Jobless and Sunless

12

By May Nineteen Eighty-Four, I was finally called in by the owner of the software start-up company as they were starting to look into what packaging they would use for my game when sending it to the distributor. When I arrived, I noticed a new guy in military uniform working at the office. He, too, shared an interest in science fiction, music and writing along with software and he would soon become one of my regular friends for the next eight years, 'Pat'. It turned out, after losing me, the start-up couldn't afford to hire a replacement and offered the military a chance to have 'one of their guys' working on the code along side Al, on the military's dime. It was a clever way to keep the contract going while not paying for the help and gave me my first insight as to why my paycheck had been shorted. Perhaps they where simply running low on money as their educational software project was awaiting publication and distribution. Needless to say, the start-up still wasn't paying my out-standing two hundred and fifty dollars and with the passage of April, they owed a final payment of two hundred and fifty to own my game and have the rights to distribute it. But they assured me that they would pay me in full when the time came to market the game.

With the medical bills eating away the temporary boost in my income from my months at the start-up, it was time to find a new job. Trawling for job openings in the want ads I discovered I could only look toward small mom & pop sized computer companies as they would be less likely to ask for a physical examination as part of getting a job with them. But I would also need to 'dress-up' as part of the job interviewing process. While I had the suit, shirts and tie my father had insisted on buying me for my high school graduation, I found wearing them a problem. It was one thing to put them on as a costume for a social event, but to wear them as if they were appropriate daily clothing left me feeling like a cross dresser. As I would find out in the years to come, wearing tees and jeans left me feeling appropriately dressed, but when wearing something more formal there was an issue. All formal clothing is sex specific and since, given my 'situation' I didn't fit either specification, that formal clothing left me feeling like a fraud, presenting myself as something I knew I wasn't.

When I would go to the handful of job interviews dressed-up like this, I also found two other problems. Due to my stuttering, I couldn't say my last name without the stammer and that would be the very first impression I'd end up giving the interviewer... That is if they hadn't first picked-up on me looking strange in the formal clothing. The other problem was my job history. With the computer start-up as my only software company credit, all others simply being people who had walked off the street in New England to ask for my help and a long distance call away, these interviewers would call the start-up to ask about me and, given Al's temperament issues, I heard that he trashed me as being a clueless idiot that had never written a line of code in my life. There were two jobs that I directly lost from this, that I know of, and for both I offered to write a small program right in front of them to prove I knew how to code. But really, who would you believe, the guy at the last company without the stammer? Or the one sitting in front of you who couldn't say their own name, looked funny in a suit for some reason, and with a bead or two of sweat running down their forehead from the heat of wearing the suit on top of the secret ACE bandage wrap?

By Summer I asked Jeff if I could put his phone number down as the point of contact for my time working at the software start-up company. At first he was surprised but when I explained to him the issues with Al being the point of contact, he seemed to understand and agreed. As Jeff, himself, had a hand in the start-up company, he legitimately had a reason to be a valid point of contact for them. But mom & pop computer job opportunities were few and far between.

Soon mother was pointing out job openings in other fields and one of them was for a new grocery store chain. As my whole point in moving out to Colorado was to get out of the grocery store business and into computer jobs, the last thing I wanted to do was apply for a grocery store job. Still, I went to the interview, which was more of a cattle call with a long line of people waiting for a two minute Q & A with one of the management group. Given that I really didn't want a job with them, I kept to my jeans and tee and, of course, didn't even stutter when they asked me why I thought I could do the job and I explained that I had been employed at a family owned grocery store chain for over eight years working in all areas of the business. I wasn't surprised when I didn't hear back from them.

Finally my mother pointed out a temp agency I should apply at as they supplied temps to work at the big name computer firm in town and perhaps I could get a temp job there, then work my way into a permanent position. I couldn't argue with her logic and applied, providing my work history and detailing my computer programming skills. They then turned around and offered me temp jobs in anything BUT the big name computer firm. When I asked why, they said they simply couldn't believe I had the computer skills I claimed to have given my age and lack of degree. I assured them I did and offered to write a working program right in front of their eyes, but they wouldn't take me up on that offer. No one ever did.

Needing food and gas money, I decided to accept one of their other jobs. This was when I discovered I had become intolerant of the Sun. Since Spring of that year I had found I had become a little wobbly when walking from the house to the car, or from the car to stores, etc. But once I was in the car, I was fine. It was strange but I didn't make much of it until my first job with the temp agency was to help with some landscaping. When I arrived, I started working the patch of dirt they had pointed to but was soon seeing spots before my eyes and felt the world spinning around me, I dropped the shovel and went straight for the shaded side of the house where I collapsed to the ground, but started feeling better right away. The other guy on site was wondering what was going on and so was I; it wasn't a heat stroke sort of thing for once I was in the shade I was quickly feeling fine again despite the fact that it was the same temperature outside. After a couple minutes to recover, I worked in the shaded area for a bit, then got back into the Sun and was again ready to drop and quickly returned to the shaded side of the house. Given that I wasn't going to get anything meaningfully done, I excused myself and got back into the car and went home, notifying the agency that I wasn't going to be able to do the job that day.

Why was being in the car okay, but being in the direct sunlight not okay? Was I reacting to the ultraviolet rays and the car's windshield filtered those out or something? These questions raced through my head as I was trying to come to grips with this new problem. Had it something to do with my bout of walking pneumonia? Had having it triggered a sunlight intolerance? These were great questions for a doctor, but as I was already tapped-out paying my remaining bills from the emergency room visit and ear specialist follow-up, paying a doctor for a silly seeming problem as a sunlight intolerance wasn't going to happen any time soon.

When the temp agency would call me with other day job opportunities I would have to ask if they were inside or outside jobs. If outside, I'd look out the window and see if it was cloudy out. If it was, I'd try the outside job.

My next one was a two day job of 'construction clean-up' for a Residence Inn being built nearby. Each room was being built like a stand alone apartment and they started me out digging some holes they needed for piping. Once that was done, they then had me work with another temp to carry hot water heaters into the various rooms, specifically the second and third floor rooms as, being under construction, they didn't have any railing on the stairs yet and the regular crew didn't feel it was safe for them to do it. But apparently temps were expendable and the other guy took the top end of the water heater, while I took the bottom. Sure enough, when he reached the top, he lost his balance and, not having any railing to steady him, he tossed his end of a hot water heater into the air and waved his arms to regain his balance. Meanwhile, I was stuck at the bottom of a hot water heater as the other end was pushed over my head and I had to struggle to hold its full weight straight up in the air while not losing my own balance on the steps at the same time.

Through shear will, I finally got the movement of the heater under control and drifting back to my partner who was now able to retake the other end and guide it into the door opening of the room. We got in the last of them and my back was aching like hell and I felt like I wanted to throw-up. After working half a day, I left for home again and called into the temp agency saying I hurt my back and couldn't finish the day. The next day my back was feeling better and it was still cloudy so I returned to the work site. The other temp was surprised to see me, but since the agency hadn't replaced me I was still needed. This day was truly construction clean-up where we picked up the scraps left scattered around the site by the work crew and dropped them into one of the dumpsters. By the afternoon, they needed help drilling some access holes for the PVC plastic plumbing to go through and asked if I knew how to use a power drill. Self taught at the age of seven, the answer was 'Yes' and I was soon given a drill with the hole cutting bit already in place and told to find the marks in the framing of the rooms and drill them out. This took up the rest of my day and was my favorite part as I could see the piping being slipped through the holes I was making and glued together to form the hot and cold water leads to the bathroom and kitchen areas to be completed on some later day. But as the temp job was only for two days, I didn't get to help complete them.

