Happier Things

I have not written much about my first love, horses. It’s about time I do.
I was always a horsey kid. I cannot remember a time when I didn’t love them. My mom has a photo of me, perhaps at the age of 12 to 18 months, sitting atop a neighbor’s horse (the horse’s name was Sammy), holding onto the saddle horn. I have no memory of that photo.
One of my earliest memories, perhaps at the age of three, is that of me feeding a horse from our backyard in Eureka. In hindsight, that horse might actually have been a mule, but that’s of no matter. I remember waiting for that equine’s daily visits.
My first horse was a pony named Dynamite. My non-horsey dad brought him home one day while I was at dance class. I vividly remember being dropped off by the neighbor, whose daughter was my age and at that time my BFF. The gray pony was tied to the swing set in the front yard. I think my dad was busy building his pen.
Years later I learned that the pony was a stallion and probably only half-broke. My dad borrowed a saddle from one of his cousins, and the bit we used on him was a ring snaffle with no stopping power. My riding lessons consisted of being put on Dynamite’s back, and being told to kick and cluck. I am sure that he ran off with me too many times to count, straight up the hill behind our house, toward the low oak trees that grew on the property surrounding the house. I remember one time that Dynamite had done just that, and my dad was not going to climb that hill and rescue me. I was crying, kicking that little devil, trying to pull him around and point him down the hill.
There was also the time Dynamite cornered me and bit me on the shoulder, managing to get his mouth and teeth all the way around my scrawny left shoulder. Again my dad rescued me—that pony was like a pit bull, with his laws firmly locked and me screaming hysterically.
That pony was gone by the time I started kindergarten. I bought my first real horse when I was in 5th grade, with my own money earned from babysitting and working in the fields. From that time, until 1997 or so, I was owned by at least one horse.
Here I am 50 years later, horseless. So I try to live vicariously by looking at horses from afar, wishing I had a place to keep a horse, brave enough to defy my doctor who told me that horseback riding was not a good thing for a fused back.
So for today, I am sharing two images of horses that have touched me and made me miss my horses all the more. One of the photos, that of the dark bay horse, is Zenyatta, 2010’s Horse of the Year, and one of the best thoroughbred mares to grace the track. She’s only the second racehorse I have been attached to, the first being the immortal Ruffian.
We know how that ended. Zenyatta’s story is much happier—she’s recently retired and waiting to go into heat, when she will be bred for her first foal. Z’s handlers have a website for her, with a daily blog entry. It’s so sweet that her people love her so much, that she is more than a machine. Z herself has obvious personality, and I am excited to meet her first not-yet-conceived baby.
The other two photos are of a paint mare that recently went through an auction ring in New Jersey. I do not know her name. With the economy in its present slump, many well-loved horses find themselves at auction, with no buyers, and no hay at home to feed that horse anymore. This mare, said to be a family horse, lived that nightmare on Wednesday night. She ended up in a feedlot pen, that is, she was headed to slaughter in Canada. Of all the horses that ended up in pen #10, she is the first one I would have taken home.
She had until today (Saturday) to find a home, or there was a very good chance she would be headed to Canada. Last night I learned she was still there, and I just sat here by myself and cried. Not only am I on the other side of the country, I had no money to buy her or even call the sales barn and offer to pay for her food for a week, just to buy her more time.
This morning I learned that pretty paint mare been purchased and would be rescued from pen #10. It was a nice way to start my Saturday.
Even though it makes me sad, I think I will take the time to write about my horses. Now if I can find photos …

Observations on the Craziness that are Michael Jackson Fans ...

I certainly have been neglectful in writing for fun, haven’t I? It’s certainly not due to being too busy with work, but that’s a rant for another day.

I’m still crime/trial watching, but not as much as I would like, because my daughter thinks I am a doddering nutcase when I do so. However, how can anyone who grew up in the 1970s miss what is going on with the manslaughter trial of Conrad Murray, the physician who was Michael Jackson’s “personal physician,” a man about to be convicted of involuntary manslaughter for gross negligence in Jackson’s death in June 2009.

To me it’s a cut-and-dried case, and I won’t write about that in more depth at this time. What I will write about is how the crazies come out whenever Jackson is mentioned.

My friend Betsy, who not only enjoys reading and writing about crime, lives close enough to the courthouse in Los Angeles to attend trials that pique her interest. She’s worked very hard to be a professional when writing about crimes, and because of her professionalism in blogging about other trials (most noteworthy most of Spector I and every day of Spector II), has earned the respect of the courthouse’s public information officer, and is now considered a member of the media—and that’s a big deal.

