Evaluate your T.V. viewing/internet/phone/video game use. How much time do you spend in these activities and what is the effect on your life?

T.V. viewing?  Oh, yes!  I see these quaint anchors for armchair attendants, magnets for munching manikins, and even tube-timers--99% of households have 1 television.  Whereas 78% of America’s population is exposed to, or has access to, the Internet—moot point.  Then there is the combination between fixed phones and cell phones, with a whopping 103% demographic in favor of mobile units.  Another moot point.  With more women playing video games, at nearly 40%, the average in 2011 is 67% of households play video games, with the greatest concentration between the ages of 18 and 49, with males spending the most time in a given week—8 hours!  To be fair to those of us that do not watch an anchor, nor have a cellphone stuck in our ears for hours on end, choose to defer to video games connected to the internet.  Yes, I am a video gamer and find this vice relaxing and distraction from life—.  Personally, catching a rerun from a day long past, such as Perry Mason, or Get Smart, or even Hogan’s Heroes, is a novelty, rarity, and justifiable opportunity.  Unlike the National average that reflects a growing coach-potato mentality, the time investment on my part is negligible, perhaps less than 1% of a 168-hour week.  My statistics for my phone are not even on the radar—1% of 1% of my tube visits.  As for gaming, my usage is fairly close to the National average, though not epidemic, nonetheless so purported to clinch this topic’s focus.  Yet, society is engaged in another ideological battle over electronics, and how it is robbing us of our time, while the other camp debates the net benefits, be it relaxing and decompressing. Oh, we will avoid the evil word—entertainment.  To be categorized with an industry heavy into robbing the public of their time in exchange for dollars, shame on us for investing our time in pixel-propriety.  And, I would counter that bowling, football, golfing, hunting, shooting pool, or any number of other entertainment venues could be thrown out there for scrutiny.  Oh, I realize this topic asked a very generic question.  Sure, let us reflect on our time allotments, until someone takes issue, gasps, and takes us to task.  It’s all good, with the question and answer is just me reading it.  It’s entirely a different animal when we put it out there for the public to see.  And I revel in my vice, and stand out among critics, the outspoken, and soapbox antagonists, ready to prance, stomp, and cling to my Internet Video Gaming.  Get back!  I can’t see my game.  Is there anything else??? Nope?  Okay.  Do you mind?  I’m trying to level up here—scat!

TIME TO PLAY!

Did high school, your previous education or work experience prepare you for college?

Whether my dismal grades in high school, or my academic excellence in the army, that positively affected my college success, either in whole or in part, is a matter of speculation—at best.  Early on, right out of high school, I purposed to avoid any higher education, mostly due to my special educational experience growing up.  As for the military, I excelled in Advanced Individual Training, not because I had too, but because I enjoyed what I was doing.  Many years later, and with a family to support, I would gravitate to necessity to find a balance in trucking to maintain a budget.  It would be a stretch of my imagination to find roots, in either experience, which echoes a hint of recognition to which college success is a kin.  No, I would have to point out that the recession was the great equalizer, removing my options and giving way to desperation.  Moreover, being a homeless full-time student is much more attractive than being homeless and unemployed.  Necessity is a powerful motivator, that without alternatives, pragmatic that I am, college offers a viable solution, albeit a gamble for the future, with some normality of financial stability, it is not hard to see why I, and many others, pursue a higher education.  For me, the choices were far and few between, and with the recession far from over, retooling for the future seemed a necessary and plausible path to undergo.  However, I would point out that I have found that my own advice to my children has made life as a student bearable, even enjoyable in classes that I otherwise would have never guessed I would take.  That advice is to have fun, laugh, and enjoy the experience.  In this way, the learning curve is not so steep, and the challenges not so difficult, and the rewards are that much more sweeter.  Admittedly, my experience in the army could be the catalyst for this mindset, wherein my efforts to be the best technician, were undoubtedly connected with my sense of adventure.  And so this adventure in the wonderful world of higher education is my journey, the path of choice, so I had better enjoy the trip for as long as I can.  In the not so distant future, academia will open up doors, through which I will either sprout wings and soar—or flop, relegated to being homeless and unemployed.