The temp agency seemed to have gotten the hint that outdoors work wasn't the best choice for me and offered me a week long job at a downtown bank's rooftop cafeteria. I accepted it and was soon helping to pull-out the cooking utensils and pans while the cook started to prepare the hot items. I was then to prepare the salad bar items by soaking the cut veggies in water mixed with MSG. The MSG was to keep the salad bits looking and tasting fresh during the hours the cafeteria would be open for lunch. Once in place, we then finished with a rush of making the sandwiches. Afterwards, it was time to bus the tables and clean the dishes and pans then select items for the following day's meals. I liked the job well enough, though the downtown parking lot cost more than I made the first day and I made sure to park at my friend Jeff's house near downtown for the subsequent four days and walk to the bank. As I'd enter through the back way I'd pass all these rooms full of computers, but they weren't why I was there. I debated maybe getting a job at the cafeteria full-time and then I'd be better able to work my way into a computer related job from within.

Then on the fourth day, once all the food was prepared and we were serving the employees as they made their way through the cafeteria line, one of them asked me if there was any MSG in the salad, as I opened my mouth to answer, the head cook burst out from the end of the line, ''No! Definitely, not!'' and with her assurance, the guy helped himself to the salad fixings and I was torn and disturbed. I didn't say anything and finished my duties for that day and then returned for the last day of my temp period. At the end of that day, the head cook offered to hire me on full-time and I turned it down. I didn't want to face a possible day when they told a customer there was no MSG and they found out there was the hard way by consuming the MSG mixed-in by my own hands.

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Friend/Frenemy

11

Generally, I'm keeping this mostly chronological with the occasional tidbit from my future to tease you. Yes, I'm talking to you! I can see you from the other side, looking at these words and wondering when I'll get back to the point... What was it? Oh, yes, I could have you wade through the next five and a half years of my life to find out what the end of the last installment meant, as I had to. But as I'll already have enough other things going on then, I thought I'd address it now and thus put my childhood years fully to a close for this tome.

You see, it comes down to Pete. My earliest childhood friend and subsequent not quite friend. In my later years I found out that my sister had been the babysitter for him in his preschool years and thus I might simply have first come to know him as the other kid my sister took care of like she took care of me. This may also explain the mentor role his father, Zack, took in my life as he was already familiar with my family and me, as well as being his son's friend. But ultimately the question I will always have and never trust the answer for: Was Pete my friend in my later school years or something else?

In eighth grade when I wanted people to think I was fat and thus place their attention on my fakely bulging belly rather than elsewhere, I knew Pete was the perfect person to pass this on to as he would delight in spreading a disparaging notion about me. Yet that same year I'd invite him over for a few sleepovers and one time chatted in our side by side beds about boys & girls and what it meant to maybe be one versus the other...

By our Senior year of High School, Pete had taken up lacing his fingers under a table that we both sat at and lifting it up with his knuckles while waggling his eye brows at me like it should mean something to me. I would witness these moments with perplexed curiosity as it definitely seemed to mean something to him. But it was completely lost on me. When some of our friends were at the same table, they would avert their eyes as they seemed to be tuned into what it was supposed to mean as well. By our Dungeons & Dragons time, he was doing it so often that his upperclassman friend finally told him to knock it off, and he mostly did.

At the age of thirteen, to disguise my growing breasts, one trick I relied on was rolling my shoulders forward to allow my shirt to drape. As it would look silly having my hands dangling in front of me when my shoulders were forward like this, I gave them each a task to do, left hand in the pant's pocket, right hand holding my notebook. When Van, as part of his confessional phone call, told me the reason I was given the title of 'The Sneakiest' in our High School yearbook was because of my notebook, I was completely stumped and it would be more than five years later when I'd learn what that comment must have meant while watching an episode of Quantum Leap.

