Swearin’ Proper

Swearin’ Proper

by | Aug 17, 2015 | Literature | 0 comments

finleypeterdunne

Finley Peter Dunne

Just a few weeks ago, I introduced you here to Finley Peter Dunne – or more importantly to Mr. Dooley.  Usually, I would let it go at that and know you were making the time and effort to explore his writing and his humor on your own.  But it’s the summer and I’m sure you’re too busy trying not to work so I’ll bring you just one more (shorter) selection to enjoy.  And in the spirit of this excerpt about appropriate swearing, and as one who grew up in a house where swearing was as common as houseflies in summer, let me say to hell with reading emails to which you won’t bother replying and put your feet on your desk and read this damn thing.

“I don’t believe in profanity, Hinnissy – not as a reg’lar thing. But it has its uses an’ its place. F’r instance, it is issintial to some thrades. No man can be a printer without swearin’. ‘Tis impossible. I mind wanst I wint to a printin’ office where a frind iv mine be th’ name iv Donovan held cases an’ I heerd it’s foreman say: ‘What gintleman is setting A thirty?’ he says. ‘I am,’ says a pale aristocrat with black whiskers who was atin’ tobacco in th’ rear iv th’ room. ‘Thin,’ says th’ foreman, ‘ye blanket-blank blacksmith, get a move on ye. D’ye think this is a annyooal incyclopejee?’ he says. Ivrybody swore at ivrybody else. Th’ little boys runnin’ around with type prattled innocent pro-fanity an’ afther awhile th’ iditor come in an’ he swore more thin annybody else. But ‘twas easy to see he’d not larned th’ thrade iv printer. He swore with th’ enthusiasm an’ inacc’racy iv an amachoor, though I mus’ say, he had his good pints. I wisht I cud raymimber what it was he called th’ Czar iv Rooshya f’r dyin’ jus’ as th’ pa-aper was goin’ to press. I cud’ve often used it since. But it’s slipped my mind.

“Swearin’ belongs to some thrades, – like printin’, bricklayin’ an’ plumbin’. It is no help at all, at all to tailors, shoemakers, hair-dressers, dintists or authors. A surgeon needs it but a doctor niver. It is a great help in unloadin’ a ship an’ sailor men always swear – th’ cap’n an’ mate whin wurruk is goin’ on an’ th’ men before th’ mast at meals. Sojers mus’ swear. They’se no way out iv it. It’s as much th’ equipment iv a sojer as catridges. In vigorous spoort it is niciss’ry but niver at checkers or chess an’ seldom at dominoes. Cowboys are compelled to use it. No wan cud rope a cow or cinch a pony without swearin’. A sthrick bringin’ up is th’ same as havin’ a wooden leg on th’ plains. Profanity shud be used sparingly if at all on childher – especially girls – an’ seldom on women, though I’ve knowed an occasional domestic: ‘Damn ye’er eyes’ to wurruk wondhers in reg-latin’ a fam’ly. Women can’t swear. They have th’ feelin’ but not th’ means. Westhern men swear betther thin Eastern men though I mus’ say th’ mos’ lib’ral swearers I iver knew come fr’m Boston.

“But it don’t do to use pro-fanity th’ way ye wud ordin’ry wurruds. No, sir. Ye’ve got to save it up an’ invist it at th’ right time or get nawthin’ fr’m it. It’s betther thin a doctor f’r a stubbed toe but it niver cured a broken leg. It’s a kind iv a first aid to th’ injured. It seems to deaden th’ pain. Women an’ childher cry or faint whin they’re hurt. That’s because they haven’t th’ gift iv swearin’. But as I tell ye, they’se no good wastin’ it. Th’ man that swears at ivrything has nawthin’ to say when rale throubles come. I hate to hear annywan spillin’ out th’ valyable wurruds that he ought to save to be used whin th’ shtove-pipe come down. Not that it shocks me. I’m a dimmycrat. But I know th’ foolish man is hurtin’ himsilf. Put a little pro-fanity by f’r rainy days, says I. Ye won’t miss it an’ at th’ end iv th’ year whin ye renew ye’er lease ye’ll be surprised to find out how much ye have on hand. But if ye hurl it broadcast, if ivry time ye open ye’er mouth a hot wan lapes out, th’ time will come whin ye’ll want to say something scorchin’ an’ ye’ll have nawthin’ to say that ye haven’t said f’r fun. I’d as soon think iv swearin’ f’r pleasure as iv lindin’ money f’r pleasure. They ain’t too much pro-fanity in th’ wurruld. A good dale iv it has been used up since th’ coal sthrike begun. Th’ governmint ought to preserve it an’ prevent annywan fr’m swearin’ more thin was niciss’ry f’r to support life.”