Defend, refute, or qualify: pirating music is morally and ethically wrong.

To qualify an opinion regarding this topic, whether pirating music is morally and ethically wrong, it would be prudent to see how the majority, that being society as a whole, has enacted rules of law to protect digital media.  The simple answer is that music published with copyrights is governed by the owner, or in this case, the artist.  While society stands on the rule of law, it is interesting to see the very constituents violating this law and crying fowl.  And pirating is rampant across the board, from kids to the elderly, irregardless of race, status, or circumstance, pirating music is a growing industry.  Here's the rub for the artist, where traditional stamps (records), or now CDs and DVDs, are produced for distribution.  There are costs involved, passed on to the consumer, that impact the artists investments for these products.  However, the traditional delivery of the media is fragmenting, where vinyl was replaced by cassettes, and now CDs/DVDs, there is still a cost involved.  And when these units do not sell, it is considered sunken costs, money lost and irreplaceable by the artist.  So when someone takes a purchased copy and produces copies for personal use, that is one thing.  However, reselling a copy of an original takes away from one of the produced units.  That is theft.  Imagine for the moment you walk into a music store, pop in a CD and make a digital copy, then put the CD back.  Is that legal?  Would the store owner allow it?  Would the artist condone it?  Obviously, the answer is no.   Thus, digital piracy is also morally and ethically wrong.

What should America’s role be in the world?

Can you say, hot topic? There are many that cling to the ideology of our forefathers that continental independence is as much about the right to speech, as it is to bear arms, and everything that falls between these two.  As America evolved, however, either out of necessity and/or design, we are allied to nations that are also in a struggle for their own independence, and lays the foundation in which provides a means to and end.  In this regard, others cling to America as being a global custodian, per say, that is underpaid and overworked, and the last to be thanked for cleaning up other conflicts.  Yet both camps depend on resources that neither can do without, nor would be willing to entertain, such that America as a whole depends on oil imports.  The bottom line is driven by our own sense of security wherein oil is a national resource, one that this nation would grind to a halt without it.  So, while both debate this issue into the next Presidential debate, both are keenly aware that our role abroad is to maintain, secure, and even defend this resource.

How is "On Dumpster Diving" a definition essay? Do you agree with Eighner's conclusion about consumerism and societies obsession with obtaining things?

The author uses many instances, examples, and comparisons to create an understanding, albeit Lars' understanding of a definition "On Dumpster Diving."  However, Lars' text speaks more to me about the survivalist guide for the homeless, or even how to safely salvage dumpster refuge.  Even so, I noticed that Lars' makes the statement, "Something like this drives the obsession to collect junk", this statement refers to the authors own distaste for wasted food thrown away.  And though I would agree with the question of whether I agree, I do.  However, indirectly stated, Lars' piece doesn't strike me as a conclusion, as much as an personal position that justifies dumpster diving.  Of course, I'm reading between the lines here, but this entire piece screams, "So What? I'm a scavenger.  Leave me alone!"    Or, "I'm too proud to visit a church, or eat at a soup-line."  Here again, my rhetoric is self-serving, probably only appreciated by a fellow vagabond that has walked this walk, not for one year, but for many years.  Even now, though I eat little during the day, scavenging for food is a luxury, not a necessity--not yet.  With the mission serving breakfast, lunch and dinner, their is no shortage of safe, clean, and free food.  Beyond this, their are churches, a diner, and activities that cater to the homeless.  Even so, I still find myself peeking into a trashcan, or food receptacle looking for that freshly discarded appetizer between meals. 

Have you ever found anything valuable in the trash, or do you currently have something that others would think is junk?