A more Science Fantasy show than Science Fiction, as there didn't seem to be much science in it, the show centered on a man from the future whose spirit was propelled into the bodies of various individuals of the past where he was to live though a critical moment of their life and ensure a proper outcome. In one show, that was deemed so controversial the network buried it, the guy 'Sam' ends up in the body of a woman. For late nineteen eighties television that was a seemingly unthinkable thing that many found very disturbing. Then the character of 'Sam', as the woman, tries to prove to another character in the story that he's really a man in this woman's body because he knows what it's like to hide a hard-on in school with his notebook.

Like having my own Quantum Leap at that moment, I relived moments of my past as I realized what Van must have meant by using that comment. My school mates must have assumed I held my notebook that way, not to distract attention from my bulging breasts, but to hide something down there. Pete must have been lacing his fingers and raising the table with them while giving me a knowing look to convey an expanding penis reaching and lifting the table from beneath. On my last night in New England Pete had us sit on straight backed kitchen chairs to watch his videos rather than on the living room's couches. His videos were porn and in retrospect: Was Pete trying to have us 'reveal' ourselves without anything to hide our 'interest' with, such as a couch pillow, as we watched the movies? If so, I cluelessly won the challenge as I had a built-in advantage versus the rest of the friends there that night.

Had Pete picked up on our late night chat when we were age thirteen and concluded I needed help passing as male? Thus, he subsequently developed and socialized the story of why I held my notebook like that and then added to it with his lifting of the table while looking at me as if making fun of me for something. Or had Pete actually thought I had a perpetual 'hard-on' issue, really thinking I was hiding it all the time with my notebook, and was truly making fun of me for it? Had my going away party my last night in New England been planned to embarrass me in front of our friends as my last memory of my childhood and it didn't work out as Pete intended?

And thus is the mystery of Peter. Given the friend/frenemy balance, I doubt I could ever believe the answer he'd give me if I asked him all these years later: Would he be taking credit for helping me when he truly hadn't meant to? Or would it be the other way around?

The one thing I did know as I finished my own leap through my history which knitted all these moments together in a flash of insight: I had truly earned the title of 'The Sneakiest' at school.

With my cluelessness, in my attempt to hide my 'situation' from my school mates, I had dramatically over achieved!

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Revelations

10

After my left ear was back and working, I realized it had been about six months since I'd sent my old High School friend 'Van' a letter, and having a harrowing story to tell seemed like a good time to put one together. Not only noting the illness and subsequent recovery, I mentioned that I had finished my second quarter of Business College and realized that he, too, must have finished his second year of College. I don't remember if I mentioned anything about the job stuff, probably not.

After having completed her second year working at the hospital kitchen, it was pointed out to my mother that she had two years worth of vacation time to use. Never before in her life had she had a job which included vacation time and so she hadn't thought of taking it. But now she had little choice and debated what to do with it and the only vacation thing she could think of doing was a return trip to see old friends and relatives in New England. It had been five years since she had come to Colorado and I think one of her goals was to see the grocery store owner 'Joe' and discover why he had never come out to Colorado to 'sweep her off her feet' once he realized his longing for her.

And so by June I ended up with the mobile home all to myself and it was during one of these quiet afternoons that I received a surprise phone call... From Van.

He told me when he had received my first letter noting 'how he must have started his second year of College' that he had been able to ignore that bit but, when he received the second letter assuming he had finished up his second year, he felt the need to set the record straight: He had flunked out of College during his first year and had spent this past year working full-time at the ol' grocery store across the hayfield from my family home. It turned out that once he'd gotten to College and away from any parental oversight, he had just spent his free time there playing Dungeons & Dragons to the wee hours and often overslept, missing too many classes. As he realized what this meant to his grades and College success, he buried himself into more Dungeons & Dragons to escape. Apparently as the game had saved my life, it had helped Van destroy his own.

He had already planned a return to working at the grocery store for the Summer after his first year of College and simply stayed working there once Summer was over. This explained why he had been keeping his distance from me the previous year as he hadn't wanted to let me know he was blowing his future. I assured him it was all right and as he knew I had my own troubled year in school and recovered from it so I was sure he would... But it turned out I didn't understand and he needed to explain to me other things that had happened. Things that he had kept secret these past years and it had been eating a hole in him.