Last month she braved LA County public transit and attended the aforementioned Dr. Murray, knowing she would likely “watch” the proceedings from a media overflow room. Working against uncomfortable chairs, less-then-perfect visuals and challenging audio, she took notes during prosecution witness testimony, and posted to her website, Trials and Tribulations.

That’s when the lunatics came out in force. Said lunatics are fans of Michael Jackson who honestly believe a saint was murdered and that Jackson was the victim of a widespread plot.

Hey kooks, here’s the truth: your hero, who was most likely a child molester at worst, someone who no doubt crossed the line with inappropriate behavior with children, a man who bought his three children, a man who hated himself so much he endured who-knows-how-many plastic surgeries, died because he wanted to dictate his own medical care. After he found a doctor who would do what he wanted, he hired the man, a cardiologist by trade, Jackson told the doctor what he wanted and got it. Jackson could have, should have, bought the very best multidisciplinary health care for himself—sleep specialists, pain control specialists, addiction specialists—any of which could have made a difference and helped him sleep at night.

Jackson made a poor choice of doctors. He did not need a cardiologist—he needed sleep. And being knocked out with whatever general anesthesia agent one desires is not a treatment for insomnia. Period. Plain and simple, Jackson must have liked the feeling of being woozy—isn’t that what addicts do? I watch enough Intervention to see common threads, regardless of what the chemical of abuse is, addicts love the effects, be it feeling down and drooly or wired and paranoid. So what if narcotics were not found in Jackson’s blood after his death—there are plenty of ways to get that floaty feeling, and benzodiazepines fit the bill nicely. I am sure that Jackson’s postmortem hair sample is chock full of interesting information.

It’s been quite amusing reading some of the comments Betsy’s gotten from readers from all over the world. Some are pretty rational, but many are rants about how she should make the district attorney’s office charge Murray with first-degree murder and give him the death penalty immediately. Others are certain Murray is a scapegoat for a larger conspiracy, that AEG wanted Jackson dead and because AEG does business in LA County, the DA’s office won’t really properly investigate and find the masterminds of this “horrific” crime.

Recall that Jackson’s child molestation trial was heavily populated by fans that dressed like Jackson, wore t-shirts with Jackson’s image, and waited outside just to have a glimpse of their hero. There is no doubt that Murray’s trial will bring out the same kind of kooks.

So I guess this is my rhetorical question for today: what is so lacking in those people’s lives to defend a very flawed human being years after his death? Whenever anyone says or writes anything they believe is unflattering to Jackson, they become unhinged and accuse the writer of bias, prejudice, being a “hater,” jealous of Michael’s God-given talent—on and on. What makes a person be a fan of something to the point of blindness? I truly loved the Beatles, but I understood from a young age each was an individual, each flawed, and perhaps John, Paul and George worthy of my admiration for their musicianship and ability to write memorable music.

I don’t immerse myself in all things Beatles. I don’t spend money on memorabilia. I have a hard time understanding how anyone could worship anything or anyone like Jackson fans worship him? Why waste so much effort on someone who simply made music? And why make other people miserable with rantings, ravings and unkindnesses—especially toward those who do not fall in line with their thinking?

I’ll be researching and writing an article for T & T about the psychology of conspiracy theories. Perhaps I should also research why some people become so fanatical about someone (usually a celebrity), to the point of being blind and oblivious about that person’s faults. There is only one perfect thing in our universe, and we’d be better served being fanatical about Him.

P.S. Can you tell I am not a fan of Michael Jackson? Never was, never will be.

Why I am not Electable to Any Public Office

One of the very best things about social media such as Facebook is connecting with like-minded individuals. The title of this blog indicates that I feel I am a moderate Republican. Actually I am more likely to be a Libertarian.

Many times after making a quite-opinionated post, friends have said “I’d vote for you,” and “Why don’t you run for office?” So, in the name of fun, I’ll put my platform out first, then tell you why I cannot run—the so-called “skeletons in my closet.”

Catherine’s Platform

I tend to be socially liberal but fiscally conservative. For this reason, I could not run as a Republican. So let’s put the some of the stuff out there that makes me a RINO (Republican in Name Only). Here are the things I am for—I’ll write about what I’m against in another entry.