One warm morning, while driving my tractor-trailer, I pulled up into the service driveway of OfficeMax.  Turning the corner I noticed the doors to the refuge area ajar.  Slowing to maneuver around the dumpster area, I noticed a software package strewn around other miscellaneous papers.  It was enough to peak my interest for a look, after the trailer I was pulling was backed up to the dock.  Pulling the air brakes, exiting the cab of my truck, I strolled over to the litter about the base of the dumpster.  Sure enough, there on the ground was a sealed, though roughly scoffed, box for a game.  I don't remember the title and vaguely remember if it was a sports title or adventure game.  I picked it up and thought I should survey the dumpster for other titles.  Climbing up and looking in, nothing.  It was empty.  Obviously, the remnants of a dump that missed the dump trucks intake, and were less than a passing thought for the operator to even consider picking up.  My social duty complete, that game made its way to my home, where my kids enjoyed playing.

Based on David Sedaris's, "Me Talk Pretty One Day," write about a time when have you been in a situation that was new and frightening because you felt alone, new, or did not understand the rules.

In early 2009, with the economy a shambles and being out of work, I found myself doing what unemployed fathers do when their wives are working.  At first, her part-time job gave her (and us) discretionary funds towards our meager budget.  This was a time of doing with less, even without, a condition that we had endured years ago as newlyweds, here we were again pinching pennies, sometimes only enough to rub two nickles together.  At times, the fear of having nothing to put on the table, pay the bills, or have the resemblance of stability was scary.  For a family of means not a year ago, being humble and asking for help was hard.  There were times we had nothing to eat and taking the family to a church to eat was a bitter chore when my wife refused to be seen as needy.  The complexity of life, work, and budget (or lack of) created an environment that built resentments, stuffing of opinions, and ultimately the collapse of our marriage.  In 2010, my wife left me, taking all I had and asking for child support, despite the kids being over 18 and younger than 21.  To add to this my unemployment ended, and I was essentially both homeless and destitute.  The reality of being divorced, homeless, and no prospects towards work, the strife created a vacumn in which I learned to horde everything, share nothing, and accept poverty as a new normality.  Along this path, I learned to accept my situation, do my best with what I had, and the anxiety eventually lessened.  Even today, creature comforts and luxury items have very little value to me.  Being alone in these circumstances were scary.   Only after living among others in similar circumstances, did I begin to feel less alone, nonetheless.  Two years later, I have manged to adapt to the condition known as being 'homeless', and have learned not to fear labels.  With this experience, I learned the rules of being a vagabond, and though I don't see myself as one, nonetheless.

Based on "Lost in the kitchen," is Dave Barry correct in his assessment of men and women?

Dave Berry presents a kitchen tale from his own experience on one occasion--Thanksgiving.  As Dave opens, it is easy to relate, remember my own experiences during this holiday, and sense the tension in the air, palpable and even uncomfortable.  As the drama unfolds, although, there is this single event that Dave tries to paint men and women into stereotypes.  On the surface, this might be somewhat true regarding a portion of the population, men and women alike.  To answer the question stated above, I would be inclined to say, 'yes and no'.  No, simply because their are many reverse roles in society, that Dave either neglected to mention, or has not experienced firsthand.  I would even go so far and point out that while many women are working, more of them are stay-home wives, and mothers, with traditional working husbands.  Further, it would be remiss of me not to mention that insofar as men are concerned, they do enjoy cooking and helping around the kitchen.  Conversely, the same can be said about some women.  I would say that Dave Berry can suggest a mindset, such as this piece, and that would not be an accurate catchall within the scope of human sexuality.

What is your favorite book or short story?

Johnny Lingo is a short film made in 1969 that opens in a Polynesian setting that tells a tale of self-worth and love through the eyes of a Caucasian storekeeper.  As the story begins, Mahana's father is approached by a shrewed business man that wants to marry his daughter by bidding for her hand in marriage with the offering of cows.  The islanders take into account that Mahana is not attractive, and less industrious to the family bottom line, teased and ridiculed, she feels mocked that a wealthy entrepreneur would even suggest buying her hand.  All the townsfolk begin gossiping, bragging about how much their husbands payed for their wives, and how Johnny Lingo will most likely pay bottom dollar, er, cows for Mahana.  In the end, Johnny pays 8 cows-the largest sum for a wife.  In the closing scenes, the sale complete, the father comes to bid the newlyweds goodbye, when Mahana steps out of the hut.  He is stunned, for Mahana is transformed, no longer the scruffy mongrel that her father treat her like, into a gorgeous and beautiful brick-house figure.  And yet, the father voices his anger, telling Johnny Lingo that he ripped him off, "Mahana is a 10-cow wife!  You jipped me!"  The bottom line is not how we see others but how we see ourselves, and our self-worth is what is key in this story.  No longer would Mahana measure her worth by how many cows other wives were bartered up to, for her worth was a simple gesture by her husband, paying 8 cows for what others perceived as unlovable, unwanted, or worthless.  In the end, the storekeeper and Johnny closing a sale on a mirror for Mahana, when the storekeeper says, "I misjudged you, Johnny."  Johnny saw the beauty that had always lied within Mahana, that everyone else overlooked.  This film is applicable today and gives us hope for ourselves, and for others. 

How is Buckley's essay, "Why Don't We Complain?" a cause and effect essay? Is his message still relevant today?

While Buckley's piece, "Why Don't We Complain?", is a cause and effect essay, the message can be applicable for today, depending the audience.  Again, here is another author churning out literature that is singular in thought, without considering the broader readership, and submits a wholly one-sided construct.  Admittedly, while Buckley paints a vivid picture, orchestrating a masterful deluge of stories, on the surface one would be inclined to agree.  The scope to which the piece examines this cycle, pinning society to the structure known as centralized government, it is one side of the overall argument.  I find it humorous, to say the least, when readers quote such pieces to support such platforms.   It's as if people prefer to regurgitate the media than to actually read between the lines and see the hidden message, or even explore that which was not addressed.  Perhaps they are too uncomfortable with descent, or the friction of having an opposing position, that it is much easier to ride the coat-tails of a popular movement.  And, to some degree, this is another faced of the same argument, where passiveness passes off as social acceptance.  I would argue that while the majority of the audience may, or may not agree, there are people that will, or will not voice any opinion on the relevance.  For my own reasons, that I refuse to share, I would say the message is not relevant to the minority that does complain, and often.  We can measure this population by those that represent the majority--Representatives, Senators, and our President.

What obstacles will you encounter while trying to complete a college degree

Obstacles?  Hurdles?  Barriers?  In the climate that presupposes certification, diplomas, and licensure is a must-have by discriminating employers, obtaining any lauded paper is the least of my concerns.  And while many a student climbs the rungs of academia toward that lofty accreditation, there looms larger the question, will that be enough to land that prize position?  Perhaps some tracks are less susceptible to change, such as Drafting, or Nursing, perhaps not even Biology.  The hoops that each student must jump through is dependent on the altitude by which we desire to reach, not our attitude so much.  Take the computer industry, with plethora of evolving technologies, where once a course is crafted, designed, and taught by educators to students, by the time they reach the end of the first year of coursework, the climate has changed--once cutting edge is old news, even antiquated.  No, I have no doubt that the biggest obstacle while trying to complete a college degree is augmenting that education with vendor-specific training, and re-training to both current and emerging standards.  This is specific to any field within the computer industry, specific to networking, security, and support thereof.  For my purposes, chasing the paper-tiger will be nothing short of daunting, considering the vast landscape of products that inundate every aspect of this industry.  It is the nature of the beast, and no one degree will be sufficient, and though employers want the degree, they expect the paper-tiger mentality to accompany it.

Banal to Zealot ~ Perdition to Vindicate! (Free writing exercise)

Growing up, finding a new word to either abase, abate, even define my abhor towards another, such a handy anomaly as the 'vocabulary list' aggrandized my toolbox of insults and/or adroit abhor for others.  So were the days of adolescence, posturing, postulating, rebelling against society in my own vain anarchy, defying authority, and animosity toward my parents.  And while reflecting on the triggers to this end, my autonomy bolstered by my blithe attitude, would cajole the verbiage within without regard to application, let alone applicability, save my life, let alone my outward persona. Such immaturity exuded untold instances of arrogance, ignorance, at my expense, nonetheless.  Not till years later, would such avarice for distinction, or blatant outbursts with my untrained vocabulary, would there be a realization that the use of a language is a skill, not a toolbox of handy words to hurl across the tongue.  I have to laugh at my own learning curve in this regard, as in this paragraph alone, the temptation to eviscerate my ego is seen within this piece.  Just for fun, poking at my own humanity, and weak use of humor to poke at the past assignments.  So what?  I'm a buffoon captivated in my carp of my own acerbity.  LOL!