During the start of my Senior year of High School, I was to have 'Advanced Math' class with my mentor Zack Hatch while taking 'Calculus' with the second most senior math teacher in the school. But Zack was missing that year, as it turned out his wife had cancer and so he'd taken a year's sabbatical to help her through that. The third math teacher instead took over teaching 'Advanced Math' and for some reason I kept getting all of my test answers wrong and could never figure out why. I eventually dropped out of the class before the end of the quarter to avoid the 'F' being posted to my grades, but while I was doing well enough in 'Calculus' I had to drop that class as well. 'Advanced Math' was a prerequisite for taking 'Calculus' and by dropping one I had to drop the other.

Van was also taking 'Advanced Math' class with me that year and on the very day I didn't attend due to dropping out, the third math teacher had spent the entire class time crowing about it. He had been pissed that someone like me had been taking away attention from his Math Club over the previous two years by being deemed 'A Computer Wiz' and taken to various computer activities by Zack. When it came to people admiring math students, it was rightfully the place of his Math Club and his collection of students, not me. Especially not SOMEONE LIKE ME. Van mentioned how he had waved the disenrollment form around with glee as he said all this. Then the teacher mentioned that if I was supposed to be so bright, why couldn't I figure out all he was doing on my tests was marking my correct answers as wrong?!?

Van had been stunned that day, but as he had 'expectations' by his parents that he would be going on to College, he couldn't report this to me or the Administration for fear of becoming the next student to have to drop out of class. As 'Advanced Math' was deemed a college preparatory course, he didn't feel he could sacrifice it.

The story sounded wild, especially since Zack had warned me at the end of my Junior year of High School that these things -- other staff members over the years actively denying me my opportunities in school -- happened quietly in back rooms and not touted about in front of other students. But at the same time, it made complete sense. It explained why I could never understand how my test answers were always wrong even though I checked them time & again and thought they were right. It explained why the math teacher hadn't been willing to walk me through my test answers to help me figure out how I'd gotten them wrong. Van had been particularly consoling of me that year, but I thought it had simply been because he was a good friend. Now I could see he was feeling guilty at the time and his looking out for me was to, in part, assuage some of his own guilt.

Also the way he told me this story on the phone this day seemed to evoke memories of a few sentences from the anonymous letter I had written to the Principal once I was told I wouldn't be graduating from High School. When the Principal had returned that letter to me, I decided once I had gotten home that I should keep it. Yet I couldn't find it and couldn't remember where I had left it. I toyed with pulling the rough draft out of my trash can and saving that in its place, but decided it wasn't that important. Now listening to Van I remembered I had the letter with me when he had given me a ride to work from school that day and I must have left it in his car. I suspected now that he must have found it and read it, perhaps even kept it.

He was wondering if I could forgive him for not having come forward and telling me about this during our Senior year of High School. And the answer was I could. It had been two and a half years since, so there didn't seem to be anything I could do about it at this point, especially now living on the other side of the country. Further, my father had disowned me at the same time for wrongly assuming I was Gay and the school guidance counselors had explicitly chosen NOT to help me look into my college prospects at the start of my Senior year of High School despite my high Junior year grades. While there was a chance that continued success at math may have helped me weather the other two negative factors in my life at that time, if the math teacher didn't want me in his class, then going to the office staff about that fact wasn't going to have changed that. After all, what could they do about it other than scold him and put me back in his class and then that teacher grudgingly giving me the lowest possible passing grades that year, instead? The other math teacher was slammed having to take the majority of the class load from Zack's absence, so it's not like he could have independently taught me 'Advanced Math' on the side. It seemed true to me that the only result would have been that it would have torpedoed Van's chances of passing that same class that year. What good would have come from that?

And yet the guilt had been burning a hole in him ever since and apparently contributed to his flunking out of College the following year.