I am pro-choice. I am not pro-choice as a method of birth control.
I am okay with gay marriage. I do sort of squirm when the term “marriage” is used because of my Catholic upbringing, but if marriage is looked at as declaring love between two people and then expecting that couple to remain faithful to each other (and what I mean by faithful is sexually exclusive), then so be it.

Those two issues are between an individual and God. Yes, I know in God. God will take care of everything. If abortion and gay marriage are wrong, He will make each of us answer to it.

The above two positions are enough to brand me a RINO. It’s a shame, but I certainly can understand conservatives’ beliefs, and know they are entitled to it. Call me a Libertarian then—I think that political ideology fits me best.

I believe that the United States must secure its borders. I’d put priority on the southern border first, of course. I do think Canada tries its best to control who comes in—have you looked at Canada’s immigration requirements? Now you might argue here that Mexico’s immigration laws are pretty strict, too, though the corruptness of those in public service means anyone can buy what they want in Mexico, including turning the other cheek. But there are people getting into Mexico who have no business being there—potential terrorists—and I don’t think Mexico’s southern border is terribly tough to get through either. Securing the border comes down to two reasons: one, to keep potential terrorists out; two, to keep people who will be an economic drain out; and three, to protect the jobs of Americans or people in the United States with proper work visas.

I think the 14th Amendment needs to be clarified to omit the “anchor baby” loophole that is being so overused and abused. It doesn’t have to be complicated—children born of U.S. citizens are citizens. Children born on U. S. soil of one U.S. citizen and one legal immigrant (that’s me) can be U.S. citizens if the parents choose (there are times I wish I had dual citizenship with Germany). Children born of a couple here on a green card/work visa can be U.S. citizens if the parents choose. Children born of a parent or parents in the U.S. illegally (no green card, no work permit) are not U.S. citizens. A birth certificate will be issued, but marked “not valid for proof of citizenship.” Contact information for an embassy of the parent’s home nation will be provided so they can follow up and obtain documentation of the child’s nationality. ICE will be informed and the parents and child, or children, are subject to deportation.

I am for the federal health care legislation being repealed. I am for tort reform.
I am for education vouchers for parents of children who live in districts where the schools are sub-par. However, those vouchers should be for no more than the current national average—around $10,000 per student. And those children must be U.S. citizens or have a green card. No more free ride for non-citizens.

Yes, I know making children “pay” for the crimes/mistakes of their parents is cruel and un-American. Perhaps people who cross into the U.S. illegally to birth those anchor babies would think twice about breaking the law when there are no benefits to be gained—no welfare for a non-citizen infant.

I am for limits on how long a person can receive welfare. I prefer that welfare recipients be subject to drug testing, and for able-bodied people, community service. The idea that families are on welfare for generations has got to stop.

I am for a strong, prepared military outfitted with the very best equipment possible.

I am for term limits for elected officials. “Career politicians” will become a thing of the past. Sure, a person seeking a career in politics, and I’m fine with a person starting at the local level, and working his or her way through the state and federal office, but NOT occupying an elected office for more than two terms.

I am for responsible spending. I think every elected official who takes part in creating a budget or spending government funds (which are really our tax dollars) need to honestly ask if he or she would spend his or her own money in that way. Spend each dollar as if it is an investment. Spend it in a way that benefits the majority of Americans, not a special interest group.

What is a Liberal? and other rantings ...

I just finished reading a though-provoking article by George Will on Investors.com. First, let me say I am not in a position to invest anything (I have $48 in the bank until the education non-profit decides to pay me for several large invoices they have in hand, which can be anywhere from now to the end of the month, whenever they feel like it, and their ain't shit I can do about it). I was reading an article that had been posted on Facebook critical of' the way the current presidential administration has handled the uncapped oil well in the Gulf of Mexico, and all of the politics behind it, including BP being a big cash contributor for the current president’s campaign (I hate to type his name) and how that same president’s Interior Department gave BP a categorical environmental exception in April 2009. Very interesting … can’t blame Bush.

The linked article, “Progressivism and Limits of a Welfare State” was quite eye opening. Living in the Bay Area, one is surrounded by “progressives,” yet when you sit down with many of these people, they like, and dislike, the same things government or American society does as I do.

