About 'new york city accounting firms'|... of exploitation and oppression and out of the wombs of a frail world new systems of justice and equality are being born. The shirtless and...
"Ｉｒｏｎｙ ｏｆ ｉｒｏｎｉｅｓ, ａｌｌ ｉｓ ｉｒｏｎｙ" ｈａｓ ｂｅｃｏｍｅ ｍｙ ｍｏｔｔｏ ｉｎ ｍｙ ｔｈｒｅｅ-ｙｅａｒ ｊｏｂ ｈｕｎｔ, ｗｉｔｈ ａｐｏｌｏｇｉｅｓ ｔｏ Ｅｃｃｌｅｓｉａｓｔｅｓ. Ｔｈｅ ｖｅｒｙ ｓａｍｅ ｄａｙ ｔｈａｔ Ｉ ａｃｃｅｐｔｅｄ ｔｈｉｓ ａｓｓｉｇｎｍｅｎｔ, Ｉ ｆｉｎａｌｌｙ ｈｅａｒｄ ｏｎ ｍｙ ｊｏｂ ａｐｐｌｉｃａｔｉｏｎ ｔｏ ｔｈｅ Ｌｉｂｒａｒｙ ｏｆ Ｃｏｎｇｒｅｓｓ. Ｉ ｈａｄ ａｐｐｌｉｅｄ ｔｏ ｔｈｅ Ｌｉｂｒａｒｙ ｏｆ Ｃｏｎｇｒｅｓｓ ｓｏｍｅｔｉｍｅ ａｔ ｔｈｅ ｅｎｄ ｏｆ ｓｕｍｍｅｒ 2009. Ｉｎ Ｓｅｐｔｅｍｂｅｒ, ｏｐｔｉｍｉｓｔｉｃ ａｂｏｕｔ ｍｙ ｃｈａｎｃｅｓ ｏｆ ｆｉｎｄｉｎｇ ｅｍｐｌｏｙｍｅｎｔ ｗｉｔｈ ｔｈｅ ｆｅｄｅｒａｌ ｇｏｖｅｒｎｍｅｎｔ, Ｉ ｈａｄ ｍｏｖｅｄ ｔｏ Ｗａｓｈｉｎｇｔｏｎ, Ｄ.Ｃ. ｔｏ ｄｏ ａｎ ｉｎｔｅｒｎｓｈｉｐ ｗｉｔｈ ｔｈｅ Ｎａｔｉｏｎａｌ Ｗｈｉｓｔｌｅｂｌｏｗｅｒ Ｃｅｎｔｅｒ, ｗｈｅｒｅ ｍｙ ｓｋｉｌｌｓ ａｓ ａ ｌｅｇａｌ ｅｄｉｔｏｒ ａｎｄ ａｓ ａ ｂｌｏｇｇｅｒ ｃｏｕｌｄ ｂｅ ｐｕｔ ｔｏ ｓｏｍｅ ｕｓｅ. Ｉ ｆｉｎａｌｌｙ ｈｅａｒｄ ｆｒｏｍ ｔｈｅｍ ａｆｔｅｒ ａ ｗａｉｔ ｏｆ ｏｖｅｒ ｎｉｎｅ ｍｏｎｔｈｓ. Ｗｅ ｒｅｇｒｅｔ ｔｏ ｉｎｆｏｒｍ ｙｏｕ.... Ｉ ｈａｖｅ ｎｏｗ ｂｅｅｎ ｕｎｅｍｐｌｏｙｅｄ ｆｏｒ ｏｖｅｒ ｔｈｒｅｅ ｙｅａｒｓ. Ｆｏｒ ｔｈｅ ｓｅｅｍｉｎｇｌｙ 1,000 ａｐｐｌｉｃａｔｉｏｎｓ Ｉ ｈａｖｅ ｍａｄｅ ｉｎ ｔｈａｔ ｔｉｍｅ, Ｉ ｈａｖｅ ｒｅｃｅｉｖｅｄ ｏｎｌｙ ｔｗｏ ｒｅｐｌｉｅｓ: Ｔｈｉｓ ｏｎｅ ｆｒｏｍ ｔｈｅ Ｌｉｂｒａｒｙ ｏｆ Ｃｏｎｇｒｅｓｓ, ａｎｄ ａｎｏｔｈｅｒ ｆｒｏｍ ｔｈｅ ｏｎｌｉｎｅ ｎｅｗｓ ａｇｇｒｅｇａｔｉｏｎ ｓｉｔｅ Ｔｈｅ Ｄａｉｌｙ Ｂｅａｓｔ. Ｔｈｅｙ ｈａｄ ｅｍａｉｌｅｄ ｍｅ ｔｏ ｔｅｌｌ ｍｅ ｔｈａｔ ｔｈｅ ｊｏｂ Ｉ ｈａｄ ａｐｐｌｉｅｄ ｆｏｒ ｈａｄ ｂｅｅｎ ａｂｏｌｉｓｈｅｄ. Ｉｒｏｎ Ｍａｎ Ｆｏｒｇｅｔ ｔｈｅ ｉｒｏｎｙ, ｌｅｔ'ｓ ｔａｌｋ ａｂｏｕｔ Ｔｈｅ Ｉｒｏｎ Ｍａｎ ｏｆ Ｕｎｅｍｐｌｏｙｍｅｎｔ Ｃｏｍｐｅｔｉｔｉｏｎ. Ａｂｏｕｔ ｔｈｅ ｔｉｍｅ Ｉ ｗａｓ ａｐｐｌｙｉｎｇ ｔｏ ｔｈｅ Ｌｉｂｒａｒｙ ｏｆ Ｃｏｎｇｒｅｓｓ, ｍｙ ｆｒｉｅｎｄ Ｐｅｅｔａｈ, ｗｉｔｈ ｗｈｏｍ Ｉ ｕｓｅｄ ｔｏ ｗｏｒｋ ｗｉｔｈ ａｔ ｄａｔａｂａｓｅ ｐｒｏｖｉｄｅｒ Ｉｎｆｏｒｍａｔｉｏｎ Ａｃｃｅｓｓ Ｃｏ. ｏｆ Ｆｏｓｔｅｒ Ｃｉｔｙ ｂａｃｋ ｉｎ ｔｈｅ ｈｅｙｄａｙ ｏｆ Ｓｉｌｉｃｏｎ Ｖａｌｌｅｙ, ｏｎ ｆｉｎｄｉｎｇ ｏｕｔ Ｉ ｓｔｉｌｌ ｈａｄｎ'ｔ ｌａｎｄｅｄ ａ ｐｅｒｍａｎｅｎｔ ｊｏｂ ａｆｔｅｒ ｔｗｏ+ ｙｅａｒｓ ｏｆ ｔｒｙｉｎｇ, ａｓｋｅｄ ｍｅ ｉｆ Ｉ ｗａｓｎ'ｔ ｍａｋｉｎｇ ａ ｂｉｄ ｆｏｒ ｔｈｅ "Ｉｒｏｎｍａｎ ｏｆ Ｕｎｅｍｐｌｏｙｍｅｎｔ" ｔｉｔｌｅ ｃｕｒｒｅｎｔｌｙ ｈｅｌｄ ｂｙ ｏｕｒ ｆｒｉｅｎｄ, Ｂｉｇ Ｔｏｍｍｙ. Ｂｉｇ Ｔｏｍｍｙ, ａ ｐｒｏｆｅｓｓｉｏｎａｌ ｌｉｂｒａｒｉａｎ, ｈａｄ ｇｏｔｔｅｎ ｔｈｅ ｂｌｕｅｓ ａｆｔｅｒ ａ ｓｐｌｉｔ-ｕｐ ｗｉｔｈ ｈｉｓ ｇａｌ ｐａｌ ａｔ ｔｈｅ ｔｕｒｎ ｏｆ ｔｈｅ ｎｅｗ ｍｉｌｌｅｎｎｉｕｍ. Ｔｈｅｙ ｗｅｒｅ ｇｏｉｎｇ ｔｏ ｇｅｔ ｍａｒｒｉｅｄ, ｂｕｔ ｓｈｅ ｗａｎｔｅｄ ｋｉｄｓ, ａｎｄ ｈｅ ｄｉｄｎ'ｔ. Ｈｅ ｑｕｉｔ ｈｉｓ ｊｏｂ, ｍｏｖｅｄ ｉｎ ｗｉｔｈ ｈｉｓ ｍｏｔｈｅｒ ｉｎ ａ ｓｈａｃｋ ｏｎ ｔｈｅ Ｃａｎａｄｉａｎ ｂｏｒｄｅｒ, ａｎｄ ｈａｓｎ'ｔ ｗｏｒｋｅｄ ｓｉｎｃｅ. Ｈｅ ｄｏｅｓ ｇｅｔ ａ ｓｍａｌｌ ｐｅｎｓｉｏｎ ｆｒｏｍ ｔｈｅ Ｓｏｃｉａｌ Ｓｅｃｕｒｉｔｙ Ａｄｍｉｎｉｓｔｒａｔｉｏｎ, ｆｏｒ ｂｅｉｎｇ ｍｅｎｔａｌｌｙ ｏｒ ｅｍｏｔｉｏｎａｌｌｙ ｄｉｓａｂｌｅｄ. Ｔｈｅ ｌａｓｔ ｔｉｍｅ Ｉ ｓａｗ ｈｉｍ, ａｒｏｕｎｄ Ｘｍａｓ ｔｉｍｅ, ｗｈａｔ ｈａｄ ｓｅｅｍｅｄ ｔｏ ｕｓ ｌｉｋｅ ａ ｗｅｌｌ-ｍｅａｎｉｎｇ ｓｃａｍ, ｔｏ ｇｅｔ ｔｈａｔ ｐｅｎｓｉｏｎ, ｈａｄ ｍｏｒｐｈｅｄ ｉｎｔｏ ｔｈｅ ｒｅａｌ ｔｈｉｎｇ. Ｉ'ｍ ｎｏｔ ｏｎｅ ｏｆ ｔｈｏｓｅ ｐｅｏｐｌｅ ｗｈｏ ｇｅｔｓ ｃｏｍｆｏｒｔ ｆｒｏｍ ｔｈｅ ｔｒａｖａｉｌｓ ｏｆ ｐｅｏｐｌｅ ｗｈｏ ａｒｅ ｗｏｒｓｅ ｏｆｆ ｔｈａｎ Ｉ ａｍ. Ｂｕｔ Ｉ ｄｏ ｓｕｆｆｅｒ ｆｒｏｍ ｈｉｇｈ ｌｅｖｅｌｓ ｏｆ ａｎｘｉｅｔｙ. Ｉ ｈａｖｅ ｂｅｅｎ ｉｇｎｏｒｉｎｇ Ｔｏｍｍｙ Ｂｏｙ'ｓ ｌｅｔｔｅｒｓ (ｈｅ ｄｏｅｓｎ'ｔ ｂｅｌｉｅｖｅ ｉｎ ｌａｔｅ 20ｔｈ Ｃｅｎｔｕｒｙ ｔｅｃｈｎｏｌｏｇｙ ｌｉｋｅ ｅｍａｉｌ) ａｆｔｅｒ Ｉ ｌｅｆｔ ｔｈｅ Ｄｉｓｔｒｉｃｔ ｏｆ Ｃｏｌｕｍｂｉａ ｗｉｔｈ ｔｈｅ ｎｅｗ ｙｅａｒ. Ｔｈｅ ｉｒｏｎｙ ｏｆ Ｐｅｅｔａｈ'ｓ ｑｕｅｓｔｉｏｎ ｉｓ ｔｈａｔ ｓｅｖｅｒａｌ ｍｏｎｔｈｓ ａｆｔｅｒ ｈｅ ａｓｋｅｄ, ｈｅ ｗａｓ ｌａｉｄ ｏｆｆ. Ｉ ｈａｖｅｎ'ｔ ｇｏｔｔｅｎ ａ ｒｅｐｌｙ ｔｏ ａｎｙ ｏｆ ｍｙ ｅｍａｉｌｓ ｔｏ ｈｉｍ ｓｉｎｃｅ. Ｌａｉｄ Ｏｆｆ Ｐｅｅｔａｈ ａｎｄ Ｉ ｗｅｒｅ ｆｉｒｓｔ ｌａｉｄ ｏｆｆ ｆｒｏｍ ｏｕｒ ｊｏｂｓ ａｔ ＩＡＣ ｂａｃｋ ｉｎ 2003, ｗｈｅｎ ｔｈｅ ｌｏｔ ｏｆ ｕｓ ｗｅｒｅ ｓａｃｋｅｄ ａｎｄ ｏｕｒ ｊｏｂｓ ｏｕｔｓｏｕｒｃｅｄ ｔｏ Ｉｎｄｉａ. ＩＡＣ ｈａｄ ｂｅｅｎ ｔｈｅ ｌｅａｄｉｎｇ ｄａｔａｂａｓｅ ｐｒｏｖｉｄｅｒ ｉｎ ｔｈｅ ｗｏｒｌｄ, ａｎｄ ｗｅ ｈａｄ ｗｏｒｋｅｄ ａｓ ｃｏｎｔｅｎｔ ｅｄｉｔｏｒｓ, ｃｒｅａｔｉｎｇ ａｎｄ ｅｄｉｔｉｎｇ "ｃｏｎｔｅｎｔ" ｔｏ ｇｏ ｉｎｔｏ ｔｈａｔ ｄａｔａｂａｓｅ. Ｉｎ ｔｈｅ 1990ｓ, ｓｏｍｅ ｏｆ ｏｕｒ ｄａｔａｂａｓｅｓ ｃｏｓｔ $600 ａｎ ｈｏｕｒ ｔｏ ａｃｃｅｓｓ. Ｏｎｃｅ ｏｗｎｅｄ ｂｙ Ｚｉｆｆ-Ｄａｖｉｓ, ｗｅ ｗｅｒｅ ｓｏｌｄ ｔｏ Ｔｈｏｍｓｏｎ Ｃｏｒｐ., ｔｈｅ ｈｕｇｅ ｎｅｗｓｐａｐｅｒ ｃｈａｉｎ ｔｈａｔ ｈａｄ ｓｅｅｎ ｔｈｅ ｆｕｔｕｒｅ ａｎｄ ｄｅｔｅｒｍｉｎｅｄ ｉｔ ｗａｓ ｄｉｇｉｔａｌ, ｆｏｒ ｓｏｍｅｔｈｉｎｇ ｎｏｒｔｈ ｏｆ $300 ｍｉｌｌｉｏｎ, ａ ｇｏｏｄ ｃｈｕｎｋ ｏｆ ｃａｓｈ ｉｎ ｔｈｅ ｍｉｄ-1990ｓ. Ｂｙ ｔｈｅ ｌａｔｅ 1990ｓ ａｎｄ ｔｈｅ ｒｉｓｅ ｏｆ ｇｒａｐｈｉｃａｌ ｂｒｏｗｓｅｒ ｗｉｔｈ Ｎｅｔｓｃａｐｅ, ＩＡＣ ｗａｓ ｕｎｄｅｒ ｓｉｅｇｅ. Ｉｎ ｔｈｅ ｄａｙｓ ｂｅｆｏｒｅ Ｎｅｔｓｃａｐｅ, ｓｅａｒｃｈｉｎｇ ｗｈａｔ ｗａｓ ｔｈｅｎ ｎｏｔ ｅｖｅｎ ｃａｌｌｅｄ Ｔｈｅ Ｉｎｆｏｒｍａｔｉｏｎ Ｓｕｐｅｒｈｉｇｈｗａｙ ｍｅａｎｔ Ｂｏｏｌｅａｎ ｓｅａｒｃｈｓ ｏｎ ａ ｇｒｅｅｎ ｏｒ ａｍｂｅｒ ｓｃｒｅｅｎ. Ｎｏ ｇｒａｐｈｉｃｓ. Ｗｉｔｈ Ｎｅｔｓｃａｐｅ ａｎｄ ｔｈｅ ｂｏｏｍ ｉｎ Ｉｎｔｅｒｎｅｔ ｓｅａｒｃｈ ｃａｍｅ ｔｈｅ ｎｅｗ ｐａｒａｄｉｇｍ ｔｈａｔ ｈａｓ ｂｕｆｆｅｔｅｄ ｔｈｅ ｉｎｆｏｒｍａｔｉｏｎ ｉｎｄｕｓｔｒｙ ｅｖｅｒ ｓｉｎｃｅ: Ｔｈｅ "ｕｓｅｒｓ" ｗａｎｔｅｄ ｅｖｅｒｙｔｈｉｎｇ ｆｏｒ ｆｒｅｅ. Ｂｙ ｔｈｅ ｆａｌｌ ｏｆ 2003, ｔｈｅ ｐａｒｔ ｗａｓ ｏｖｅｒ ｆｏｒ ｔｈｅ ｅｍｐｌｏｙｅｅｓ ａｔ ＩＡＣ, ｉｎｃｌｕｄｉｎｇ ｍｅ ａｎｄ Ｐｅｅｔａｈ. Ｗｅ ｈａｄ ｇｏｎｅ ｔｈｒｏｕｇｈ ｗａｖｅ ａｆｔｅｒ ｗａｖｅ ｏｆ ｌａｙｏｆｆｓ ｓｉｎｃｅ ｔｈｅ ｌａｔｅ '90ｓ, ａｎｄ ｎｏｗ ｉｔ ｗａｓ ｏｕｔ ｔｕｒｎ. Ｉｎ ｍｙ ｏｗｎ ｗｏｒｄｓ, ｗｅ ｗｅｒｅ "ｕｎｃｅｒｅｍｏｎｉｏｕｓｌｙ $#!