Time Wasted

This would have been posted last night, but my Internet connection cut out. So, no, I haven't missed an entry already.

Today I spent nearly three hours wasting my time at a meeting. I can barely remember the discussion that started the meeting—one concerning state aid and sidewalks and a small town's main street area. What I remember is an hour and a half of six people nattering over the specifics of a law that may or may not have prevented one of the town's boards from repairing a crumbling wall next to a grave yard. I've seen few things more pointless in my lifetime.

The show started after that. As soon as the next group entered, one of the selectmen recused himself and bailed. In the following moments, there were shouts, tears and accusations.

A salty character from the town's outer reaches closed a pet store he owned because the landlord kept jacking his rent. With that location down, he intended to resume activities at his first location: his home. Unfortunately, he announced this is a move. The selectmen interpreted this as a move that violated town zoning laws. As far as I can tell, it didn't. His business started in 1977, fully ten years before the town laid zoning regulations on its citizens. He was grandfathered in.

The select board chair remained cool amid requests that he recuse himself and the upset crowd in the room. Ultimately, they came to what seemed reasonable ground, but that chair made my skin crawl. My first impressions aren't always right, but I got the feeling that this was the type of guy that would beat his wife, wash his shirt and go back to work with a smile the next morning. He reminded me of Ed Deapneau from Stephen King's Insomnia.

The drama ended after 30 minutes. I spent three and a half hours, and all I got was one story and a creeping sensation that the head of this board was bad news. At least I got paid.

I capped the night by playing board games around the corner with a newly discovered group of friends. I'll call this the high point of the day, but I let it stretch to late. The time-stamp won't tell you this, but it's currently ten minutes of two in the morning, and I should get up no later than 9:00 tomorrow. Poor planning. At least that weekend's on it's way.

Better

I filed four stories today. I'll touch them up tomorrow, and they'll print Thursday. There I'll be, a full-time reporter with my first batch of stories.

Other firsts: today I got my first memo. Coincidentally, I received that after returning from my first meeting (at this paper, anyway) with a public figure I didn't entirely trust. I don't really care that this guy is probably in the closet. He can play the straight-man game all he wants. I don't trust him because he's one of those people that uses a lot of words that don't mean anything when he doesn't want to talk about a subject.

Anyway, work went well. We have a fridge now, so I can store my meat and bread. I found myself eating a second sandwich today, two hours after the first. I'm not sure if I was actually hungry, or feeding nerves.

What I had thought would be my best source for extra-curricular socialization proved not to be. There's a game store down the street. Unfortunately, they close at 8:00 most nights. When you figure I don't get out of work until 5:30-6:00, then tack on a 30 minute drive and dinner, that doesn't leave much time. I hate to think I'm going to have to find a bar. I can't afford beer I'd like to drink. Hell, I can't afford beer I don't like to drink.

Alright. That's it. I'm going to relax and go to bed. More tomorrow.

Day 1

I don't know what I expected. What I got was boredom. I woke in the morning and trolled the New York Times and another large regional paper and found a few national stories I thought I could localize. Two fizzled, and one got deferred.

I thought it would be a good idea to write a story pegged to the announcement that the U.S., even if it reduces the troop count in Iraq, will maintain the current levels in Western Iraq--where most of the nastiest business is going. I hiked over to the local national guard unit and asked how many of our men were in Western Iraq. None, he told me. Well, how many are in Iraq. None still. They all came home recently. Another cluster will go out in a few weeks, but he couldn't tell me what part of Iraq they were headed to.

I chased the story a little further by calling the National Guard public affairs guy. He repeated what the first one said. My story washed.

The other story went much the same way. I thought I had a local angle on the town, but I didn't. I thought the contractor might provide a local angle, but they're based too far away.

I spent most of the day bored, but I did learn a few things. First, if you go through the citizen's police academy in this area, you get to shoot an AR-15. That's pretty cool. Second, I'm drastically over-dressed to work in this area. My editor tossed on a beat-up baseball hat to go to lunch, and one guy showed up to the town meeting I covered tonight in jeans, suspenders and sandals.

The meeting proved to be the biggest point of legal interest. A local was driving across a bridge one night when the bridge broke. A board snapped up and ripped open her oil tank and transmission fluid reservoir. Her car was toast, and she asked the town to pay for it. Her insurance wouldn't cover it because she didn't have any, but the town's opted not to cover the accident either.

There are a number of personal elements here that make this woman the picture of "the little guy," but we won't go in to that. The legal question remains, who should be at fault? The town owns the road and has a responsibility to maintain its bridges... So shouldn't the town be responsible? But how can you hold them responsible for a freak accident? Ponder that one.

One last note. I bought a pound of turkey, a loaf of bread and a jar of pickles to take to work. I planned to keep this in the fridge and eat it for lunch for the rest of the week. Half way to the office, I realized I forgot my food. I cursed myself, but it turned out to be a happy accident. They hadn't installed the fridge yet. The turkey would have spoiled.

On the eve of my first day

I found my room yesterday. I checked it out, liked it and cut them a check for $700. Today, I moved in. Tomorrow morning, I start at my first paper. I completed the orientation Friday. I don't know what they have planned for me, but I bought some reporter's notebooks and brought a fist-full of mechanical pencils. I bought a filing cabinet and some hanging files. I cooked dinner. I'm feeding myself on $50 a week. I have to. I'm only making $11.00 an hour. Tomorrow, we'll begin to find out what this state has to offer me.