Chapter Four  
Sandi's last job of agony before she went back to school and got a master's was
that of a secretary at Local Probation. It was the office that Tom was hired at
and he arrived a month after she had already been there. In this office there
were fifteen probation officers and the only secretary was Sandi. It was an
important job, and this is its function: when a person is arrested, they go
before a judge. The judge may sentence them to jail, or he may instead 
sentence them to probation. Upon leaving  the court they must  immediately
report to probation. At probation, they are interviewed about their 
personal lives in the greatest detail. Even though their offense may
have had nothing to do with drugs or alcohol or religion or money,
 they are asked when they first tried alcohol or other drugs, how frequent
 the use, what religion they are, what their finances are, what their 
education is, all the laws they ever broke and the
names and addresses of all their friends and relatives.  
 They are given community service to do, and they have to report  
back every so often to their assigned probation officer to show 
their community service hours and submit to a drug test. A great many 
 were testy when leaving the courtroom, feeling that they should not  
have been found guilty and when they arrived, they would chew out the
first person they saw- Sandi. Add to that, the waiting room was the size of a walk-in
closet. And at times the clients might be so numberous as to fill the tiny room
 and spill right out onto the sidewalk out front. Sandi, besides dealing with these offenders,
also dealt with  lawyers, judges, clerks of the court and police men. Sandi
had multiple phone lines to answer, she kept records, filed, typed, delivered mail, ordered
 supplies, fixed the copier, and the toilet when it got clogged. How did the
probation officers, in turn, handle their august responsibility?
Her typical day was like this: She would come in at seven thirty and answer the
 phone for those probation officers who called in sick or said that they were
 coming in late. When they arrived, they went upstairs for coffee and doughnuts.
  Then they would come down and go from cubicle to cubicle, being sure to visit
 everyone. Then they might go in the back room and watch a soap opera or
 discuss what to do for lunch. If a client came, they would make them wait
 for hours. When Sandi asked them if that wasn't a little too long, their reply
 would be: "If they didn't do the crime, then they wouldn't have to do the
 time." When the waiting room got too crowded and  overflowed to
 the outside, if the client was too far off when the officer went to the door
 and called their name and didn't hear their name called, then their name went
 to the bottom of the list, or they'd have to reschedule. Kids would get edgy
 and cry. Sandi would bring candy and toys to calm them. Then the officers would leave
 for lunch but not sign out on the board. So she would try to note when she saw them
 leave.  It was useful if someone wanted to know, like the boss, "when they were
 coming back from lunch" . The officers thought Sandi was spying on them and tried to
 leave out the back door so that she couldn't see them leave. Since she ate at her desk,
 they could call her from their cell phones and say that they would be
 late coming back from lunch, that they had been caught in traffic
 some thirty miles away. Sandi sometimes wondered why they felt the
 need to take lunch so far away. When the officers gave Sandi
 their typing to do, such as court orders, the boss put her foot down and
 told them they should be doing it. Then they tried to have Sandi see their
 clients. The boss told them that this also was  not in her job description,
 and there were legal issues, as they were sworn officers of the court and
 she was not. Once the boss came to Sandi and sadly shook her head, saying,
 "when I come by, they don't even pretend to work anymore."  SAndi had one
 parolee tell her that he would rather do time than report to his probation officer.
The probation officers seemed to be trying to outdo each other in their hatred 
of the offenders. They had cans of lysol spray and they would spray the chairs
after each visit. When this demonstation became commonplace, then they would follow
the clients out the door, spraying lysol and then spray the door knob. Sandi was
constantly choking on a cloud of lysol. If she hadn't been sitting near the front
door and a source of fresh air, it would have been unbearable. 


