling down at the box; the contents of which were the answer to my dilemma with the carpool lane. As of that day, I knew that all of my worries about traffic violations and high-speed chases were now a thing of the past.

 My wife came around the corner and began questioning me as soon as she saw that a package had arrived. “What is that?” she asked. “Did you order that?” Without as much as a nod in response, I kneeled next to the box and began tearing at the tape on the seams. After what seemed to be much more time than it should take to open a package we were able to gaze into the box. I reached into the sea of packing peanuts and felt a hard plastic surface. When I was able to get a good grip I attempted to the lift the contents out of the box. My wife rushed to help by holding the box to the floor. Packing peanuts went everywhere as we struggled to remove the contents. Finally it was free and we were able to see what I had waited for so anxiously, the solution to the difficult situation I had been wrestling with; a full sized, male mannequin.  

“What is that for?” my wife gaffed, as she began to laugh. “What are you gonna do with that?” I knew exactly what I was going to do with it and it wouldn’t take me long to put it together either. I ran down the hall to our bedroom and grabbed an old Chicago Bulls t-shirt I had bought at a garage sale. With the t-shirt in hand, I ran to the garage to find the box where we kept our Halloween gear. A few minutes later I returned to the living room where my wife was waiting with a confused look on her face. She had come to the realization that she wasn’t going to get any information out of me until I was done with the task at hand, so she stood quietly to the side and watched me dress the mannequin.

I pulled the Bulls t-shirt over the mannequin’s arms and shoulders, and then I positioned a black, mullet wig and a brown coca-cola hat, that I had found in the Halloween gear in the garage, on the mannequin’s head. It was coming to life, but I knew it needed something more. I walked to the kitchen and opened a drawer in the hutch that sat in the corner. In the drawer was a pair of silver, aviator sunglasses; they fit perfectly on the mannequin’s head.

I set the mannequin, now dressed from the waste up, on the couch in the living room. Its legs bent easily at the waste and again at the knees, allowing it to sit on the couch with no support. “This”, I said “is the answer I have been looking for. It’s gonna cut my commute down by 30 minutes a day, and I won’t have to worry about being pulled over either”.

My wife did not look impressed. “What about its legs?” she asked. “They’re completely naked. You’re going to look like a creep driving around with a half naked mannequin in your car.” She was making a valid point, but I didn’t care. “It will be just fine” I said. “Nobody is going to see the legs, and I’ll be able to drive in the carpool lane all I want.” She looked me dead in the eyes and exhaled slowly, “You know what?” she said. “You’re an idiot.”

The next morning, under the cover of dark, I slipped the mannequin into the passenger seat of my car. I was relieved to see that the seat belt held it tight against the seat, so I wouldn’t have to worry about it shifting during the drive. I took the I-17 north until it intersected with the 101, this was the moment of truth; my first time in the carpool lane with my new companion. It was a smooth transition into the carpool lane. There was no worrying about watching my rearview mirrors or making sure I knew which cars were around me; and there was no worrying about finding a buffer. I sped down the freeway with ease and comfort. To my right I could see the non-carpoolers as they struggled to switch from lane to lane in a feeble attempt to save a few minutes. I laughed to myself; didn’t they know that there is no fast lane?

Once at work, I breathed a sigh of relief. The maiden voyage had been a success and there was nowhere to go but up. I leaned over to the passenger seat and bent the mannequin forward at the hips. His entire upper body was able to lay flat across his legs and knees. I reached into the back seat and grabbed a small blanket to spread over the mannequin.  He was pretty well concealed; this would protect me from annoying inquiries from coworkers. Of course having the mannequin in my car meant I could never drive to lunch with any of my coworkers either, but I didn’t consider that a huge loss. I smiled as I realized that I had attained a permanent feeling of freedom; the same feeling that I had feared would never last, only one week before. I walked with a skip in my step as I entered the building.

That day at work could not have been any more normal. There were no surprises, no new assignments, and no difficult interactions. I sat at my desk and worked at my regular tasks, the whole time not really thinking much about the drive home. I almost forgot about the passenger waiting in my car, until I was walking toward the parking lot. The clouds above me were forming into a thick pattern all across the sky. The sun broke through only occasionally in long bright beams. The clouds themselves were turning into a dark orange color, almost like the sky was combusting into a giant fireball. It gave me an ominous feeling.

I entered the freeway and quickly merged left to the carpool lane. The ominous feeling I had experienced made me think that I was pushing my luck, so I committed to driving no more than the speed limit despite being in a lane that would allow me to travel much faster. The cars and their drivers to the right of me were just blurs. I no longer looked down on them or pitied them; in fact at that point they meant nothing to me. I was in a trance and not really thinking of anything, when I heard a sound that made my heart sink. A quick look in the review mirror confirmed my fear; a highway patrol car was right behind me, and it expected me to pull over.

To be continued…

Carpool Lane

I often wonder what my employer is really paying me for. Is it my work, or is it my time? I usually find myself asking these introspective questions in my car, which based on the speedometer, can hit 130 miles per hour. But I don’t drive 130 miles per hour, I drive two.

If I was being paid solely for work performed then I could come in early, get the work done, and leave well before traffic starts to build on the freeways. If however, it is truly my time that I am being compensated for, which I’m beginning to believe it is, then I am forever doomed to a 5:00pm commute home, through unforgiving freeways and non-empathetic street lights. Not to mention the idiots who join me on my commute.

I believe I’ve come to terms with my overall situation, but there is one aspect of my daily routine that I have still not come to terms with; the high-occupancy vehicle lane, or “carpool lane”.  It’s not the principle behind the carpool lane that bothers me; it’s the complete failure to meet any of the desired outcomes or purposes that truly irks me. There are not any fewer cars on the road, at least not a substantive number of cars, than before the carpool lanes were created and pollution has not decreased subsequent to the adoption of the carpool lane.

