Fiery the Angels rose, and as they rose deep thunder roll'd
Around their shores: indignant burning with the fires of Orc
- William Blake, America A prophecy.

Confessions of an Ex-Soldier, Ex-Cop and Ex-Con

The Parole Office

Thursday, August 14, 2019

My new PO is a condescending asshole. But, aren’t they all? And I guess I’d better get used to it. He holds my life in his hands, one word and Blackwater or Homeland Inc. will be knocking down my door and dragging me back to the can. And that’s not going to happen, I learned my lesson, I won’t even so much as jaywalk ever again.

The PO seemed unimpressed that I’d found a job already and that I’d been honest with my employer (he asked). But John had given me the paperwork to prove it. Just the same, Cheapsuit called the café to confirm it. He talked to John like I wasn’t right there sitting in front of his desk. He took great pains explaining my crimes and the conditions of my parole to John, just to make sure “everybody understands the situation.” He obviously thought I’d been lying to him when I said that I told John everything (then again, how many lies does a PO hear in a day? I’m an ex-con and not to be trusted, better remember that. Hell, the truth of the matter is that I wouldn’t trust a convict, especially me). He kept me in his office for three hours, even though the interview only took about ten minutes, waiting on ‘the system’ to process my paperwork he said. To be fair about it, there have been network outages here in SoCal again today. More gravity waves? I don’t know, the state wasn’t wasting money on a newsfeed for ex-cons in the waiting room and I think he was just making sure I knew what’s what. Don’t worry, Bossman, I got the message.

Because it took so long I didn’t have time to look for an apartment before heading back to the café. I’ll try to do that tomorrow, if John can spare me for a couple of hours after lunch.

Posted by VanDerDecken at 12:01 PM

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