The Most Significant Invention by Mankind is Language

From the dawn of humanity, language is the single invention to which all other inventions are possible, for without language, there could not be collaboration, let alone the sharing of a root idea.  Moreover, as this debate continues among society, at the very core of humanity is both our individuality, our own language.  However, without a shared language, no intention can be transferred, shared, or developed, outside of our own limited abilities.  Thus, language, hands-down, is the greatest invention for mankind. 

Aloft In The Clouds

 

My favorite place is untethered from earth, aloft in the clouds.  Even as a small child riding in my mom's Volkswagen bug, my early memories hinged on sitting in the rear seat all the while staring up and into the sky.  With my invisible control panel, many a trip would find my fingers manipulating the imaginary aircraft in which I rode, opening the hatch above me, lifting out into the sky, to soar high and fast, sailing across the panoramic celestial scene.  The air racing through my hair, the mist of the clouds dampening my face, and the ever-present sensation of freedom all around, serene, peaceful, I would meditate in these moments and find profound solace and contentment.  Years later, actually flying a trainer into the clouds, the excitement and anticipation that followed could never compare to those early years flying an open cockpit craft.  Within the scope of my mind, as the Piper Cub pushed up and through the clouds, the awe and shock in the moment, finally experiencing flight, and now my greatest achievement, aloft in the clouds.

A Memorable Childhood Trip

Oahu Vacation

It was a summer trip to the beach on the island of Oahu with my family.  At 8 years old, I recall sneaking an Oreo cookie to bed and hiding it under my pillow.  In the morning, I awoke to thin line of black ants coming and going from beneath my pillow.  Quickly pulling the pillow back, the ants had set up camp and were devouring my prize possession.  I took notice that the army of scavengers cleverly nestled upon every inch of the cookie, leaving nothing to spare.  The orchestra of dissection well underway, ants carried off pieces across the floor to a crack in the floor.  And so began my day, dejected, I hurriedly disposed of the remains and scattered the remaining ants to the four-winds with a broom and towel.  With no one else awake and the ocean waves heard breaking on the beach outside, I ventured outside to explore.  In Hawaii, we often were barefoot and on the beach, the sand was still reeling from the cold night under the palms.  The ocean in sight and snaking my way around a few bushes, the cove was inviting and ominous at the same time.  In a strange setting, there was nothing familiar besides the sand between my toes, the fresh air from the Pacific ocean, and the beach that could be found anywhere else on the island.  However, the exploration of this cove would be my newest and most memorable experience largely because of the associations, from the cookie to the social interaction to come.  Running into the water, I swam around in the temperate water, slightly colder than a luke-warm bath.  After awhile, I saw some boys with a dog coming down the beach and tried to interact with them.  As they went to and fro, I found myself curious about them, even wanting them to include me in their games.  At one point, one of the boys called me over and asked me if I wanted to see their underground fort.  Of course, I did.  "Stand here and guard our underground base", said the boy.  "But don't look for the opening.  It's locked.  We'll be back later and show you around."  As they walked away, I could hardly contain the excitement of being invited into their sacred space, and included in their gang.  An hour passed and my mother could be heard up the beach calling us to breakfast.  I stood my ground, diligently waiting for the boys to return.  My mom walked up and asked me what I was doing, to which I answered with vigor and passion.  She took my hand, "Come with me, son."  But I had to stay, to which she grinned and coaxed me to follow with my favorite breakfast menu waiting inside at the kitchen table, scrambled eggs and hot cocoa.  I eventually relented and enjoyed the meal, all the while purposing to stand watch afterwards.  My mom knew I might do so and gently broke the news, and the rouge that I had swallowed hook, line, and sinker.  Still, I took off to see for myself, and after several minutes of digging in the sand, I gave up.  Dejected, I regarded my surroundings, the cookie lost to the ants, and passed the rest of the trip away sitting in front of the television set.