%ｃａｎｎｅｄ, ｏｕｒ ｊｏｂｓ ｐａｃｋｅｄ ｏｆｆ ｔｏ Ｉｎｄｉａ. (Ｗｅ ｈａｄ ｓｔａｒｔｅｄ ｏｕｔｓｏｕｒｃｉｎｇ ｔｏ Ｉｎｄｉａ ｉｎ ｔｈｅ ｅａｒｌｙ 1990ｓ: Ｗｅ ｈａｄ ｂｅｅｎ ｔｈｅ ｐｉｏｎｅｅｒｓ.) Ｉ ｈａｄ ｂｅｅｎ ｗｉｔｈ ｔｈｅ ｃｏｍｐａｎｙ ｆｏｒ 14 ｙｅａｒｓ. Ｐｅｅｔａｈ ｔｏｏｋ ｔｈｅ ｏｐｐｏｒｔｕｎｉｔｙ ｔｏ ｇｏ ｇｅｔ ａ ｍａｓｔｅｒ'ｓ ｉｎ ｄｉｖｉｎｉｔｙ ｆｒｏｍ ｔｈｅ Ｕｎｉｔａｒｉａｎ-Ｕｎｉｖｅｒｓａｌｉｓｔ Ｃｈｕｒｃｈ, ｂｕｔ ｆｏｒ ｓｏｍｅ ｒｅａｓｏｎ, ｐｅｒｈａｐｓ ａ ｄｉｓａｇｒｅｅｍｅｎｔ ｏｖｅｒ ｄｏｇｍａ, ｈｅ ｗａｓ ｎｅｖｅｒ ｏｒｄａｉｎｅｄ. Ｗｅ ｆｒｉｅｎｄｓ ｋｉｄｄｅｄ ｈｉｍ ｔｈａｔ ｉｔ ｍｕｓｔ ｂｅ ｔｈａｔ ｈｅ ｂｅｌｉｅｖｅｄ ｉｎ ｇｏｄ ｔｈａｔ ｇｏｔ ｈｉｍ ｔｈｅ ｓａｃｋ ｆｒｏｍ ｔｈｅ Ｕｎｉｔａｒｉａｎｓ. Ａｌｌ ｗａｓ ｎｏｔ ｌｏｓｔ ａｓ ａｔ ｇｒａｄ ｓｃｈｏｏｌ, ｈｅ ｍｅｔ ｔｈｅ ｗｏｍａｎ ｗｈｏ ｗｏｕｌｄ ｂｅ ｈｉｓ ｗｉｆｅ. Ｔｈｅｙ ｈａｄ ｔｗｏ ｃｈｉｌｄｒｅｎ. Ｈｅ ｅｖｅｎｔｕａｌｌｙ ｇｏｔ ａ ｊｏｂ ａｓ ａ ｃｏｎｔｅｎｔ ｅｄｉｔｏｒ ａｔ ａ Ｎｅｗ Ｅｎｇｌａｎｄ ｉｎｆｏｒｍａｔｉｏｎ ｃｏｍｐａｎｙ. Ｔｈｅ ｎｅｗｓ ｔｏ ｔｈｅ ｆｏｒｍｅｒ ｅｍｐｌｏｙｅｅｓ (ｗｅ ｋｅｅｐ ｉｎ ｔｏｕｃｈ ａｆｔｅｒ ａｌｌ ｔｈｅｓｅ ｙｅａｒｓ) ａｓｔｏｕｎｄｅｄ ｔｈｅ ｏｎｌｙ ｏｎｅ ｏｆ ｕｓ ｌｅｆｔ ｗｉｔｈ ｔｈｅ ｐａｒｅｎｔ ｃｏｍｐａｎｙ, ｗｈｏ ｃｏｕｌｄｎ'ｔ ｂｅｌｉｅｖｅ ｔｈａｔ ａｎｙ ｉｎｆｏｒｍａｔｉｏｎ ｃｏｍｐａｎｙ ｉｎ ｔｈｅ Ｕｎｉｔｅｄ Ｓｔａｔｅｓ ｗａｓ ｈｉｒｉｎｇ ａｎｙ ｄｏｍｅｓｔｉｃ ｓｔａｆｆ. Ｈｅ ｉｓ ｎｏｗ ｉｎ ｈｉｓ ｅａｒｌｙ 50ｓ ａｎｄ ｕｎｅｍｐｌｏｙｅｄ, ｗｉｔｈ ｔｗｏ ｓｍａｌｌ ｃｈｉｌｄｒｅｎ. Ａｆｔｅｒ Ｉ ｗａｓ ｌａｉｄ ｏｆｆ, Ｉ ｅｖｅｎｔｕａｌｌｙ ｗｏｒｋｅｄ ｍｙ ｗａｙ ｕｐ ｔｈｅ ｌａｄｄｅｒ ｆｒｏｍ ａ $7/ｈｒ ｊｏｂ ａｔ ａ ｔｅｓｔｉｎｇ ｃｏｍｐａｎｙ ｉｎ Ｃａｌｉｆｏｒｎｉａ ｔｏ ａ $15/ｈｏｕｒ ｐｏｓｉｔｉｏｎ, ｂｕｔ ａ ｓｃａｎｄａｌ ｂｒｏｋｅ ｗｈｅｎ ｔｈｅ ｃｏｍｐａｎｙ ｗａｓ ｆｏｕｎｄ ｔｏ ｈａｖｅ ｆｕｄｇｅｄ ｔｅｓｔ ｒｅｓｕｌｔｓ ａｔ ｔｈｅ ｒｅｑｕｅｓｔ ｏｆ ｏｎｅ ｏｆ ｔｈｅ ｂｉｇ ｓｔａｔｅｓ ｗｈｏ ｗｅｒｅ ｔｒｙｉｎｇ ｔｏ ｍｅｅｔ ｔｈｅ ｎｅｗ "Ｎｏ Ｃｈｉｌｄ Ｌｅｆｔ Ｂｅｈｉｎｄ" ｓｔａｎｄａｒｄｓ. Ｉ ｎｅｖｅｒ ｇｏｔ ｔｈｅ ｐｅｒｍａｎｅｎｔ ｊｏｂ Ｉ ｈａｄ ｈｏｐｅｄ ｆｏｒ, ａｓ ｔｈｅｙ ｌａｉｄ ｏｆｆ ｔｅｍｐｏｒａｒｙ ｓｔａｆｆ. (Ａ ｆｒｉｅｎｄ ｏｆ ｍｉｎｅ ｗｈｏ ｗａｓ ｄｏｉｎｇ ｆｒｅｅ-ｌａｎｃｅ ｗｏｒｋ ｆｏｒ ｔｈｅ ｓａｍｅ ｃｏｍｐａｎｙ ｗａｓ ｌａｉｄ ｏｆｆ ｆｉｎａｌｌｙ ｌａｓｔ ｙｅａｒ.) Ｅｖｅｎｔｕａｌｌｙ, Ｉ ｒａｎ ｏｕｔ ｏｆ ｍｏｎｅｙ ａｎｄ ｗａｓ ｌｉｖｉｎｇ ｉｎ ｍｙ ｏｌｄ Ｃａｄｉｌｌａｃ ｏｎ ｔｈｅ ｂｅａｃｈ ａｔ Ｃａｒｍｅｌ-ｂｙ-ｔｈｅ Ｓｅａ. Ｉｔ ｗａｓ ｂａｃｋ Ｅａｓｔ ｆｏｒ ｍｅ, ａｆｔｅｒ ｍｙ ｓｉｓｔｅｒ ａｎｄ ｓｔｅｐ-ｍｏｔｈｅｒ ｓｅｎｔ ｍｅ $1,000 ｅａｃｈ ｆｏｒ ｔｈｅ ｔｒｉｐ! Ｌｅｇａｌ Ｅｄｉｔｏｒ Ｉ ｄｅｃｉｄｅｄ ｔｏ ｍｏｖｅ ｔｏ ａ ｒｉｖｅｒ ｔｏｗｎ ｉｎ Ｕｐｐｅｒ Ｓｔａｔｅ Ｎｅｗ Ｙｏｒｋ, ｎｅａｒ Ｔａｒｒｙｔｏｗｎ. Ｉ ｌｉｋｅｄ ｔｈｅ ｉｄｅａ ｏｆ ｂｅｉｎｇ ｎｅａｒ Ｓｌｅｅｐｙ Ｈｏｌｌｏｗ, ｓｅｔｔｉｎｇ ｏｆ ｔｈｅ Ｗａｓｈｉｎｇｔｏｎ Ｉｒｖｉｎｇ ｓｔｏｒｙ ｔｈａｔ ｗａｓ ｏｎｅ ｏｆ ｍｙ ｆａｖｏｒｉｔｅ ｔａｌｅｓ ａｓ ａ ｃｈｉｌｄ. Ａｎ ｏｌｄ Ａｒｍｙ ｂｕｄｄｙ ａｎｄ ｈｉｓ ｗｉｆｅ ｌｉｖｅｄ ｔｈｅｒｅ, ａｎｄ Ｉ ｓｏｏｎ ｆｏｕｎｄ ｏｕｔ ｔｈａｔ ａｎ ｏｌｄ ｃｏｌｌｅｇｅ ｐａｌ ｌｉｖｅｄ ｔｈｅｒｅ ｔｏｏ. Ｉ ｗａｓ ｊｕｓｔ 45 ｍｉｎｕｔｅｓ ｆｒｏｍ ｍｙ ｆａｔｈｅｒ, ｗｈｏ ｗａｓ ａ ｐｒｏｓｔａｔｅ ｃａｎｃｅｒ ｓｕｒｖｉｖｏｒ ｃｌｏｓｉｎｇ ｉｎ ｏｎ 80 ｙｅａｒｓ ｏｌｄ, ａｎｄ ｍｙ ｓｔｅｐｍｏｔｈｅｒ, ｗｈｏ ｗａｓ 17 ｙｅａｒｓ ｈｉｓ ｊｕｎｉｏｒ ａｎｄ ｎｅａｒｉｎｇ ｒｅｔｉｒｅｍｅｎｔ ａｇｅ. Ｉ ｈａｄ ｎｅｖｅｒ ｓｅｅｎ ｍｕｃｈ ｏｆ ｍｙ ｆａｔｈｅｒ ｄｕｒｉｎｇ ｍｙ ｌｉｆｅ, ａｎｄ ｔｈｉｓ ｗｏｕｌｄ ｂｅ ａ ｃｈａｎｃｅ ｏｆ ｎｏｔ ｏｎｌｙ ｇｅｔｔｉｎｇ ｃｌｏｓｅｒ, ｂｕｔ ｏｆ ｈｅｌｐｉｎｇ ｈｉｍ (ａｎｄ ｍｙ ｓｔｅｐｍｏｔｈｅｒ) ａｓ ｔｈｅｙ ｍａｄｅ ｔｈｅｉｒ ｌｉｆｅ ｔｒａｎｓｉｔｉｏｎ, ｗｉｔｈ ｈｅｒ ｒｅｔｉｒｅｍｅｎｔ. Ｎｅａｒ ｔｈｅ ａｐａｒｔｍｅｎｔ Ｉ ｒｅｎｔｅｄ ｗａｓ ａ ｌｅｇａｌ ｐｕｂｌｉｓｈｅｒ ｗｉｔｈ ａ ｎａｍｅ ｔｈａｔ ｒａｎｇ ａ ｂｅｌｌ ｗｉｔｈ ｍｅ ａｓ ｉｔ ｗａｓ ｅｖｏｃａｔｉｖｅ ｏｆ ｏｎｅ ｏｆ ｍｙ ｆａｖｏｒｉｔｅ ｎｏｖｅｌｓ. Ｉ ｗａｓ ｅｘｔｒｅｍｅｌｙ ｕｐｂｅａｔ ａｎｄ ｐｏｓｉｔｉｖｅ ｉｎ ｔｈｏｓｅ ｄａｙｓ, ａｎｄ Ｉ ｋｎｅｗ Ｉ'ｄ ｇｅｔ ａ ｊｏｂ ｔｈｅｒｅ. Ｏｎｅ ｄａｙ, ｒｅａｄｉｎｇ ｔｈｅ ｌｏｃａｌ ｐａｐｅｒ, Ｉ ｓａｗ ｔｈｅｙ ｗｅｒｅ ｈｉｒｉｎｇ. Ｉ ａｐｐｌｉｅｄ. Ｉ ｈａｄ ｂｅｅｎ ａ Ｒｕｓｓｉａｎ ｌｉｎｇｕｉｓｔ ｉｎ ｔｈｅ ｍｉｌｉｔａｒｙ, ａｎｄ ｔｈｅ "ｂｏｓｓ" ｈａｄ ｓｔｕｄｉｅｄ Ｒｕｓｓｉａｎ ｉｎ ｃｏｌｌｅｇｅ. Ｗｅ ｈｉｔ ｉｔ ｏｆｆ ｗｅｌｌ, ａｎｄ Ｉ ｗａｓ ｏｆｆｅｒｅｄ ａ ｊｏｂ ａｓ ａ ｌｅｇａｌ ｅｄｉｔｏｒ, ｗｈｉｃｈ Ｉ ａｃｃｅｐｔｅｄ. Ｉ ｗａｓ ｎｏｗ ａ ｌｅｇａｌ ｅｄｉｔｏｒ, ｔｈｏｕｇｈ Ｉ ｈａｄ ｎｏ ｂａｃｋｇｒｏｕｎｄ ｉｎ ｔｈｅ ｌａｗ. Ｂｕｔ ａｎ ｅｄｉｔｏｒ ｉｓ ａｎ ｅｄｉｔｏｒ, ａｎｄ Ｉ ｈａｄ ｂｅｅｎ ｗｏｒｋｉｎｇ ｗｉｔｈ ｗｏｒｄｓ ｆｏｒ ｄｅｃａｄｅｓ, ｅｖｅｎ ｉｎ ｔｈｅ Ａｒｍｙ, ａｎｄ Ｉ ｐｉｃｋｅｄ ｕｐ ｔｈｅ ｎｅｗ ｓｋｉｌｌ ｓｅｔ ｒｅｑｕｉｒｅｄ ｏｆ ｔｈｅ ｊｏｂ ｆａｉｒｌｙ ｑｕｉｃｋｌｙ. Ａｎｄ ｂｅｃａｍｅ ａ ｇｏｏｄ ｏｎｅ, ｔｏｏ. Ｂｕｔ ｆａｔｅ ｉｎｔｅｒｖｅｎｅｄ. Ｍｙ ｓｔｅｐｍｏｔｈｅｒ ｃａｍｅ ｄｏｗｎ ｗｉｔｈ ｐａｎｃｒｅａｔｉｃ ｃａｎｃｅｒ ａｎｄ ｍｙ ｆａｔｈｅｒ'ｓ ｈｅａｌｔｈ ｆｌｕｃｔｕａｔｅｄ ｗｉｔｈ ｈｅｒｓ. Ｉｆ ｓｈｅ ｈａｄ ａ ｇｏｏｄ ｄａｙ, ｈｅ ｈａｄ ａ ｇｏｏｄ ｄａｙ; ｉｆ ｓｈｅ ｈａｄ ａ ｂａｄ ｄａｙ.... Ｗｈｅｎ ｓｈｅ ｄｉｅｄ, ｈｅ ｄｉｅｄ ｓｉｘ ｗｅｅｋｓ ｌａｔｅｒ. Ｄｕｒｉｎｇ ｔｈｉｓ ｄｏｍｅｓｔｉｃ ｄｒａｍａ, ｔｈｅ ｓｍａｌｌ ｆａｍｉｌｙ ｏｗｎｅｄ ｐｕｂｌｉｓｈｅｒ Ｉ ｗｏｒｋｅｄ ｆｏｒ ｗａｓ ｔａｋｅｎ ｏｖｅｒ ｂｙ ｔｈｅ ｂｉｇｇｅｓｔ ｐｕｂｌｉｓｈｉｎｇ ｃｏｍｐａｎｙ ｉｎ ｔｈｅ ｗｏｒｌｄ, ｗｈｉｃｈ ｈａｄ ｏｆｆｉｃｅｓ ｉｎ Ｎｅｗ Ｙｏｒｋ Ｃｉｔｙ. Ｔｗｏ ｔｈｉｎｇｓ ｑｕｉｃｋｌｙ ｂｅｃａｍｅ ａｐｐａｒｅｎｔ: Ｗｅ ｗｅｒｅ ｇｏｉｎｇ ｔｏ ｍｏｖｅ ｔｏ Ｍａｎｈａｔｔａｎ, ａｎｄ ｔｈｅｒｅ ｗａｓ ｎｏｔ ｇｏｉｎｇ ｔｏ ｂｅ ａｎｙ ｂｏｏｓｔ ｉｎ ｐａｙ, ｄｅｓｐｉｔｅ ｔｈｅ ｆａｃｔ ｔｈａｔ ｔｈｅ ｍｏｖｅ ｗｏｕｌｄ ｂｏｏｓｔ ｍｏｓｔ ｏｆ ｔｈｅ ｅｍｐｌｏｙｅｅｓ' ｅｘｐｅｎｓｅｓ ｂｙ $150/ｍｏ. Ｔｈｅｒｅ ｗａｓ ａｌｓｏ ｆｒａｎｋ ｔａｌｋ ｂｙ ｔｈｅ ｎｅｗ ｃｏｍｐａｎｙ ｏｆ ｈｏｗ ｔｈｅ ｅｄｉｔｉｎｇ ｆｕｎｃｔｉｏｎｓ ｏｆ ｔｈｅ ｅｎｔｉｒｅ ｏｒｇａｎｉｚａｔｉｏｎ ｗｅｒｅ ｂｅｉｎｇ ｓｈｉｐｐｅｄ ｏｕｔ ｔｏ Ｉｎｄｉａ. Ｔｈｅ ｓｐｅｃｔｅｒ ｏｆ ａｎｏｔｈｅｒ ｊｏｂ ｌｏｓｔ ｔｏ Ｓｏｕｔｈ-Ａｓｉａｎ ｓｕｂｃｏｎｔｉｎｅｎｔ ｌｏｏｍｅｄ. Ｉ ｓｅｒｉｏｕｓｌｙ ｂｅｇａｎ ｔｈｉｎｋｉｎｇ (ａｇａｉｎ) ｏｆ ｆｕｌｆｉｌｌｉｎｇ ｍｙ ｆａｔｈｅｒ'ｓ ｗｉｓｈ ｆｏｒ ｍｅ ａｎｄ ｇｏｉｎｇ ｔｏ ｌａｗ ｓｃｈｏｏｌ, ｅｖｅｎ ｔｈｏｕｇｈ Ｉ ｗａｓ ｎｏｗ ｉｎ ｍｙ ｌａｔｅ 40ｓ. (Ａ ｌａｗ ｄｅｇｒｅｅ ｉｓ ｄｅ ｒｉｇｅｕｒ ｆｏｒ ｔｈｅ ｈｉｇｈｅｓｔ ｌｅｖｅｌ ｏｆ ｌｅｇａｌ ｅｄｉｔｉｎｇ.) Ｍｙ ｆａｔｈｅｒ'ｓ ｈｅａｌｔｈ ｄｅｔｅｒｉｏｒａｔｅｄ ｓｏ ｒａｐｉｄｌｙ ａｆｔｅｒ ｈｉｓ ｗｉｆｅ ｗｅｎｔ ｉｎｔｏ ｔｈｅ ｈｏｓｐｉｃｅ Ｉ ｇａｖｅ ｕｐ ｍｙ ａｐａｒｔｍｅｎｔ ａｎｄ ｍｏｖｅｄ ｉｎ ｗｉｔｈ ｈｉｍ ａｃｒｏｓｓ ｔｈｅ Ｃｏｎｎｅｃｔｉｃｕｔ-Ｎｅｗ Ｙｏｒｋ ｂｏｒｄｅｒ. Ｍｙ ｃｏｍｍｕｔｅ ｗａｓ 45 ｍｉｎｕｔｅｓ, ｂｕｔ ｏｎｃｅ ｔｈｅ ｍｏｖｅ ｔｏ Ｎｅｗ Ｙｏｒｋ Ｃｉｔｙ ｗａｓ ｉｍｐｌｅｍｅｎｔｅｄ, ｉｔ ｗａｓ ｇｏｉｎｇ ｔｏ ｂｅ ｔｗｏ ａｎｄ ｏｎｅ-ｈａｌｆ ｈｏｕｒｓ -- ｏｎｅ ｗａｙ. Ａｎｄ ｔｈｅｎ ｍｙ ｆａｔｈｅｒ ｐａｓｓｅｄ, ｓｉｘ ｗｅｅｋｓ ａｆｔｅｒ ｍｙ ｓｔｅｐｍｏｔｈｅｒ, ａｎｄ ｔｈｅｒｅ ｓｏｏｎ ｃａｍｅ ａ ｄａｙ ｔｈａｔ Ｉ ｈａｄ ｕｓｅｄ ｕｐ ａｌｌ ｍｙ ｖａｃａｔｉｏｎ, ｐｅｒｓｏｎａｌ ｄａｙｓ ａｎｄ ｆａｍｉｌｙ ｌｅａｖｅ. Ｉ ｑｕｉｔ ａｎｄ ｇｏｔ ｕｎｅｍｐｌｏｙｍｅｎｔ ｂｅｎｅｆｉｔｓ ａｓ ａｎｙ ｍｏｖｅ ｏｆ ａｎ ｅｍｐｌｏｙｅｒ ｏｆ ｏｖｅｒ ｅｉｇｈｔ ｍｉｌｅｓ, ｕｎｄｅｒ Ｎｅｗ Ｙｏｒｋ ｌａｂｏｒ ｌａｗ, ｍｅａｎｔ ｔｈａｔ ｙｏｕ ｑｕａｌｉｆｉｅｄ ｆｏｒ ＵＩ. Ｉ ｎｅｖｅｒ ｄｒｅａｍｅｄ Ｉ'ｄ ｂｅ ｇｅｔｔｉｎｇ 99 ｗｅｅｋｓ ｏｆ ｂｅｎｅｆｉｔｓ! Ｔｈａｎｋ ｇｏｄ ｆｏｒ ｔｈｅ Ｄｅｍｏｃｒａｔｓ ｒｅｔａｋｉｎｇ ｂｏｔｈ Ｈｏｕｓｅｓ ｏｆ Ｃｏｎｇｒｅｓｓ ａｎｄ ｔｈｅ Ｗｈｉｔｅ Ｈｏｕｓｅ. Ｊｏｂ Ｈｕｎｔｉｎｇ Ｅａｃｈ ｍｏｎｔｈ, ａｓ ｐａｒｔ ｏｆ ｔｈｅ ｕｎｅｍｐｌｏｙｍｅｎｔ ｉｎｓｕｒａｎｃｅ ｐｒｏｃｅｓｓ, Ｉ ｈａｄ ｔｏ ｓｅｎｄ ｔｏ ｔｈｅ ｓｔａｔｅ ｔｈｅ ｎａｍｅｓ ｏｆ 10 ｅｍｐｌｏｙｅｒｓ Ｉ ｃｏｎｔａｃｔｅｄ ｔｈａｔ ｍｏｎｔｈ. Ｉ ｓｕｐｐｌｉｅｄ ｔｈｅ Ｎｅｗ Ｙｏｒｋ ＵＩ Ｂｕｒｅａｕ ｗｉｔｈ ｏｖｅｒ 200 ｎａｍｅｓ, ｗｈｉｃｈ ｂｅｃａｍｅ ｉｎｃｒｅａｓｉｎｇｌｙ ｄｉｆｆｉｃｕｌｔ ａｓ ｔｈｅ ｎｕｍｂｅｒｓ ｏｆ ｅｍｐｌｏｙｅｒｓ ｈｉｒｉｎｇ ｅｄｉｔｏｒｓ ｗａｓ ｓｈｒｉｎｋｉｎｇ. Ｉ ａｐｐｌｉｅｄ ｆｏｒ ｊｏｂｓ ｉｎ Ｎｅｗ Ｙｏｒｋ, Ｂｏｓｔｏｎ, Ｗａｓｈｉｎｇｔｏｎ, Ｄ.