If the girls knew what Tom was really like, they 
would have changed their tactics tremendously for indeed, he found them 
repulsive. The worst was a girl that he nick-named "the pole dancer." He had 
never said this word aloud, of course, being a gentleman, but he had found out 
that before this job she had been an exotic dancer. In keeping with her previous 
job, she kept dressing in revealing clothing and the supervisor, Ms. Black, had 
gotten tired of sending her back home to change. This morning, the pole dancer 
had on pedal pushers and a tight low cut knit that showed her cleavage. It was a 
wonder that the felons who came and sat in her cublicle didn’t sexually attack 
her. She was in her cublicle, kneeling on the floor,trying to plug something in 
under her desk when Tom happened to walk by. As her shirt rode up and her pants 
rode down He saw that she had a large tatoo on her spine and that she was 
wearing thong underwear. Her stubby toes splayed over her pink flip flops. She 
turned to look at him and smile, and her makeup was so thick that Tom felt like 
writing on her forehead with his finger: Wash Me. Her lips were gooey with gloss 
lipstick. It was like she had just eaten a whole side of greasy ribs and not 
wiped her mouth. And she was popping gum. He smiled back at her weakly and 
rushed off, feeling sick. Whore of Babylon, he thought. Whether it was his 
upbringing, or whether it was true that men marry their moms, no-one in the 
office resembled mom except Sandi. She could, he was sure, cook breakfast for 
about twenty, harness a team of horses, plow a field and carry a sick foal to 
the house. He admired her scrubbed face. She would make a good mom for his kids. 
She was a gal he knew his parents would have approved of. The only problem was her 
age. She was about twice his age.  Sandi didn't care for poledancer, 
either, after a certain altercation. A Spanish gentleman and his wife
 and young son arrived early for his appointment with the 
poledancer. Sandi could see that the Spanish gentleman was of the old school- he 
wore a suit and he took off his hat and bowed. He was deferential and obsequious 
as he stood in the window and looked at Sandi. Excuse me, he began humbly, his 
hat in his hand, we are on time, no? Actuallly, you're early. I'll tell your 
probation officer that you are here. Sandi put a caller on hold and got up and 
walked over to poledancer's cubicle. Sandi saw the naked men calendar on the 
wall. Poledancer was entertaining another probation officer. She stopped talking 
and looked up, more because she didn't want Sandi to hear what she was talking 
about, rather than being polite or doing her job. Mr. Ortiz is here, Sandi said 
to her. He's early. He can wait, said poledancer and resumed her socializing 
with the other. Sandi returned to the window. Your probation officer knows you 
are here, said Sandi, and she sat down to resume answering the phones and 
typing. Then poledancer walked by with two other probation officers on their way 
upstairs to the cafeteria "for a break" Of course, they didn't bother to sign out
 on the check out board placed near the front door,  so that Sandi or Ms. Black
 could know where they were. On the way out the side door,  mostly hidden by the
 cubicle walls and which they took because they believed Sandi could not see them
 leave from where she sat, she could hear poledancer ask the others what their
 plans were for lunch. Sandi saw that they hadn't signed out on the official board,
 so she took a piece of paper and wrote down their names and departure times. 
(One day in the near future, they would see her do this and accuse her of spying on them)
After twenty minutes, the girls came back down. Evidently the sparseness of the cafeteria had 
begun to bore them. Mr. Ortiz asked where the bathroom was and Sandi referred 
him to the one on the second floor. Sandi got up and went over to poledancer. 
Mr. Otiz has gone to the bathroom on the second floor, she said, and poledancer 
stopped her conversation with the probation officer and said: "Fine with me." 
Sandi went back to her desk to work. Shortly, Mr. Ortiz came back down and came 
to the window. Sandi got up and went to poledancer, whose cublicle was now empty 
of cohorts. Perhaps they had talked themselves out. "Your client, Mr. Ortiz has 
returned." Sandi said. Poledancer just nodded without looking up, as she sat 
typing some chatty email on her computer to another friend. Some time went by, 
Sandi is not sure how much, and she began to overhear the girls getting ready to 
go out to lunch. Poledancer walked by with her purse. "Aren't you going to see 
Mr. Ortiz before you leave for lunch?" Sandi asked. "He's been here at least 
three hours." Poledancer exploded on Sandi. Why didn't you tell me he was here? 
She yelled for all the office to hear. The other people inthe office looked up 
at this white trash outburst. "well, I did tell you. Sandi replied quietly. 
Didn't you hear me? No! poledancer yelled. She stormed and stomped around, 
indignant. I tell you, you are the worst secretary ever! Tell him that he will 
have to reschedule! And of course, poledancer went out with her friends to 
lunch. Sandi shook her head sadly. She told Mr. Ortiz that he would have to 
reschedule. How? he said, humbly, thinking that all of this was his own fault. 
Call her and make an appointment, Sandi replied. Sandi was not supposed to say 
this to the client. It was the probation officer's job to tell the client to 
call and reschedule. But poledancer couldn't even do that part of her job. The 
insult that poledancer gave Sandi just rolled off her back. Sandi knew she did 
the job of three secretaries, at at six dollars an hour, no benefits. But Sandi 
was incensed at poledancer's treatment of such a nice man. As soon as she could 
leave her desk, she went over to Tom's cublicle. Asked Sandi: "If you were in 
private practice and you treated customers like this, how long do you suppose 
you would stay in business?" "Only city government workers on the dole can get 
away with this crap," replied Tom. And then he thought: Please don't tell me 
that if everyone got the chance, they would be just like these employees. 
The front desk phone rang and Sandi left to answer it. But poledancer wasn't 
done. She worried about what Sandi might say to Ms. Black and so she waited when 
Sandi went to lunch and she sat down at her desk and with the pretext of 
pretending to greet customers and answer the phones, she went into and read 
Sandi's sent email. There was nothing notable there, but one email message did 
catch her eye. It was a personal one, months old that Sandi had sent Ms. Black 
about being sick one day and poledancer decided to send it to everyone in the 
office. When Ms. Frank, the psychologist, saw the email in her inbox, she 
finally had had enough of the slut and forwarded the email to Ms. Black. When 
Ms. Black saw the old email she said to herself... what? And she came down the 
hallway and into the office to investigate. The girls, in spite of being 
sociable with poledancer, weren't about to stand up for her and they told Ms. 
Black what poledancer had done. Ms. Black called poledancer into the back room, 
where the girls watched so many soap operas, and "read her the riot act." And 
then she went and apologized to Sandi, saying that poledancer had just been told 
to stay out of other people's email. As for Mr. Ortiz, Sandi didn't know if 
anything had been said.
One bright day, Sandi came over to Tom to tell him that one of his clients had 
arrived. She was smiling.  
"You're going to love this. Your new client in the waiting room has gold vampire teeth." 
Sure enough, when Sandi had escorted the client to Tom's cubicle and he had sat down in
 the client chair, Tom saw that this was a person who really liked gold. Heavy gold chains
 around his neck, many gold rings on his fingers, and he flashed two golden incisors.
 Tom briefly asked him about his teeth and the fellow told him they were gold caps. 
He told Tom the name of the dentist who willingly performed this procedure. Tom didn't 
ask his client why he had had it done, but he guessed that the fellow was a drug dealer
 and did this to intimidate his contacts. Tom knew this grill would intimidate an arresting
 officer. It would be worse than trying to take a mountain lion into custody.  If you tried
 to arrest a mountain lion and got bitten, you could always get a rabies shot. But if the 
criminal had aids, and gave you a bite, there was no shot to protect you. A bite from this
 guy could be 100% lethal. Worse than a bullet from a gun. Tom didn't know if his client had 
AIDS, but if he were a drug dealer and shot up heroin, he might very well be infected and not
 even know it. And it wouldn't be the last client Tom would see with such dental work.
Everybody but Sandi could get onto the Internet on their computer. Sandi suspected that
 it was because the administration felt that the officers could be trusted not to cruise 
chat rooms and download music and download games to play unlike the lowlife secretaries
 like Sandi who would probably do such stuff. Thing is, they would be dead wrong. The exact
 opposite was true. Sandi had no interest in internet activities, but the officers around
 Tom were forever in chat rooms and the officer next to Tom had downloaded a solitaire
 card game that she played incessantly. Looking at the officer's screens, Tom was tempted
 to go online to see what was there. So one day, at lunch, Tom decided to log onto a search
 engine and read its current news like he had seen others do. The article he came upon was
 talking about diet and excercise. He read some lady's blog: "In the total absence of 
insurance and savings, living paycheck to paycheck, my husband and I have a 
'retirement plan'---smoking and drinking as fast as we can (and not exercising) 
so we will be dead before we have to face being old, sick and eventually homeless." 