Deborah Tannen

In Deborah Tannen's piece, "There Is No Unmarked Woman",exemplification is demonstrated in the authors usage of examples.

The Paradigm "There Is No Unmarked Woman"

Within the piece, extensive exemplification is shown from the shoes to the hair styles.  Interesting enough, while the author crafted a carefully written argument contrasting fashion between men and women, pointedly creating a stereotype focused on the sex of an individual alone.  Perhaps the author is sensitive to her audience, or is purposely avoiding other audiences largely due to the complexity that is associated with her examples.  As the paper is written, there is no default audience, what race, or religion, or ethnicity, let alone cultural or social status.  And while the author hints at social standards, there is no clearly defined understanding of what the baseline standard is, but only what the author considers important.  I find it hard to follow a piece when the subject being discussed neither implies a social factor that is inherent to the climate in which I live.  And while my own paradigm may be exclusive to others, it is not so narrow-sighted to exclude the societal awareness of common paradigms.  Surely, this is a subjective view that on its on merits is spitting in the wind.  And one might glean that this rhetoric is nothing more than author-bashing.  And you would be right.  However, the other component missing in Deborah's piece is the scope to which "There Is No Unmarked Woman" attempts to draw a distinction.  Is this title appropriate to reflect the theme, or is it a cleverly crafted diversion to distract the reader away from the critical audiences, such as myself.  Knowing this is a possibility, I would be more inclined to entertain this piece had the author incorporated the underpinnings that society also considers.  Could the reader also draw the conclusion that the author is sexist?  The point that the author draws the conclusion that men are 'unmarked', is a pure example of sexism.  I would argue that women, and men alike, are fashion-driven, and to say that only women wear this label can be construed as narrow-minded by my constituent men-folk.  Aside from the paradigm "There Is No Unmarked Woman", I would argue that there is no unmarked man.

My Purpose for attending College

Many moons, years, or what seems eons ago, after graduating from high school, I swore off college or any other institution for higher learning.  Looking back on my scholastic experience from kindergarten through high school, there were pivotal events that inadvertently impacted my otherwise less than stellar academic inclination.  In short, school was the bane of my existence largely due to being pigeonholed with a learning disability.  As cynical as it sounds, school was a useless institution and nothing more than a babysitting service for parents.  Though at the time I did not cling to this attitude, later I would gravitate to the false belief that society used public schools as a babysitting service.  It was free!  What else could a parent hope for?!  As I moved from grade school to elementary, I found myself transferred out of public school to a special education curriculum.  Unknown to me at the time, I had been diagnosed with Attention Deficit Hyper Disorder, or ADHD.  From then on, elementary school, middle school, and intermediate became a surreal experience wherein my education took a backseat as the teachers focused on behavioral modification.  My cynicism, another attitude that grew out of ignorance to the terminology, nonetheless, became a ruler by which I measured my success each year.  How much could I get away with, and still pass the class by doing literally nothing to achieve that grade?  This question became a dogma, that while in 'special ed', often enough I discovered, and trained myself to polish, a skill at circumventing the system.  In the final analysis, as the end of my high school approached, I had become a skilled con, learning the bare necessity, and often was the case, sensitizing the teacher to granting a passing grade.  Regardless of how far I had fallen below a D-grade, I managed to persuade a passing score.  As my life continued into the military, my first of success with superior academic excellence came in the form of self-motivation in a occupation that I was enamored with-electronics and mechanical systems.  Unaware of my scholastic level, not only did I ace every exam, I graduated in the top 5 percent of my class-with honors!  It would be the catalyst that would eventually overturn my cynical views.  However, I did manage to excel on my on-the-job training accolades for a couple decades, avoiding the college bullet.  As with anything, this too would run its course and I found experience in this recession was not going to get me a paycheck-Not anymore.  Unconsciously, I thought I could not succeed in college; more so, I could not succeed academically.  With my benefits and unemployment drying up, and being either over- or under-qualified to work, I tossed my hat into the collegiate hat, per say.  After 20+ years of creating some resemblance of common sense, I found myself taking a hard look at my greatest fear of attending school.  Here was an opportunity to practice my own guidance to other would-be commercial drivers that wanted to succeed as owner-operators.  Here, I had to knuckle-down and throw off my own resistance to change, and face the cynical views once and for all.  As I stepped into the Lane Community College advisory office, there were many instances of fear, dread, apprehension, and self-defeating thoughts.  However, I pushed threw the fog of looming failure, focused on those counselors, their input and advice, and found myself emerging out of a well-worn excuse of denial.  My purpose for attending college began to take shape, not in the final grade or piece of paper on which a degree would be printed; nor was it because of a presumed 5- or 6-figure income.  It was simply to shed, once and for all, the attitude that 'I can't', for 'I can.'  With nearly four semesters completed, I have revisited my old self-defeating patterns less and less, that through a certain amount of self-pep talk, I have managed to maintain a high GPA.  And at 3.922, considering the post-shameful GPA that I dare not mention, my other purpose for college is demonstrating to myself, and my children, that success is not just a measure of grades and accolades, but that it is a journey from self-doubt into a higher plane of self-worth.  As it turns out, swearing off any education is just senseless, and can be detrimental to a person's gainful employment, not to mention, to their own identity.

A Memorable Experience

Shortly after being employed with a software development company through a professional placement agency, I learned that the company I worked for had very different goals than that for which I had been hired.  At first, my job title had little to do with the actual assignments to which I was tasked to do.  For the majority of my tenure with this small business, I found myself jumping through hoops that not only challenged me professionally, but also personally.  At one point, my employer wanted me to supervise a work crew that had been hired to do manual labor in one of our new business offices.  "I want you to watch these porch-monkeys and make sure they work the clock."  I was taken-aback, since my own background did not subscribe to such labels, nor even considered the possibility of working for anyone that did so.  Reluctantly, I wandered over to the construction area and introduced myself.  Two African Americans were busily working and in my own opinion were very industrious about the task at hand.  With my own jobs getting behind in the lab, I shook hands with them, and confidant with their efforts, returned to my own work.  "I thought I asked you to watch those workers?", inquired my employer.  I reported their efforts and returned to my own job.  Mark, the employer, was visibly upset and I sensed a more deviant distress that I did not share his southern values.  Again, he told me to go watch them until they had finished.  Again, I went to check on the crew.  I began to question the 'hat' to which I was forced to wear by this company, and I recognized that I would have to either waffle on my values, or accept the fact that I could not continue to work for a bigot.  As the days began to blend together, Mark recruited me to ride along to his home for an odd-job.  In the past few weeks, there had been opportunities to shine under most hats, from assembling servers to installing network equipment.  This had led to more and more hats, some of which I had no clue how to support.  All the same, Mark had made a sincere effort to include me in operations far removed from my hired status, and even so, had began introducing me to his sales team.  At his home, he seemed genuinely interested in my thoughts, even asking me how I felt about watching those niggers.  "Mark, this is the first time I have worked for someone so comfortable being a bigot."  I expected a reprisal that would cost me my job.  However, that was not the case.  It was as if the label had no affect and it incited what sounded more like a revival speech for white-supremacy than a defense for his character.  It wasn't a month before I began to see the writing on the wall, as co-workers distanced themselves and management reduced my access to company assets.  On one day, I was accused of fraternizing and was called into the office.  As Mark's dad began his slow rehearsed speech, I blurted out, "I quit."  "You can't quit.  YOU ARE FIRED!"  Relieved, I smiled, stood, thanked him for the opportunity, experience, and training, and dropped the keys on the desk.

Lane Community College ~ Writing 095 ~ Journal blog