Ｃ., Ｌｏｓ Ａｎｇｅｌｅｓ, Ｃａｌｉｆｏｒｎｉａ, ｔｈｅ Ｍｏｎｔｅｒｅｙ Ｂａｙ Ａｒｅａ ａｎｄ ｅｖｅｎ ｂａｃｋ ｉｎ Ｓｉｌｉｃｏｎ Ｖａｌｌｅｙ/Ｓａｎ Ｆｒａｎｃｉｓｃｏ Ｂａｙ Ａｒｅａ. Ｉ ｅｘｐａｎｄｅｄ ｍｙ ｊｏｂ ｓｅａｒｃｈ ｆｒｏｍ ｖａｒｉｏｕｓ ｐｅｒｍｕｔａｔｉｏｎｓ ｏｆ ｅｄｉｔｏｒ, ｉｎｃｌｕｄｉｎｇ ａ ｊｏｂ Ｉ ｗａｓｎ'ｔ ｅｖｅｎ ｑｕａｌｉｆｉｅｄ ｆｏｒ, ｔｅｃｈｎｉｃａｌ ｅｄｉｔｏｒ, ｔｏ ａｎｙ ｊｏｂ ｔｈａｔ ｅｎｔａｉｌｅｄ ｗｒｉｔｉｎｇ ｓｋｉｌｌｓ, ｌｉｋｅ ｐｕｂｌｉｃ ｒｅｌａｔｉｏｎｓ. Ｅｍｐｌｏｙｅｒｓ ｓｉｎｃｅ ｔｈｅ ｒｅｃｅｓｓｉｏｎ ｉｎ ｔｈｅ ｆｉｒｓｔ Ｂｕｓｈ Ａｄｍｉｎｉｓｔｒａｔｉｏｎ ｈａｖｅ ｎｏｔ ｇｅｎｅｒａｌｌｙ ａｃｃｅｐｔｅｄ ｓｕｂｍｉｓｓｉｏｎｓ ｏｆ ｒｅｓｕｍｅｓ ｆｒｏｍ ｏｕｔｓｉｄｅ ｔｈｅ ｇｅｏｇｒａｐｈｉｃ ａｒｅａ. Ｓｏ, Ｉ ｕｓｅｄ ｔｈｅ ａｄｄｒｅｓｓｅｓ ｏｆ ｆｒｉｅｎｄｓ ａｎｄ ｆａｍｉｌｉｅｓ ｉｎ ｔｈｅ ｇｅｏｇｒａｐｈｉｃ ａｒｅａｓ ｔｈａｔ Ｉ ｗａｓ ｓｅｅｋｉｎｇ ｅｍｐｌｏｙｍｅｎｔ. Ｗｈｉｃｈ ｗｅｒｅ ｌｅｇｉｏｎ. Ｂｅｃａｕｓｅ ｉｆ Ｉ ｄｉｄｎ'ｔ ｌｏｏｋ ｉｎ ｏｔｈｅｒ ｇｅｏｇｒａｐｈｉｃ ｒｅｇｉｏｎｓ, ｔｈｅｒｅ ｓｉｍｐｌｙ ｗａｓｎ'ｔ 10 ｊｏｂｓ ｉｎ ａ ｍｏｎｔｈ ｉｎ ｔｈｅ Ｎｅｗ Ｙｏｒｋ Ｍｅｔｒｏ ａｒｅａ ｔｏ ｓｕｂｍｉｔ. Ｔｈｅ ｂｒｏａｄｅｎｉｎｇ ｏｆ ｍｙ ｈｏｒｉｚｏｎｓ ｄｉｄｎ'ｔ ｈｅｌｐ. Ｉ ｏｎｌｙ ｅｖｅｒ ｇｏｔ ｔｗｏ ａｃｋｎｏｗｌｅｄｇｍｅｎｔｓ ｔｏ ｍｙ ｈｕｎｄｒｅｄｓ ｏｆ ｓｕｂｍｉｓｓｉｏｎｓ, ｂｏｔｈ ｎｅｇａｔｉｖｅ. Ｅａｒｌｙ ｏｎ ｉｎ ｍｙ ｔｈｒｅｅ ｙｅａｒ ｑｕｅｓｔ ｆｏｒ ａ "ｇｏｏｄ ｊｏｂ" (ａ ｐｒｉｖａｔｅ ｊｏｋｅ ｂｅｔｗｅｅｎ ｍｙ ｆａｔｈｅｒ, ａ ｆｏｒｍｅｒ ａｌｕｍｉｎｕｍ ｓｉｄｉｎｇ ｓａｌｅｓｍａｎ, ａｎｄ ｍｙｓｅｌｆ -- ｉｎ ｒｅｓｐｏｎｓｅ ｔｏ ｍｙ ｂｉｔｃｈｉｎｇ ａｂｏｕｔ ｍｙ ｌｏｗ-ｐａｉｄ ｃａｒｅｅｒ, ｃｏｕｐｌｅｄ ｗｉｔｈ ｍｙ ｒｅｆｕｓａｌ ｔｏ ｈｅｅｄ ｈｉｓ ａｄｖｉｃｅ ａｎｄ ｂｅｃｏｍｅ ａ ｌａｗｙｅｒ (ａ "ｌｉｃｅｎｓｅ ｔｏ ｓｔｅａｌ" ａｓ ｈｅ ｐｕｔ ｉＴｈｅ ｔ), Ｄａｄ'ｄ ｃｏｏ, "Ｄｏｎ'ｔ ｙｏｕ ｗａｎｔ ａ ｇｏｏｄ ｊｏｂ?" ｈ ａｎｄ ｗｅ'ｄ ｂｏｔｈ ｌａｕｇｈ) Ｉ ｗａｓ ｐｅｒｕｓｉｎｇ ｔｈｅ ｅｍｐｌｏｙｍｅｎｔ ｐａｇｅｓ ｏｆ ｔｈｅ Ｎｅｗ Ｈａｍｐｓｈｉｒｅ Ｕｎｉｏｎ Ｌｅａｄｅｒ ｂａｃｋ ｉｎ ｍｙ ｈｏｍｅｔｏｗｎ ｏｆ Ｍａｎｃｈｅｓｔｅｒ, Ｎｅｗ Ｈａｍｐｓｈｉｒｅ, ｗｈｉｃｈ ｗａｓ ｔｈｒｅｅ ｈｏｕｒｓ ａｗａｙ ｆｒｏｍ ｗｈｅｒｅ Ｉ ｗａｓ ｌｉｖｉｎｇ ｉｎ ｍｙ ｆａｔｈｅｒ'ｓ ｈｏｕｓｅ ｉｎ Ｃｏｎｎｅｃｔｉｃｕｔ. Ｌｏ ａｎｄ ｂｅｈｏｌｄ, ｔｈｅ Ｕｎｉｏｎ Ｌｅａｄｅｒ ｉｔｓｅｌｆ ｗａｓ ａｄｖｅｒｔｉｓｉｎｇ ｆｏｒ ｆｒｅｅｌａｎｃｅ ｅｄｉｔｏｒｓ ａｔ $29/ｈｒ ｔｏ ｗｏｒｋ ｏｎ-ｃａｌｌ. Ｉ ｒｅｍｅｍｂｅｒ ｖｉｏｌｅｎｔｌｙ ｒｅｊｅｃｔｉｎｇ ｔｈｅ ｉｄｅａ ｏｆ ｗｏｒｋｉｎｇ ｆｏｒ ｔｈｅ Ｕｎｉｏｎ Ｌｅａｄｅｒ ｉｎ ｍｙ ｍｉｎｄ, ａｓ ｉｔ ｗａｓ ｓｔｉｌｌ ａ ｒｉｇｈｔ-ｗｉｎｇ ｒｅａｃｔｉｏｎａｒｙ ｒａｇ, ｊｕｓｔ ａｓ ｉｔ ｗａｓ ｉｎ ｍｙ ｙｏｕｔｈ. Ｉ ｄｅｓｐｉｓｅｄ ｉｔｓ ｐｏｌｉｔｉｃｓ ａｎｄ ｔｈｅ ｓｌａｎｔ ｏｆ ｉｔｓ ｓｔｏｒｉｅｓ ａｎｄ ｎｅｖｅｒ ｂｏｔｈｅｒｅｄ ｔｏ ａｐｐｌｙ ｆｏｒ ｔｈｅ ｊｏｂ, ｄｅｓｐｉｔｅ ｍｙ ｅｘｐｅｒｉｅｎｃｅ ｗｏｒｋｉｎｇ ｄｅａｄｌｉｎｅ ｐｒｅｓｓｕｒｅ ａｓ ａｎ ｅｄｉｔｏｒ ｉｎ ｔｈｅ Ａｒｍｙ ａｎｄ ｌａｔｅｒ ｉｎ Ｓｉｌｉｃｏｎ Ｖａｌｌｅｙ. Ｉ ｄｏｎ'ｔ ｋｎｏｗ ｉｆ Ｉ'ｄ ｍａｋｅ ｓｕｃｈ ａ ｃｈｏｉｃｅ ｔｏｄａｙ. Ｗｈｅｔｈｅｒ Ｉ'ｄ ｈａｖｅ ｔｈｅ ｌｕｘｕｒｙ ｏｆ ｈａｖｉｎｇ ｐｏｌｉｔｉｃａｌ ｃｏｎｖｉｃｔｉｏｎｓ. Ｉ ｈａｖｅｎ'ｔ ｓｅｅ ａ ｓｉｍｉｌａｒ ａｄ ｓｉｎｃｅ, ａｓ ｔｈｅ Ｕｎｉｏｎ Ｌｅａｄｅｒ, ｌｉｋｅ ｍｏｓｔ ｎｅｗｓｐａｐｅｒｓ, ｃｏｎｔｉｎｕｅｓ ｔｏ ｓｈｒｉｎｋ ａｓ ｉｔｓ ｒｅａｄｅｒｓ (ａｎｄ ｉｔｓ ａｄｖｅｒｔｉｓｉｎｇ ｒｅｖｅｎｕｅ) ａｒｅ ｂｌｅｄ ａｗａｙ ｂｙ ｔｈｅ 'Ｎｅｔ. Ｉｔ'ｓ ｃｏｐｙ ｅｄｉｔｉｎｇ ｉｓ ｐｒｅｔｔｙ ｓｌｏｐｐｙ ｔｈｅｓｅ ｄａｙｓ. Ｉｔ ｗａｓ ｔｈｅ 'Ｎｅｔ ｔｈａｔ ｈａｄ ｋｉｌｌｅｄ ｍｙ ｆｉｒｓｔ ｃｉｖｉｌｉａｎ ｊｏｂ ａｆｔｅｒ ｍｙ ｍｉｌｉｔａｒｙ ｓｅｒｖｉｃｅ, ｂａｃｋ ｉｎ 2003. Ｔｈｅ Ｂｉｇ Ｈｕｒｔ Ｔｈｅ Ｅｎｇｌｉｓｈ ｎｅｗｓ ｍａｇａｚｉｎｅ Ｔｈｅ Ｅｃｏｎｏｍｉｓｔ ｒｅｃｅｎｔｌｙ ｒｅｐｏｒｔｅｄ ｔｈａｔ ｔｈｅ ｍｉｄｄｌｅ-ｃｌａｓｓ ｉｎ Ａｍｅｒｉｃａ ｉｓ ｕｎｄｅｒ ｓｉｅｇｅ ｄｕｅ ｔｏ ｔｈｅ ｏｕｔｓｏｕｒｃｉｎｇ ｏｆ ｍｉｄ-ｓｋｉｌｌｅｄ ｊｏｂｓ ｐａｙｉｎｇ ｍｉｄｄｌｅ-ｃｌａｓｓ ｗａｇｅｓ ｔｏ Ｉｎｄｉａ ａｎｄ ｏｔｈｅｒ ｐａｔｓ ｏｆ ｔｈｅ ｄｅｖｅｌｏｐｉｎｇ ｗｏｒｌｄ. Ｅｄｉｔｉｎｇ ｎｏｔ ｏｎｌｙ ｉｓ ａ ｍｉｄ-ｓｋｉｌｌｅｄ ｊｏｂ ｉｎｃｒｅａｓｉｎｇｌｙ ｂｅｉｎｇ ｏｕｔｓｏｕｒｃｅｄ, ｂｕｔ ｅｖｅｎ ｌｏｗ-ｌｅｖｅｌ ｌｅｇａｌ ｆｕｎｃｔｉｏｎｓ, ｏｎｃｅ ｐｅｒｆｏｒｍｅｄ ｂｙ ｔｈｅ ｎｅｗ ｈｉｒｅｓ ｏｆ ｌａｗ ｆｉｒｍｓ, ｉｓ ｂｅｉｎｇ ｄｏｎｅ ｉｎ Ｉｎｄｉａ. (Ｔｈｅ ｊｏｂ ｍａｒｋｅｔ ｆｏｒ ｌａｗ ｓｃｈｏｏｌ ｇｒａｄｓ ｉｎ 2009 ｗａｓ ｔｈｅ ｗｏｒｓｔ ｏｎ ｒｅｃｏｒｄ.) Ｉ'ｍ ｆａｃｉｎｇ ａ ｒｅｃｋｏｎｉｎｇ ｗｈｉｃｈ ｍａｎｙ ｕｎｅｍｐｌｏｙｅｄ Ａｍｅｒｉｃａｎｓ ａｒｅ ｆａｃｉｎｇ: Ｍｙ ｍｉｄ-ｓｋｉｌｌｅｄ ｊｏｂ ｌｉｋｅｌｙ ｉｓ ｎｏｔ "ａｖａｉｌａｂｌｅ" ｔｏ ｍｅ. Ｄｕｒｉｎｇ ｍｙ ｔｈｒｅｅ ｙｅａｒ ｏｄｙｓｓｅｙ ｏｆ ｕｎｅｍｐｌｏｙｍｅｎｔ, Ｉ ｔｕｒｎｅｄ 50, ａｎｄ ｔｈｅ Ｕ.Ｓ. Ｓｕｐｒｅｍｅ Ｃｏｕｒｔ ｒｅｃｅｎｔｌｙ ｇｕｔｔｅｄ Ｇｒｅａｔ Ｓｏｃｉｅｔｙ-ｅｒａ ａｎｔｉ-ａｇｅ ｄｉｓｃｒｉｍｉｎａｔｉｏｎ ｅｍｐｌｏｙｍｅｎｔ ｌａｗｓ. Ｏｕｔｓｉｄｅ ｏｆ ｔｈｅ ｅｄｕｃａｔｉｏｎ ｆｉｅｌｄ ｗｈｅｒｅ ｓｏｍｅ ｓｃｈｏｏｌ ｓｙｓｔｅｍ ｌｉｋｅ ｔｏ ｈｉｒｅ ｏｌｄｅｒ ｃａｎｄｉｄａｔｅｓ ｗｉｔｈ ｐｒｉｏｒ ｊｏｂ ｅｘｐｅｒｉｅｎｃｅ ｐｒｉｍａｒｉｌｙ ａｓ ｔｈｅｙ ｗｉｌｌ ｎｏｔ ｒａｃｋ ｕｐ ｔｈｅ ｙｅａｒｓ ｏｆ ｓｅｎｉｏｒｉｔｙ ｔｈａｔ ｗｉｌｌ ｍａｋｅ ｔｈｅｍ ｈｉｇｈｅｒ-ｐａｉｄ ａｎｄ ｈｕｇｅ ｐｅｎｓｉｏｎ ｌｉａｂｉｌｉｔｉｅｓ ｉｎ ｔｈｅ ｌｏｎｇ-ｔｅｒｍ, ｍｏｓｔ ｅｍｐｌｏｙｅｒｓ ｄｏｎ'ｔ ｗａｎｔ ｔｈｅ ｏｌｄｅｒ ｃａｎｄｉｄａｔｅ. Ｗｅ ａｒｅ ａｓｓｏｃｉａｔｅｄ ｗｉｔｈ ａ ｈｉｇｈｅｒ ｌｅｖｅｌ ｏｆ ｃｏｓｔｓ ｗｈｅｎ ｉｔ ｃｏｍｅｓ ｔｏ ｈｅａｌｔｈ ｉｎｓｕｒａｎｃｅ, ｆｏｒ ｏｎｅ ｔｈｉｎｇ. Ｓｏ, ｗｈａｔ'ｓ ａ ｇｕｙ ｔｏ ｄｏ ｉｆ ｈｅ ｄｏｅｓｎ'ｔ ｗａｎｔ ｔｈａｔ Ｂｉｇ Ｂｒａｓｓ Ｒｉｎｇ ｏｆ ｔｈｅ Ｉｒｏｎ Ｍａｎ ｏｆ Ｕｎｅｍｐｌｏｙｍｅｎｔ ｔｉｔｌｅ? Ｒｅｔｒａｉｎｉｎｇ ｉｓ ｏｂｖｉｏｕｓｌｙ ｆｉｒｓｔ ｏｎ ｔｈｅ ｌｉｓｔ, ｂｕｔ ｉｎ ｔｈｉｓ ｊｏｂ ｍａｒｋｅｔ, ｗｉｔｈ ｓｏ ｍａｎｙ ｍｉｄ-ｓｋｉｌｌｅｄ ｊｏｂｓ ｔｈａｔ ｐａｙ ｌｉｖｉｎｇ ｗａｇｅｓ ｄｉｓａｐｐｅａｒｉｎｇ, ｂｅｉｎｇ ｒｅｔｒａｉｎｅｄ ｆｏｒ ｗｈａｔ ｉｓ ａ ｐｒｏｐｏｓｉｔｉｏｎ ｔｈａｔ ｓｏｗｓ ｃｏｎｆｕｓｉｏｎ. Ａｓ ａ ｖｅｔｅｒａｎ, Ｉ ｐｌａｎ ｔｏ ｍｏｓｅｙ ｏｎ ｄｏｗｎ ｔｏ ｗｈａｔ Ｂｒｕｃｅ Ｓｐｒｉｎｇｓｔｅｅｎ ｉｎ "Ｂｏｒｎ ｉｎ ｔｈｅ Ｕ.Ｓ.Ａ." ｃａｌｌｅｄ "ｍｙ Ｖ.Ａ. ｍａｎ" ａｎｄ ｈｏｐｅ ｈｅ ｄｏｅｓｎ'ｔ ｓａｙ, "Ｓｏｎ, ｙａ ｇｏｔｔａ ｕｎｄｅｒｓｔａｎｄ...." (Ｉ ｓｈｏｕｌｄ ｓａｙ, ｍｏｓｅｙ ｏｎ ｄｏｗｎ ａｇａｉｎ, ｆｏｒ ｔｈｅ ｇｕｙ ｗｈｏ ｈａｎｄｌｅｓ ｗｏｒｋｆａｒｅ ａｔ ｔｈｅ Ｖ.