Stayed here in the office until 10:30p last night working on round-2 of moving the boxes of books out of my boss’s old office. Lots of memories still, every time I go in there.

It used to be such a pressure cooker in there. You had to be at your best when going in to chat with him because he forced you to pay attention to your words, and to say what you really mean, which means taking care with your speaking. It was great for me, because I like learning. It was terror for others.

Because I was here so late and needed special access to an underground tunnel that leads to a street exit, I got some help from a security guy. 34 years old, covered in tattoos, missing front-left incisor tooth. White, heavy Yonkers accent. We chatted a lot. He has two kids with two women, neither of which he sees much. He lives in a single room on 145th that he rents from an older Dominican woman, $150/wk, in order to make his two child support payments.

He told me stories of the secret crimes and instances that happen around my workplace that never get reported because the institution wants to protect its image and its name– robberies and suicides especially.

We commiserated about work a bit, but parts were impossible for me to connect with. He was talking about taking the next level up in security, but concerned about all the headaches he’d have to deal with, BUT “it’s a full 80 cents more, you know?”  Which means an extra $0.80/hr. Imagine that. A worker who has to think carefully about an extra $0.80/hr of work.

Right down the block we had administrators who have to think carefully about an extra $50,000.00/year. Exclusionary capitalism.

Today my upper back is a bit sore from moving all the boxes, feels good. Me and the security guy are going to Dinosaur for some beers this weekend so I can thank him for his help last night. I also want to hear more stories.

West Indies parade this weekend. And I’m redesigning my living room again.

Talk soon,

Duck