I ask my Democrat friends if they like paying high taxes, having no say where the money goes, and if they are fine with lifers and generations of families who have made welfare their way of life. They of course say no. I ask them if they are fine with government expanding and having a say in everything they do, from banning fast food to penalizing people who can’t or won’t buy health care as forced in the wonderful health care bill that was shoved down our throats. Mind you, most of these people are employed and have cadillac insurance, so they don’t worry about that. I ask them if they are okay with the courts letting violent criminals off with a slap on the wrist and way-too-short prison sentences. Most aren’t. I ask them if they are fine with H1-B people potentially taking their jobs because they will work for less money. Most are not. I ask them if they are fine with unchecked immigration from the south and H1-B workers overstaying their visas. Most aren’t.

They ask me about civil and gay rights. I reply I think they need to stop being an issue in order to promote true equality. I reply that I think no group of Americans (operative word: Americans or people here legally) should have preference over another. And, yes, I think Americans and people here legally have rights, and those here illegally forfeited their rights when they came here illegally. Those people don’t deserved to be harmed or victims of violence, but they do not have the right to say “the Europeans took this country from Native Americans.” That was hundreds of years ago. Get over it. Besides, aren’t most Mexicans of Spanish descent anyway? Last I looked, Spain was in Europe. At least it was when I went there one summer in high school to learn Spanish …

While I’m ranting about race, there was a story in yesterday’s San Francisco paper about children panhandling (under the guise of selling snacks) in the Embarcadero BART station, and on the streets of SF itself. These kids were brought over in a van from Oakland, during both school and off-school hours, in the name of soliciting funds for their Baptist church school. The race of the kids: black. The pastor of the church who compelled the kids to climb into the van and beg for cash: black. The reasons for fundraising have been found to be untruthful (an expansion of the school, with no building permits in place or concrete plans for building; a trip to Washington, D.C. on May 5 that didn’t happen), but because it’s black-on-black, no outrage? No outrage that black-on-black or Latino-on-Latino violence is so prevalent and epidemic? Are we adopting the attitude that it’s okay if they kill themselves? Where is the outrage? Stop perpetuating stereotypes in your own people, damn it.

So I guess I am firmly a Libertarian, but because of the two-party system, have to identify as a Republican. I do not believe government is responsible for making the United States a utopia; that’s best done by individual effort. I do believe that government has a role in regulating certain things: why was BP given that environmental exemption so quickly into the current presidential regime? How is it that drilling for oil doesn’t have worst-case scenarios in place before this happens? Oh yeah, it’s because the current prez says it’s okay …

If you are in California and registered to vote, please do so next week. And consider ridding yourself of any incumbent, regardless of party affiliation.

(Insert plug about Tom Campbell here. If he’s the only Republican senatorial candidate who can beat Barbara Boxer in November, yet he’s behind Carly “buy an office” Fiorina in the polls, we are in deep shit, my friends. Expect more of the same from our state: broke, overrun with illegals, gangs, and crime).

Happy aside: I had my three-level bilateral rhizotomy on May 20, and it’s working. I hope to get lots of mileage out of it, though it can last anywhere from 5 to 18 months. Worker’s comp was found to be out of compliance in its notification to the physician, and my worker’s comp attorney was mobilizing to make inquiries when the procedure was okayed. Now the carrier doesn’t want to pay for pain pills anymore … for heaven’s sake, my lower back is fused, and it was 18 years ago. The facet pain is gone but the forever backache isn’t! Fortunately I need a lot less pain med now than I did two weeks ago.

The worker’s comp game

Not my spine, but I did have instrumentation like it in there for about 18 months, along with bone grafts at the front of the spine.

Let me tell you something up front—this is a game you never want to have to start playing. It is a merry-go-round from hell if you receive an on-the-job injury that will require ongoing care.

My odyssey began in late April 1989. I’d hurt my back at the previous hospital I’d worked at, but nothing to the point of daily back pain. Actually my knees gave me more trouble back then. I left that job thinking the job at the prison would have been easier. And it was, physically that is.

Like all acute back injuries, a little bit of time, a little bit of physical therapy and you are right back at it. This one was different. The next day the pain radiated down both legs, and I felt like I’d been driven over by a truck. I went to my internal medicine doctor who prescribed me muscle relaxants and a referral to a neurologist. I seriously should not have seen that neurologist. What an arrogant quack!

Unfortunately for me, he’d examined my sister years before he’d examined me. But with her drug-seeking behaviors, he assumed I was just like her, faking or acting out an injury looking for drugs. So he ordered an MRI scan which he claimed showed no reason for my out-of-control back pain. Yes, there might have been a tiny herniation or two, but that wasn’t the problem. This doctor eventually released me back to work because he did not believe I was as crippled as I was.