Reading this, Tom was glad he had been in the Army. He had the VA Hospital to fall back on.  
 One day, the girls were really dishing it out to Sandi. It had been 
a pretty hectic day already, and Sandi had had car problems coming in to work. Now
their behavior had been the last straw. Sandi had said something in defense of the
indigents and their wailing children out in the waiting room, and Mayvid had 
called her a "criminal coddler." Drew had chimed in: "Consider the source." And 
Ms. Fens had said loudly, "Sharon, where are you when we need you?" Referring to 
a secretary before Sandi that had left for another job. ( The one who had let three months of
voicemail accumulate on the telephone, so that Sandi had had a major job of forwarding them to 
the officers to make sure that all the messages had been taken care of. ) With the girls ganging
 up on her like this, Sandi began to breathe heavily and felt her pulse racing and felt chest pains.
 She realized that it was the beginnings of a panic attack- she had had them before. 
She wouldn't give the girls the enjoyment of seeing her come unglued and so she 
 smiled faintly, put herselfout on the board that the girls refused to touch- and told
 Tom that she was going upstairs tothe lady's room for a break.  She swiftly exited the side
 door, hoping that she could make it upstairsin time. As she waited for the elevator, she
 strove to compose herself. Luckily, the elevator was empty as she rode it up. The door opened,
 and she raced to the lady's room that had a combination code on it. As she got inside,
 the full force of the attack hit, and she slumped to the floor. The chest
pains were massive, and she was hyperventilating. She felt her pulse, and her pulse was so fast that
each beat could barely be distinguished from another. She loosened the clothing around her
neck, because she felt that she could not get enough air. She knew she was not having a heart attack- she 
had had a heart attack before ... A little chest pain,
a pain radiating down one's left arm, you sit down, and the pain goes away. End of problem.
 But panic attacks...Sandi felt the floor and the walls of the bathroom reeling. She
hung onto the floor so as not to fly out into space. Now she began to hallucinate, and  saw
 herself climbing up the bathroom wall, like a spider. How did you get out of me? She screamed to
 her duplicate. She became disoriented and grabbed hold of the sink but only suceeded in cutting 
her hand on some part of the peeling counter. Now she saw millions of little spiders coming 
across the floor at her and she tried to squash them, but only got her blood smeared on 
the bathroom floor tiles. 
Tom could tell that she was really upset, and politely escusing himself from his client, 
had followed Sandi but had gottento the elevator door just as it shut in his face.  He ran
 over to the winding staircase and ran up it. He had come upon the lady's room
 door but it had a combination that he did not know. So he just yanked the door knob off
and got in that way. He saw Sandi sprawled on the floor, her dress hiked up revealingly, wallowing in blood 
and screaming. He raced to her side. She stared at him like a wild animal, her mascara smudged down her
cheeks. She was gulping for air, and saying that she wanted to die, and the reason she gave showed that 
she was currently hallucinating. 
 "Look at me!" Tom commanded, but she did not. "Sandi, look at me! You are having a panic attack."
 She looked at him. 
 "You are calm, you are at rest. There is only you and I here." 
Her breathing began to slow down and he saw her swallow a couple of times. Then her eyes began
 to focus and her posture to strengthen. He took hold of her bloody hand.  
"It's okay, gal. I think you are a great secretary. You are indispensible, as far as I am concerned." 
 She slowly stood up, and he turned on the faucet to wash the mess off of her wounded hand. 
"I...I think I lost it a little there," she replied, coming down. She smiled with embarassment. 
"Uh." She let him wash her hand and she smoothed her tangled hair with her other hand using the 
mirrors in front of them. 
"Crap. I look like shit," she said. 
 "What happened?" Tom asked, placing a clean paper towel over the palm of her hand.
 "I let them get to me," she replied. "I think I lost it when they compared me to Sharon." 
"Listen, Sharon is over working at the Commonwealth Attorney's and she is spending the first
 two hours of each day shooting off her mouth. Rumor also has it that she has applied for a
 job with the federal government and her boss has given her a glowing recommendation, just
 to get her out of there." 
Sandi now laughed.