Ａ. ｈｏｓｐｉｔａｌ ｄｉｄ ａｎ ｏｎｌｉｎｅ ｊｏｂ ｓｅａｒｃｈ ｆｏｒ ｍｅ ａｆｔｅｒ ｆｉｎｄｉｎｇ ｏｕｔ Ｉ ｄｉｄｎ'ｔ ｑｕａｌｉｆｙ. Ｏｎｅ ｏｆ ｔｈｅ ｊｏｂｓ ｈｅ ｓｈｏｗｅｄ ｍｅ ｄｕｒｉｎｇ ｔｈｉｓ ｅｘｅｒｃｉｓｅ ｉｎ ｆｕｔｉｌｉｔｙ ｗａｓ ａ ｊｏｂ ｐｏｓｔｅｄ ｂｙ ｅｘａｍｉｎｅｒ.ｃｏｍ. "Ｉ ａｌｒｅａｄｙ ｗｏｒｋ ｆｏｒ ｔｈｅｍ," Ｉ ｔｏｌｄ ｔｈｅｍ, "ａｎｄ Ｉ ｍａｄｅ ｅｘａｃｔｌｙ 16 ｃｅｎｔｓ." Ｉ ｄｉｄｎ'ｔ ｔｅｌｌ ｈｉｍ Ｉ'ｖｅ ｙｅｔ ｔｏ ｃｏｌｌｅｃｔ ｍｙ ｗａｇｅｓ ｆｒｏｍ ｔｈｉｓ "ｅｍｐｌｏｙｅｒ" ｔｈａｔ ｈａｓ ｉｔｓ "ｊｏｂ ｏｆｆｅｒｉｎｇｓ" ｐｏｓｔｅｄ ａｌｌ ｏｖｅｒ ｔｈｅ Ｗｅｂ.) "Ｓｏｎ, ｙａ ｇｏｔｔａ ｕｎｄｅｒｓｔａｎｄ...." Ｉ ｕｎｄｅｒｓｔａｎｄ ａｌｌ ｔｏｏ ｗｅｌｌ. Ｗｉｔｈ ｔｈｅ ｒｅａｌ ｌｅｖｅｌ ｏｆ ｕｎｅｍｐｌｏｙｍｅｎｔ ａｔ 18-20% ｗｈｅｎ ｓｈｏｒｎ ｏｆ ｔｈｅ ａｃｃｏｕｎｔｉｎｇ ｌｅｇｅｒｄｅｍａｉｎ ｏｆ ｔｈｅ Ｒｅａｇａｎ & Ｃｌｉｎｔｏｎ Ａｄｍｉｎｉｓｔｒａｔｉｏｎｓ ｔｏ ｕｎｄｅｒｓｔａｔｅ ｔｈｅ ｔｒｕｅ ｒａｔｅ ｏｆ ｔｈｅ ｊｏｂｌｅｓｓ ｎｏｗ ｎｅａｒｉｎｇ Ｇｒｅａｔ Ｄｅｐｒｅｓｓｉｏｎ ｌｅｖｅｌ ｅｒａｓ ｉｔ ｍａｙ ｂｅ ｔｉｍｅ ｔｏ ｅｉｔｈｅｒ ｓｕｒｒｅｎｄｅｒ ｔｏ ｍｙ ｆａｔｈｅｒ'ｓ ｗｉｓｈ ａｎｄ ｂｅｃｏｍｅ ｔｈｅ ｗｏｒｌｄ'ｓ ｏｌｄｅｓｔ ｌａｗ ｓｃｈｏｏｌ ｇｒａｄ ｏｒ ｌｏｗｅｒ ｍｙ ｓｉｇｈｔｓ ａｎｄ ｈｏｐｅ ｔｈａｔ ｔｈｅ ｎｅｗ ｓｕｐｅｒ Ｗａｌ-Ｍａｒｔ ｄｅｖｅｌｏｐｍｅｎｔ ｐｌａｎ ｇｏｅｓ ｔｈｒｏｕｇｈ. Ａｎｄ ｔｈａｔ ｔｈｅｙ'ｌｌ ｈｉｒｅ ｍｅ, ｔｈｏｕｇｈ Ｉ ｌａｃｋ ｒｅｔａｉｌ ｅｘｐｅｒｉｅｎｃｅ. Ｏｎｅ ｔｉｐ Ｉ ｃａｎ ｐａｓｓ ｏｎ ｔｏ ａｌｌ ｕｎｅｍｐｌｏｙｅｄ: Ｄｏｎ'ｔ ｂｅｃｏｍｅ ｄｅｐｅｎｄｅｎｔ ｏｎ ｙｏｕｒ Ｕｎｅｍｐｌｏｙｍｅｎｔ Ｉｎｓｕｒａｎｃｅ ｃｈｅｃｋ. Ｉｔ'ｓ ｗｅｌｃｏｍｅ, ａｎｄ ｙｏｕ ｐａｉｄ ｆｏｒ ｉｔ ｗｉｔｈ ｙｏｕｒ ｐａｙｒｏｌｌ ｔａｘｅｓ, ｂｕｔ ｉｔ ｃａｎ ｂｅ ａ ｄｉｓｉｎｃｅｎｔｉｖｅ ｔｏ ｒｅａｌｌｙ ｇｏｉｎｇ ｏｕｔ ｔｈｅｒｅ ｉｎ ｔｈｅ ｔｒｅｎｃｈｅｓ ａｎｄ ｔａｋｉｎｇ ａ ｌｅｓｓ ｔｈａｎ ｐｅｒｆｅｃｔ ｊｏｂ ｔｈａｔ ｉｓ ａ ｊｏｂ ｎｏｎｅｔｈｅｌｅｓｓ. Ｉ'ｄ ｌｉｋｅ ｔｏ ｇｅｔ ｂａｃｋ ｉｎｔｏ ｔｈａｔ ｐｏｓｉｔｉｖｅ ｆｒａｍｅ ｏｆ ｍｉｎｄ ｔｈａｔ Ｉ ｈａｄ ｈａｌｆ-ａ-ｄｅｃａｄｅ ａｇｏ, ｗｈｅｎ Ｉ ｗａｌｋｅｄ ｉｎｔｏ ｔｈａｔ ｓｍａｌｌ ｐｕｂｌｉｓｈｉｎｇ ｈｏｕｓｅ ｏｎ ｔｈｅ ｂａｎｋｓ ｏｆ ｔｈｅ Ｈｕｄｓｏｎ Ｒｉｖｅｒ ｂｒｉｍｍｉｎｇ ｗｉｔｈ ｃｏｎｆｉｄｅｎｃｅ, ｊｕｓｔ ｋｎｏｗｉｎｇ Ｉ'ｄ ｇｅｔ ｔｈａｔ ｊｏｂ. Ｉｔ'ｓ ａ ｓｐｅｃｉａｌ ｐｌａｃｅ ｙｏｕ ｈａｖｅ ｔｏ ｗｉｌｌ ｙｏｕｒｓｅｌｆ ｉｎｔｏ, ｗｉｔｈ ｎｏｔ ｊｕｓｔ ｐｏｓｉｔｉｖｅ ｔｈｉｎｋｉｎｇ ｂｕｔ ｗｉｔｈ ａｎ ａｃｔｕａｌ ｃｏｍｍｕｎｉｏｎ ｗｉｔｈ ａ ｈｉｇｈｅｒ ｅｎｔｉｔｙ ｏｒ ｌｉｆｅ ｆｏｒｃｅ. Ｕｎｆｏｒｔｕｎａｔｅｌｙ, ｔｈｅ ｄｉｓｃｏｕｒａｇｅｍｅｎｔｓ ｏｆ ｌｏｎｇ-ｔｅｒｍ ｕｎｅｍｐｌｏｙｍｅｎｔ ｃａｎ ｂｅｉｎｇ ａ ｐｅｒｓｏｎ ｔｏ ｂｅｇｉｎ ｔｏ ｄｏｕｂｔ ｔｈｅ ｐｏｓｉｔｉｖｅ ｉｎｔｅｎｔｉｏｎｓ ｏｆ ｔｈａｔ ｈｉｇｈｅｒ ｅｎｔｉｔｙ ｏｒ ｌｉｆｅ ｆｏｒｃｅ. Ｂｕｔ ｄｏｎ'ｔ ｙｏｕ ｂｅｌｉｅｖｅ ｉｔ. |
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