Since he was in an informative mood about the behind the scenes machinations of High School and he knew someone who had been on the year book committee, I decided to ask him a question that had been teasing me for the past two years. ''So why did I get 'The Sneakiest' notable listing in the High School year book?''

He laughed and said, ''Everyone knew what you were hiding with your note book!''

The only problem with this answer was, I didn't.

Now I had a whole new mystery to tickle my brain for the next four years...

My mother returned from her New England trip some days after and I picked her up at the airport and she was brewing about something during the ride home. Once I got her bags in the door, she closed it behind us and burst, ''How could you not tell me Joe had gotten another girl friend!?!''

I honestly returned, ''How could I?''

That answer she immediately understood and accepted with all the rage dissipating, leaving behind just grief. She took her chair and I decided to sit as well as she talked about her trip, seeing other friends and even having a whole day with Joe, at the end of which Joe explained he was with another 'someone else'.

Mother's whole idea had been to temporarily move to Colorado until Joe realized how much he missed her and came to sweep her off her feet and back to New England. It never occurred to her that he would simply find another girl at the store to 'comfort him' on those long work evenings and weekends. In fact I didn't even know if mother had been told it was another employee or not and I decided not to fill in that blank.

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Return Of The Writer

9

I first started writing for my own fun in the Summer of Nineteen Seventy-Five when I started a book called ''The Infinite Voyage,'' about three astronauts on a one-way mission into outer space and their unique encounters with each chapter. It was kind of patterned like an episodic television show. Once Sixth grade had started I'd set it aside as I had to ration my limited hand writing ability for school work needs. Two years later I almost wrote another story after seeing the original Star Wars movie and wanting more adventures in that universe, but even though I got a page and a half in, Seventh grade was around the corner and it was soon abandoned.

During High School my creative writing side got an outlet for various English classes where I would write little stories that would fit in about four pages. Typically Twilight Zone like tales where, in reading the stories years later, I realized I didn't understand what was at the core of a Twilight Zone story. And then I wrote nothing creatively for the next two years.

Then I discovered text editors for the TRS-80 computer, and printers, and my desire to write returned with vigor as I started to pour-out short stories on the keyboard and jot out notes for stories to get to at some future time. Once done I'd print-up these tales and pass them to Jeff and other friends in Colorado and they were kind enough to say that they were 'interesting'. Sometimes the mere title of the story generated all the interest and then all I could hope for was that the story itself didn't pale under the wow factor the title had evoked.

By the Fall of Nineteen Eighty-Three, I had exhausted all of the Star Trek fiction books to read, and while I had gone on to read regular Science Fiction books by established authors, I hated leaving the Star Trek universe behind with pining for the next movie my only option. Out of desperation I picked up the two non-fiction books by the Star Trek people, Gene Roddenberry's co written The Making Of Star Trek and David Gerrold's The Trouble With Tribbles. Both books were revelatory as television shows were transformed in my eyes from these magic lengths of film that came out of nowhere and ended up being shown on television, into hard slogs of behind the scenes grunt work all inspired by the initial writer's premiss and subsequent scripts.

I thought to myself: I could do that!

The only problem was there were no Science Fiction television shows to write for. Since Star Trek's run, various American shows had started only to disappear a handful of episodes later. If I was going to write for an on going Sci-Fi show, there was only one I knew of: Doctor Who. A show which coincidentally premiered on the day I had been conceived (now get that disturbing image out of your head). I had stumbled upon showings of it on the local Boston public television station in the Fall of Nineteen Seventy-Four. I watched it off and on since and was quite familiar with it. The only problem was it was made in Britain and I had no clue how to get in contact with them to even see if they'd entertain an outside writer's ideas. Ideas, I had plenty, as I'd already come up with about five in the Doctor Who universe that ended up on my get to list. But how to contact them?