 Tom escorted Sandi back downstairs, suggesting strongly that she take the rest of the day off,
 and he bandaged her hand using the first aid kit they kept in the back next to the eyewash
 station. But, trooper that she was, she refused to go home, and set back to catch up on the
 paperwork she had missed while she had been gone for a half hour. The girls of course, mocked
 her somemore when she got back. 
Tom sighed and secretly wished that one or more of them might get kidnapped by terrorists. 
One of Tom's duties was to go to court. The judge would ask him if the client on probation
 had been compliant or not, and Tom would say or not. If not, the judge would ask the client 
why not. The client usually said that he had transportation problems, or baby sitting problems,
 etc., and the judge would reinstate him/her. Tom eventually began to take his lunch breaks by 
going to court and watching other cases. Of a truth, some of the prosecuting attorneys in the 
DA's office were sharks. One case Tom observed was of two parents accused of child abuse. 
The tragedy was that the child had been born with some rare condition that make his bones brittle.
 After many trips to the ER, somebody called the cops, and here was this wealthy, good-looking 
couple trying to defend themselves. They had brought the family doctor and a specialist from 
 D.C.  and both doctors testified that this child had this rare bone condition. The doctor from
 D.C. even said on the stand that while examining children with this condition that he had held
 their hand too tightly and felt the bones give way. The jury gasped at this confession. 
Tom mentally cussed out God for besetting children with this condition. One of the many reasons
that Tom did not go to church. Of course, in doing this, he might go to hell to stay. Well, whatever
it takes to grab His attention. 
It was clear from this confession that the DA's case was slipping away. This lady DA did not want
 to lose her case, so she tried one last cheap ploy in order to turn the jury against the family
 and vote them guilty. 
"How much did you pay the doctor to be here today?" She asked the father of the child. 
"One thousand dollars," he replied.
 The jury gasped. 
The lady DA smiled.
 Why doesn't this evil broad drop dead? Thought Tom.
 But the jury, on the basis of the two doctor's testimonies voted Not Guilty for the two parents.
 Well, the good news is, thought Tom, those two look like they can easily afford the thousand bucks. 
Lucky this kid was born into such a wealthy family. That lady DA must have known that the family was
 represented by two competent doctors. Laws of Disclosure ensure that. But she still pressed charges.
 Can't believe that this ever went to trial. What a waste of tax-payers money. And I hope
 those jury members still have their jobs when they go back. With frivolous trials like this,
 no wonder everyone wants to get out of jury duty. He shook his head.
 The DA, Francois, was sitting in the courtroom, observing also, and he read Tom's thoughts and
 agreed with Tom. She not only was outrageous in her approach, but back in the office she was
 manuevering herself to take over his job as well. Spreading rumors about him with the other
 attorneys, the clerks of the court and the secretaries that he was not competent. Francois 
would not long put up with this. Outside of the courtroom, Francois made a point to bump into Tom.
 The DA began a conversation with Tom about the case, which wasn't too difficult, as Tom was upset
 about it. The two retired to the Law Library on the first floor. They went to the back where the
 State Statues were shelved, so as not to be heard. 
 "I hope you don't mind me asking, but don't you think your deputy was a little
 aggressive in the courtroom today?"
"She has tactics that I don't approve of. I give all of the interns to her. 
From that Christian law school."
"Ah. The everyone but us burns in Hell school. The, America has sinned and will be destroyed by 
a natural disaster church."
"Exactly. So, what church do you go to?"
"I don't. I am estranged from God. I don't talk to Him at all. I would rather go to Hell than talk to Him." 
"Really?" (Perfect, Francois thought.)"Tell me more."
"Oh, you don't want to hear this."
"Believe me, with her in the office, I've heard everything." 
"Well, my parents always believed in the Protestant Work Ethic. Work hard, study hard, and your
 efforts will be rewarded. Hard work equals success. As a child, I used to watch the old TV shows:
 The Untouchables with Elliot Ness, Simon Templar as The Saint, Efraim Zimbalist, Jr. in The FBI. 
 They could do no wrong. I always dreamed of being like them. After I graduated from college with
 an engineering degree, I went into the army for two years. In the army I worked as an engineer. 
