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Weekend Roundup

I install house arrest ankle bracelets part time on the weekend.  If I’ve had a particularly unusual day, I send an email to the boss on Sunday night so he knows what he’s walking into on Monday morning.  It also gives me a chance to vent a bit.  Here’s an excerpt from tonight’s email:

Ok Kats and Kitties, here’s your totally happenin’ weekend roundup.

First off, I think someone is running around town smacking our clients upside the head with a stupid stick.  Either that or my tolerance level is just bottoming out.

Client J apparently had better things to do this weekend than hang out in jail for two days.  No show.

Client S is apparently disabled after a car wreck.  We’ll probably hear from her about the comfort and wear-ability of her ankle bracelet.  We’ll probably also hear from her about 27 things she just has to do this week.  HouseArrest.  2 words.  Put them together and you get a concept that is apparently fucking unfathomable to our clients.  (I referred her to her PO…)

Client R apparently takes off work once a week to attend classes to learn to be a yoga instructor.  OK.  You can start waving the evil sexist pig flag now, but as a former practitioner of yoga, I can tell you that there are some yoga poses it is physically impossible to get into if you are 4′ 11′ and have a 38D chest (at least not without smothering yourself).  (I referred her to her PO…)

My guess is that Client T just woke up from a coma caused by being repeatedly beaten with a stupid stick.  He was supposed to get out Monday 2/24, but he turned himself in a day early.  Of course, we wouldn’t have known about it ( and the jail didn’t know about it because the paperwork still said 2/24 with a little attached note saying he turned himself in early) if a woman who I think was his girlfriend hadn’t been waiting at the office to alert me to the issue.  While I was calling the jail, she was looking over the desk at his paperwork and asked me if we got the information on the page from the client.  Apparently he told her we got our info from the bondsman.  This is only an issue because he apparently gave us his OTHER girlfriend’s name as his ride.

So I get the weasel out of jail ( after calling the Other Woman to pick him up) and when he gets to the office he tells me his “people” paid the woman in the office this morning.  Now, I shaved this morning, but just my head, and the beard is still there, so I called “bullshit”.  Then he wants to know if he has to pay today.  So I said, “Are you a fucking moron?”  Inside my head.  Outside my head I said “yes”.  He wants to know how much.  I tell him $98.  So he goes out to the Other Woman’s car (really nice convertible.  Camaro I think) to get money from her.  He comes back in with $60 and wants to know if it’s enough.  I said, “Uh. No.”  (Yeah.  That was outside my head.)  So he goes out to get more money and eventually comes back with $98.  Then, because he works out at a Juvenile Correctional facility out in the country, he wants an hour and a half travel time (each way) “’cause it’s a long way out there.”  (ed. note: It’s maybe a 45 minute drive from his house if the traffic’s bad.  It also begs the question, “How does he get out there?” given he’s got the house arrest gig because of multiple driving while suspended convictions….)

At the Residential Center we used to say that our job was like herding squirrels: you’re never completely done, you’re never completely successful, and on a good day no one gets run over by a truck.

Today no one got run over by a truck, but only because my knees were really gimpy and I couldn’t get to my truck fast enough to pick them off before they got in their cars.

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