| August 7, 1990 | Issue 7 | Aloha, Oregon |
In this issue:
It’s Not Just a Job…
For the past few whiles, I’ve been working as a security guard. But unless you are a professional at staying awake all night while doing nothing, I don’t recommend the job.
I’ve been guarding an apartment building right in the heart of downtown Portland from 0100 hours to 0900 hours, so anything that happens is some pretty major excitement. Like this one time, the elevator came down to the lobby, and the doors opened and (this was Really Exciting) there was no one inside!! Events of this magnitude happen as often as once every 96 hours.
The true source of mind wrenching terror is the tenants themselves. The building is equal opportunity housing, which means that everyone there has a Problem. The Problems divide neatly into two categories: mental and physical. Paranoid schizophrenics can be very interesting people. And sometimes the medical cards are tantalizingly vague, saying things like “psychotic disorder”. What’s even more fun is to have someone who is mentally disturbed come in drunk. This one guy came in and talked about Brazil, social security, testosterone injections and being forced to have a few beers–all in one sentence. Then he said that I scared the hell out of him. Some of the people are just kind of funny. One guy, who looked like he hadn’t slept since 1979 came down sipping on a Coke. He said he couldn’t sleep, so he thought he’d go out for a coffee.
Some of the folks are downright pleasant. One old lady gets up early every morning to feed the pigeons in the park. She always waves to me with this cute little wave, and goes out the door with a large sack of bread crumbs. But even she poses a sort of mystery. Where does she manage to get such a big bag of crumbs every day?
I could go on and on about the drug dealers and scandals with the other guards, but that’s all pretty boring. But there was a teen romance type of book sitting in the office that was checked out of the county library. It is 970 days over-due.
Think
I’ve been doing some reading on artificial intelligence lately, which I find fascinating. One author and researcher is of the opinion that computers are kind of worthless these days, and until we make them smarter, people will have to know all kinds of trash to be able to use them effectively. So since I’m a computer science major, and I would kind of like to work in artificial intelligence, all this stuff that I’m learning is the trash that will be put to use so that no one needs to know what I know, and if I’m truly successful, I’ll make myself obsolete.
But wouldn’t it be great to have smart computers? You could just talk to it in a regular voice, and say something like, “Gee, I’m kind of hungry.” The computer would then reply, “Well, since you didn’t go shopping you don’t have much to eat here in the house. Tom just got a pay raise today, though, so he wants to celebrate somehow–like taking a friend out to dinner, perhaps. Someone just gave him one last piece of work to do before he goes home, so can be reached at his office until 5:09 PM. Judy is in a cooking mood today so if you stop by at 5:34 PM she will invite you to dinner. By the way, the answer to that third calculus problem that you’ve been working on is the square root of pi, and it is going to begin raining in 53 seconds.”
Wanted
If anyone can find a pair of men’s black canvas shoes that have black rubber around the bottom edge instead of white, please contact me immediately. Oh, it would be best if they were new and for sale. I think that I own the only pair in the entire country, and mine are worn out. I think that I’m getting a little desperate in my search. I even look at people’s shoes in my dreams to see if they are wearing a pair like I want so I can ask them where they got them.
Other Stuff
I’ve been doing all kinds of other things, too. They all seemed very important at the time, and were very fun or productive or something.
But despite all of that, I’ll be headed back to Provo in about three weeks. No comment.
Gosh, I just got terribly depressed or something. Ha ha! Some humor is needed!
- Spouse, n.:
- Someone who’ll stand by you through all the trouble you wouldn’t have had if you’d stayed single.
- Fifth Law of Applied Terror:
- If you are given an open-book exam, you will forget your book. Corollary: If you are given a take-home exam, you will forget where you live.
I feel better now.
Love,
Eric James Smith, Ed.
Copyright � Eric Smith, 1989-1998, All rights reserved.