By the following February, flush with cash from my job at the software start-up company, I heard of a new Science Fiction convention in Denver and one of the guests was going to be one of the former supporting cast members from the show! While it was deemed a 'media convention' and therefore not considered worthy to attend by the literary science fiction people, Jeff's girlfriend was going and had a room to stay straight through the full three days, so I talked her into letting me crash in her room as well, I wasn't proud and would be willing to use the bath tab or floor of the closet nook for my bed. She agreed if I didn't mind being her ride up to Denver as I had a car and she was between having one at the time. The wheels were in motion and I got my three day ticket at the door upon arriving Friday afternoon.

While waiting for my chance to somehow pounce on the innocent actor and ask him how to get in contact with the show's producers, I roamed the convention panels, less sitty-talky and more sitty-watchy, I not only found there was interest in Star Trek and Doctor Who but even in those American science fiction shows that had lasted a handful of episodes before being canceled. Guests were here as well for those shows and 'media rooms' displaying two or three episodes of that obscure show as well. Like with my first visit to a convention at Omacon, I found myself drawn to these 'media rooms' and glimpsing the long running show that could have been.

Finally came the time for the actor to have his discussion in the main room and I duly waited by the door to get in. Unlike the media conventions of today where a room would sit a thousand people and you'd be lucky to stand in line for three hours to get some standing room at the back, the early years of 'Star Fest' was a line of twenty people at the door fifteen minutes before the main room guest started. Once going, then more people would trickle in and once the time slot was over there might be a total of two hundred or so people to clap by the end. It was at the ending that one of the staff members of the convention revealed my chance. He reminded people of the autograph signing they were now going to have down the hall.

This line was much longer, mostly comprised of the people leaving the main event room and running to get in line down the hall. As a result the stragglers in back of the room were the closest to the doors out and thus the first at the front of the autograph line. As I'd had a seat in the second row, I now got to wait a bit over an hour for my chance. We were able to get a photo of the actor while waiting in line if we didn't already have something for them to sign and I got one as I waited, using it 'as cover' to hide my true intentions for being in line for the actor. When my time finally came and I met him I quickly said, ''Hi, I'd like to write for the show, do you know their address?'' A bit surprised that I wasn't specifying what acknowledgment I'd like written on the photo, though not completely surprised, he simply used the back of the photo to jot down the main BBC television center address and I thanked him!

Address in hand, I bummed around the last day of the convention, waiting for my chance to drive home and get my letter to the 'Beeb' started. Jeff's girlfriend wanted to finish till the afternoon so I watched some more obscure television shows in the 'media room' and even wandered the room of kitsch & such before I finally got back to mother's mobile home that evening and pulled up the text editor. My first letter was to simply confirm that this was the correct address to contact as I was interested in writing for Doctor Who. A few months later I got a reply back from the producer himself, John Nathan-Turner, with the correct address and a quick reply saying that he was, indeed, interested. So I spent the next two weeks writing up pitch pages of the three premises I thought were most likely to appeal to the show while not exceeding their budget, and sent them off with high hopes.

By the turn of Nineteen Eighty-Five I got a note back from John Nathan-Turner saying he'd appreciated my story ideas but couldn't follow-up any of them up as the series had been put on hold indefinitely...

And thus ended my aspirations of being a television writer and I went back to writing narrative tales of my own interest for the next year, posting them on Jeff's online site to create a short story collection.

Soon other writers wanted to be included.

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Back To School

8

After rupturing my left eardrum from a case of walking pneumonia, a specialist appointment had been scheduled for me by the emergency room staff. Given the Monday doctor's appointment I ended up taking the night off from classes as well to have that extra day to heal up before returning to school. The specialist's advice was the same as the 'SwiftCare' doctor of using a Vaseline slathered cotton swab to keep my left ear canal dry when taking showers with the addition of returning in a few weeks for a follow-up. Though functionally deaf in my left ear, I returned to the Business College after almost missing a full week and checked in at the office to let them know I was back.