Most of all, the carpool lane bothers me, because I am not allowed to use it. Mothers with their small children can use the carpool lane, despite the fact that their four year old child would not be driving a car themselves if their mother hadn’t offered them a ride. Construction or maintenance crews that drive to their work sites in a single truck are able to use the carpool lane, even though they would be driving together even if the carpool lane did not exist.

One evening I sat on the freeway, growing increasingly agitated as I inched forward at a snail’s pace. Three lanes of traffic sat to the right of the carpool lane. My car was situated in the third lane to the left, which by all accounts, should be the fast lane. I had moved approximately one half of a mile in the last 20 minutes. There were countless others caught in the same struggle, desperately trying to reach their desired destination, or off-ramp. Every thirty seconds or so a single car, blessed with the privileges’ of multiple occupants, would zoom passed me down the carpool lane. My car shook each time a car passed me, evidence of the high speeds these carpoolers were able to travel.

I had been in this situation before, I had felt this particular frustration before, and I had pondered the consequences I might face if I did something rash many times before. But something was different that day; maybe I just reached my tipping point. I could no longer stand the pace at which I was traveling. I felt trapped, and I knew that those drivers that were passing me didn’t feel the same pain of captivity that I felt.

I checked my rear view mirror. I needed to time this perfectly. If my car entered the carpool lane at the wrong time I would be more vulnerable to a traffic stop. I needed a good buffer, a large vehicle to drive ahead of, that could block the view of my car from behind. I patiently waited as a few smaller cars flew by. Then I saw it; the perfect buffer, my meal ticket to freedom. In my rearview mirror, about a quarter of a mile back, I could see a large, white passenger van- a 15 seater. I turned my wheel and hit the gas.

The engine roared and my car hesitated for a split second, as if it was surprised by the sudden demand for fuel, then it began to accelerate into the carpool lane. In my mirrors I could see the van gaining on me. I watched the RPM’s hold above 5,000 until I hit 80 mph, then I lay off the gas pedal and began to drive at a steady pace. The van held a distance of about three car lengths behind me; the perfect cover to protect me from highway patrol officers who may be coming up on my rear.

I flew passed the line of cars to my right. Those feelings of freedom and speed that minutes ago I had only dreamt about began to pour over me. My chest swelled with excitement and nerves. I was now only five miles from the off-ramp I needed to take, and based on a quick calculation I would be there in less than four minutes. I knew the risk I was taking. I had on occasion seen the results of those who had attempted to skirt the law in the same fashion I was now attempting. I saw the signs that warned of $450 tickets, I had enough points on my license that I was facing traffic school, and I knew the bump in insurance costs would be quite significant. I didn’t care. That day I was going to be home in a fraction of the time it normally would take.

My eyes darted from mirror to mirror. A nervous sweat began to appear on my forehead, but a smile had spread across my face. Three miles. Two miles. One mile. Then I switched lanes and merged onto the off-ramp that would take me to the next freeway. I began to head south on the I-17. Traffic was always less severe on the 17, and I really didn’t need the carpool lane. I had made it. I had broken the law, and in the process broken through a new paradigm of what was possible in commuter traffic.

Once at home, I paused at my door step and checked the time on my cell phone; I had saved half an hour by using the carpool lane. I had this feeling of excitement. I had literally added 30 minutes of free time to my day. I now knew that it would be impossible to return to a life of traffic jams and lost time.

My mind was not at rest for the next 24 hours. As I left work the next day I raced through the possible outcomes of what I was planning on doing. I knew I had taken a big risk the previous day, but the fact that I had made it safely to my destination did not mean that the risk no longer existed. Statistically each time I attempted to drive in the carpool lane I increased my chances of being pulled over. I had to be more creative than simply driving in front of a big van. I needed to be more covert; I needed to look the part.

As I sat in traffic once again, I told myself to be patient.  The day that I would drive recklessly down the carpool lane was close at hand. I had a fool proof plan gaining momentum in my mind despite the fact that my car continued to slow to a stop every few hundred feet on the road. Up ahead I saw a digital sign fixed to an overpass. It read “Accident at 7^th St. All lanes blocked. HOV clear.” I knew I shouldn’t have done it, I knew there would be an increase of highway patrol cars in the area, but I couldn’t sit there and watch the minutes of my life tick away while I waited for traffic to clear. I looked into my rear view mirror and turned on my left turn signal.

From the moment I entered the carpool lane I felt a rush; it was a mixture of excitement, freedom and sheer panic. My heart beat nearly out of my chest as I surveyed my surroundings. Any bright light or high pitched sound made it more difficult to breathe. My knuckles turned white as they clasped the steering wheel.  I passed the scene of the accident. Two cars had collided in what looked to be much more than just a fender bender. I counted three separate highway patrol cars in the lanes that I passed. Then my heart skipped a beat; in my rear view mirror I saw one of the highway patrol cars pull out directly behind me. I had no buffer. It was just me and the law. I tried to remain calm as I flipped my right blinker on.  I began to merge to the right as I approached my exit, all the while keeping a steady eye on the car behind me. To my relief and utter amazement the officer behind me sped up and passed me as soon as I had exited the carpool lane. I had done it once again, but this time it had been much too close.

It really was risky for me what I had been doing, and I discovered that I wasn’t ready to feel so vulnerable on a regular basis. The excitement of walking the line and getting home early was an adrenaline rush that was becoming addictive, but I knew I couldn’t keep it up. But I was fine with that, because my plan was about to be set into motion and my fears of driving alone in the carpool lane would soon be gone.

My package was set to arrive by mail the very next day... To be continued.