I then went to the prison’s comp doctor who referred me to the Spinecare Group in Daly City. Up to that time I didn’t even have a diagnosis, a full eight months after the injury.

So for 21 years now, I have been a patient of Dr. James Reynolds. I don’t doctor-shop, I don’t poly-pharmacy, and I don’t supplement my meager pain medication with street drugs, marijuana or heroin. I take only what this ONE doctor prescribes for pain. And I have not been on pain medication continuously for 21 years!

To read one of the worker’s comp reports, you’d think I am a drug abusing faking malingerer who should be out of their hair by now. So, State Fund denied treatment my doctor ordered back in November, and they sent the denial notice so late that the doctor’s office could not file a timely appeal.

Yesterday I got a letter in the mail saying the procedure was denied, and that they would no longer approve the refills of pain pills. The reason for denial was that my doctor did not specifically define what makes me "bad" and what I can do when I am "good" after a rhizotomy. His stating "she is more active and improved after she receives the injections" and "she does not walk very far and has more pain when she needs the injections" is not specific enough for some quack who has never seen me and doesn't have half the surgical skills as Dr. Reynolds.

Mind you, this is a case that was settled back in 1995. You’d think the rules that applied then apply now.

Nope. They write ‘em up as they go. The scheduler at the doctor’s office assured me that this is the usual game of a worker’s comp carrier after the worker’s comp reforms were voted in. Delay delay delay; deny deny deny. Eventually the patient will give up and deal with it in whatever way possible.

I voted for those reforms, because there is much waste and malingering and misuse. But you’d think that three prior spinal surgeries indicates that there was indeed something wrong, and despite “fixing it,” something of that magnitude needs follow-up care.

Back when the case was settled, State Fund offered me $65K to walk away from medical benefits. I did not.

I’m guessing State Fund has to be such a bunch of assholes to a legitimate claim to save face for being so screwed over by Octomom.

At any rate, the doctor’s office was going to call the comp carrier and complain that they did not receive paperwork in a timely manner, and I told the clerk that she could tell the insurance adjuster that I am no longer driving, that I can’t sit at my desk for any length of time because my formerly perfect special chair doesn’t work anymore, and that in the morning the pain is so excruciating I cannot stand straight and walk with a shuffle for about an hour. It takes about 3 hours for my back to loosen up enough to move around like a semi-normal person.

I don’t sleep well; the pain breaks through the medication. And I am not taking anything particularly nasty—Double-strength Vicodin, which does not impair me in any way. It takes the edge off and I accept I will never be pain free.

So the timetable is another doctor’s appointment on May 11, then another THREE months before the comp carrier has to make a decision. UNLESS of course my doctor gets pissed off and calls someone while I am on the premises.

All I need are four little needles stuck into the facet joints on either side of L3-4 and L2-3, and zap the little buggers. I won’t be pain-free, but the nature of the pain will change and I’ll be able to walk the three blocks from the light rail to work, when I am required to work onsite. I’ll be able to take my cats for strolls around the neighborhood. And I might be able to sleep more than an hour or two at a time.

I am beginning to see how desperate people with back pain can become though. I am seriously considering packing it in, giving up trying to get jobs in the Bay Area, and return to crappy rural King City where there will be no jobs for me. I guess the advantage would be is I’d have lots of time to work on novels that may never be sold.

And it really scares me thinking I may be denied pain medication—will I turn to alcohol? Try pot? Or do what killed my sister and sister-in-law—go get stuff off the street? It makes me sick thinking about it, but I am beginning to understand the desperation.

Single Mom Breaks Stereotype

I’ve been sitting on this one for a couple of weeks, but after a conversation with a friend who works in higher education, I guess it’s time for me to purge and share some thoughts again. As usual, things are a bit of a stretch for me, so be patient.

There is this stereotype, all too often proven correct, that a child born to a single mom is destined for … nothing. Right now in college (especially community college, which certainly can be nothing more than a place for people to hide and avoid adulthood!) there are so many kids, especially males, who give their professors grief through disrespectful behavior and the attitude “You owe me, my life’s been rough thus far.” Plenty of these kids are from single-parent households.

The “you owe me” attitude is something people learn at home. My opinion, it’s all about the entitlement attitude that the United States has created through its welfare system. Start with one female, most likely with no education herself and coming from a family with the “you owe me” attitude herself. A baby equals a nice government check.