Business College was a blessing compared to High School in that they accepted computer typed in and printed up homework and reports. During my spare time between arriving at Colorado and before I entered Business College in the Fall, I had felt inspired to get back into writing Science Fiction for fun and became very familiar with the TRS 80's text editor as a result. Now I was using that skill to write up my college work. Where before I would keep my written work to its barest minimum to avoid the pain in my hands from hand written work, now I gushed all I wanted into the keyboard without any limits. I soon had to learn the new skill of editing to cut back my work to ensure it had focus, but with the excitement of this new flow, I didn't mind. Neither did the instructors at the College who would get a variety of hand written work of all types from everyone else, then get nice crisp and clean print-outs from me.

As with High School, when it came to picking up and mastering the subject matter for tests, there was no problem. Remembering my final high school experience of 'testing out of a class for credit' I asked the Business College if they had something like that as well for some of the more basic courses needed to gain my certificate, such as basic English and Math classes. They did, but the catch was it would be the same price as taking the full class and what I'd have to do is take the Final. If I wanted, I could buy the associated book and go through it on my own before taking the test, or I could just take it cold. As a result, rather than taking four classes per quarter, I would select three courses to take in person and one course to test out of, thus I seemed to get four courses for the time commitment of three. I thought it was a fair enough deal and I received the grade for the tested out course based on the grade of the completed Final.

There were two computer instructors for the College, one who handled the daytime classes and the one who handled the nighttime classes. The night teacher was soon impressed with my computer programming skills and the way I'd pick up a new computer language in the first week, then spend my class time helping my classmates as they were coming up to speed on the language syntax and logical structures, themselves. By Summer, the night teacher told me he was going to recommend I have the job as the Saturday computer lab monitor. They already had one, but the night teacher found that while he was technically capable of keeping the computer running on the weekend, he really didn't have any interest or patience when it came to helping out the students who would come in for extra time. I was neutral to the idea, but willing to do it if offered to me.

What I didn't realize was I was being used in a little power play where the night teacher wanted his guy monitoring the lab and thus prove his dominance over the day teacher by having his guy kicked out of the job. This resulted in my being called to the office as the two were arguing it out with the current lab monitor watching from the side. When I came in, the daytime teacher decided the fastest way to put the kibosh on me in the eyes of the headmaster was to ask me obscure technical questions about the TI 990 minicomputer which, of course, I didn't know all the answers to. But I was honest about that fact as I had only been using the school's computer for the past few months learning languages, not the technical details of the hardware or system software. While my lack of knowledge of the ins and outs of the TI 990 put an end to the tug of war as to whose guy would be in charge of the computer lab, the headmaster was very impressed by my composure and honesty and said he'd keep me in mind if other opportunities came to light. While the night teacher didn't get his way on the matter, he also seemed happy with the outcome as he had proven himself not to just be the daytime computer teacher's nighttime lackey.

By this Summer of Nineteen Eighty-Four there was 'good news' throughout the campus. The private company that had created the 'American Business College', and had many other versions of it sprinkled across the country, had bought an ailing, though nationally accredited, College. This meant they could now create branches of that College through the country which would all be accredited themselves and thus we students could transfer to the new College at some point and transfer with us our credits from the Business College. Now, I was told, instead of a certificate of completion, I would actually be able to get a degree for my time and money! At the time I was a little oblivious to all this stuff, but in retrospect I had lucked-out big time... I continued at the little Business College for another year and a half before I transferred to the new accredited, branch College in town.

As for my eardrum, I returned to the specialist's office a few weeks later as requested. He looked into my ear and then used what were like long tweezers to reach into my ear canal and peel away the dead tissue clogging it. It had all the fun of pulling scabs off of one's body, except it was all happening on the inside of one's ear. I fought to keep sitting quietly & still as he reached in again and again peeling out more dead tissue. Then he was done and I discovered I could hear again on the left side. He told me I wouldn't need to use the cotton swab and Vaseline trick any more and I was thrilled on both counts!

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