 I served in the Army, because not only could I get job experience, but because I felt that everyone
 should serve their country, at least two years.  And then I went to work for the feds. And it was nice.
 I felt great. I felt like a prince among men. I knew special information, but I could be trusted with it
 because I was superior, morally. I could be trusted not to abuse my position. I was the perfect Boy Scout.
 I was the Good Soldier. Matter of fact, I was an Eagle Scout. But y'know, I wasn't perfect.
 I could get really angry at times. One day, I was driving around the beltway around DC and I had just
 passed the Tyson's Corner exit ramp in my brand new truck and...these old ladies in this big car 
came out onto the highway and cut right in front of me. I mean, if I hadn't slammed on my brakes, 
they would have collided with my front end for sure. I've never been that close to having an accident
 before. And in hitting my brakes, I could have been rear-ended and even have caused a chain reaction
 collision- you know, like those 30 car pileups that you hear about out west. And I have a high-profile
 vehicle that is more subject to rollovers.  It could have been ugly. So, I sped up in order to see
 what idiot it was that drove like they owned the road and I saw the bunch of old ladies in the car, 
just chatting it up...the driver wasn't even looking at the road, she had her head turned to talk with
 the gals in the back seat. She could have killed everyone in the car."
"Maybe eventually she did," Francois said.
"So, I continued down the road, keeping the car in sight, unsure of what to do. I thought, should I speed
 up and cut them off, to show them what they had just done to me? Should I tailgate them and ride my horn?
 Should I call the cops on them? Should I let it go and just go home and have a drink? I just kept obsessing
 over it, for a good fifteen minutes. That was when the religious experience happened."
Francois smiled at this. Religion always seems to unglue people's lives, he thought.
Tom sat down on a sofa. 
"I'm going at least 60 on the beltway and suddenly I became aware that there is somebody else 
in the car. A presence, or perhaps a ghost. I can't see it, can't hear it, can't feel it, 
can't smell it, but you know it's there, and you know exactly where it is- it wasn't sitting next to
 me...it was sort of hovering over my left shoulder, between my shoulder and the glass window,
 in a space just 6 inches big. I felt the thing enter my mind. It had a calming effect. Euphoric,
 almost. And I began to relive something that had happened to the ghost when he had been alive.
 He had been killed, and he hadn't cared. Matter of fact, he had deliberately sacrificed his life.
 Just before he died, poor fellow, he had had his hands tied in front of him. His head was bowed 
in sorrow. He had been led to his death. But now he feels only euphoria and exaltation. 
Then the presence leaves and I forget all about the dumb car with the ditzy ladies in it.
 The message I get from this dude is that road rage is a no no. I tell no one about this event.
 People might joke that my truck is haunted. Or that I'm breathing carbon monoxide fumes.
 Or something funny like that. But it does change my attitude to a lot of things. 
I become less vengeful in my behavior. So one day, I'm having a political discussion with a 
friend and he says: You sound like a pacifist.  This label gets bandied about, and M5 gets wind of
 it. They call me in for a little- ha ha- interview and they tell me, we are under the auspices
 of the Department of Defense and we can't have pacifists working here. I am dismissed from the
 Agency. So there I am, unemployed. I try to get jobs, but I can't tell people what I have been 
doing, because it was classified. And I have no references.  Some potential employers probably
 thought that I had just gotten out of prison. I can't collect unemployment.  I can't apply for
 any government job, because their applications say: Have you ever been denied a security clearance?
 Have you been dismissed or asked to leave in the last ten years? Falsification will result in fines
 and imprisonment. Nothing becomes of civilian resumes I send out. It's like I'm on somebody's SL. 
It's like my name has been flagged. I became homeless, and reduced to eating weeds on people's lawns.
 And then I got angry. Angry with God over my fate. I had the big house, lots of buddies that I 
partyed with and played Bridge at their house...I had a girlfriend from the right family, I had 
the right social connections...then I became homeless and humiliated. If you hadn't gotten me this
 Probation Officer job, I'd still be scraping by. "
"At times I slip and do a good deed or two. But just for reelection purposes," Francoise laughed.
And Francoise moved forward in his plans concerning Tom.