An attitude like this creates communities like Oakland, chock full of gangs and aimless young men who disrespect women. And they perpetuate the cycle, and their sisters, who may not be in gangs, perpetuate the cycle.

So when you come across someone who breaks—or rather, shatters—the stereotype, you can’t help but wonder why more families can’t get it right.

The mom in question was 15 or 16 when she became pregnant. My own daughter was a preschooler at the time. This young woman (let’s call her B) decided to keep the baby and finish high school. Her family rallied around her. Sure, they would have preferred she not do things that way, but her pregnancy and the eventual baby were never viewed as a tragedy or a source of a government check.

The baby, a boy, J, had plenty of good strong male role models who were not his father. He has a loving grandpa, uncles, cousins, and an uncle who was right there. His mom did eventually get married and when J was around junior high age, B had another son.

Fast forward 23 years. B is again a single mom, finishing prerequisite classes to apply for an RN program. She’s raising her second son, a great kid. J attended college and today is a talented journalist and gifted writer. Talented journalist and gifted writer are terms I do not toss about lightly.

Did I mention B inherited her grandmother’s cooking abilities and if she chose to do so, could probably support herself as a baker of fancy cakes?

Never has B looked at her boys at a source of cash. Her family circled the wagons and offered support and guidance to the young woman. Nothing but success was ever expected of her and her boys. B’s family is firmly middle-class, by no means wealthy, but they sacrificed to make sure B was able to care for J. J grew up knowing nothing but love, and his family expected nothing but good things for and about him. No excuses.

Why do B and J have to be the exception? Anecdotally, how many single moms do you know who did NOT end up on welfare for years, who did NOT continue to have babies (and plenty of deadbeat baby daddies), and whose babies used every excuse in the book to explain their eventual failures?

B will make an excellent RN within the next couple of years; I have no doubt J will someday end up winning a Pulitzer Prize, he’s that gifted. Son #2 will do whatever he wants and will no doubt be as successful as both J and his mom.

This family needs to write an instruction manual on how to successfully raise a kid! High expectations + no excuses + no sense of entitlement = successful young adult/human being who will make a difference in this world.

good people dealing with bullshit ... why is life so damn unfair?

I had dinner with a dear friend on Thursday night. This woman is one of the kindest, most honest people I know. She loves her job and never loses sight that her job is in the service of college students, no matter how frustrating their behavior may be sometimes!

She is having trouble at work thanks to a supervisor who is clueless about the job she does, but he's throwing his weight around as an "office manager." She's been at the job four years longer than he has ... I think the only reason she was not/can not be promoted to a position of authority is the fact her college degree was not earned on U.S. soil and although it's called a B.S. or B.A., it's really not in the eyes of the college she works for,

For as long as she's held the job, her start time and hours were from 8:30 a.m. to 5:30 p.m. That *hour* for lunch she seldom took in its entirety; the students needed her and she is pretty much always available. She never leaves work at 5:30. I can't think of a single time she's met me in the parking lot at 5:30 ... if she's working with a student, she finishes that exchange.

Her new boss, on the job for a year, has never said anything to her about her work hours being any different. But last month, he wrote her up for being "late" and deducted time from her timesheet. She was always careful to make up that missed time: if she came in ten minutes late, she stayed ten minutes later.

His main bitch: She was consistently 30 minutes late from her start time of 8 a.m.! She had no idea she was supposed to be at work at 8—AND said supervisor never verbally counseled her, but rather kept notes and confronted her with a written warning about tardiness.

This woman does not deserve such treatment!

Why is it when small insecure people get into "power" they do stuff like this? I have a feeling he's trying to look *tough* and protective toward the college, making sure every employee gives good value for their wage. Nothing wrong with that. What is wrong is forgetting you are dealing with human beings ... and how important it is to foster a sense of teamwork and openness at work.

My friend has yet to pull her union into this. I am not a fan of unions but this is why people pay dues: when they are treated unfairly, the union is supposed to be her advocate. I also told her that if her hours are 8 to 5, then she needs to start work at 8 and walk out the door at 5:01. Never mind if there are students waiting for her assistance. Let her boss deal with the students' complaints. Maybe he will be forced to learn her job ... maybe he will understand the nature of working for a college. It's there for education and not pissing matches.

Obviously doing a good job and caring about said job is really not important anymore.