Stanislavski on Politicians (Sort of)

Stanislavski on Politicians (Sort of)

by | Jul 24, 2015 | Literature, Politics | 0 comments

There is an art to living well and to leading well. And whether in politics, in business, or in acting on a stage, the same ethics and same temptations can equally apply. So while delivering a speech to a captive business or political audience hardly reaches the height of reciting lines from Shakespeare or Chekhov, too often and no matter which venue, the person who is performing believes they are speaking the words of genius.

Perhaps that is why, as I was recently reading Constantin Stanislavski’s Building a Character and came across the following excerpt, I couldn’t help but think of the politicians I see everyday acting out their insecure and coveted roles on TV.

konstantin_stanislavski_in_1938

Constantin Stanislavski in 1938. (Source: https://uttaps.wordpress.com/actor-prepares/stanislavski-the-moscow-art-theater-a-timeline/)

“An actor is on view every day before an audience of a thousand spectators from such and such an hour to such and such an hour. He is surrounded by the magnificent trappings of a production, set against the effective background of painted scenery, dressed often in rich and beautiful clothes. He speaks the soaring lines of geniuses, he makes picturesque gestures, graceful motions, produces impressions of startling beauty – which in large measure are brought about by artful means. Always being in the public eye, displaying his or her best aspects, receiving ovations, accepting extravagant praise, reading glowing criticisms – all these things and many more of the same order constitute immeasurable temptations.

“These breed in an actor the sense of craving for constant, uninterrupted titillation of his personal vanity. But if he lives only on that and similar stimuli he is bound to sink low and become trivial. A serious minded person could not be entertained for long by such a life, yet a shallow one is enthralled, debauched, destroyed by it. That is why in our world of the theatre we must learn to hold ourselves well in check. We have to live by rigid discipline.

“If we keep our theatre free from all types of evil we, by the same token, bring about conditions favourable to our own work in it. Remember this practical piece of advice: Never come into the theatre with mud on your feet. Leave your dust and dirt outside. Check your little worries, squabbles, petty difficulties with your outside clothing – all the things that ruin your life and draw your attention away from your art.”

“Excuse me for pointing this out,” interrupted Grisha, “but no such theatre exists in the world.”

“Unfortunately you are right,” admitted Tortsov. “People are so stupid and spineless that they still prefer to introduce petty, humdrum bickering, spites and intrigues into the place supposedly reserved for creative art.

“They do not seem to be able to clear their throats before they cross the threshold of the theatre, they come inside and spit on the clean floor. It is incomprehensible why they do this!”

(From the chapter “Toward an Ethics for the Theatre”)

A Conversation With Mr. Dooley

A Conversation With Mr. Dooley

by | Jul 23, 2015 | Journalism, Literature | 0 comments

Sometimes the best thing I can write for you is what somebody else wrote first.

— “What’s wan man’s news is another man’s throubles. In these hot days, I’d like to see a pa-aper with nawthin’ in it but affectionate wives an’ loyal husbands an’ prosp’rous, smilin’ people an’ money in th’ bank an’ three a day. That’s what I’m lookin’ f’r in th’ hot weather.”

— “Th’ newspapers have got to print what happens,” said Mr. Hennessy.

— “No,” said Mr. Dooley, “they’ve got to print what’s diff’rent. Whiniver they begin to put headlines on happiness, contint, varchoo, an’ charity, I’ll know things is goin’ as wrong with this country as I think they ar-re ivry naytional campaign.”

Although that’s not from the story that I want you to read, it’s a good place to start as you go grab a Guinness and prepare to meet someone new.

One of America’s great humorists, Finley Peter Dunne deftly skewered much of society back at the turn of the 20th century, from judges and immigration to Theodore Roosevelt and the rights of women. (“They haven’t th’ right to vote, but they have th’ priv’lege iv conthrollin’ th’ man ye ilict.”) Among the most enjoyable, however, is what he wrote about the business of newspapers, in which his stories appeared.

Born in 1867, Dunne was chief editorial writer for the Chicago Post when he began writing these stories with the fictional Mr. Dooley, a loquacious and opinionated Irish bartender in Chicago. For them, he was paid $10 per story – about 40 lei, coincidentally what many writers are paid today for a story here in Romania.

Dunne eventually became nationally famous for his columns, having written hundreds of them, which were then published in various collections. The story here is taken from the book Observations by Mr. Dooley, published in 1902. Titled “Newspaper Publicity,” it’s one of the best, funniest, and in a way, most famous stories about newspapering there is. (Note the phrase: “comforts th’ afflicted, afflicts th’ comfortable.”) There’s even a mention of Roomanya in here.

Interestingly, for all those fame-hungry writers out there today, it might be instructional to know that Dunne’s name does not appear anywhere in this book. There is no author listed. The book is 37 essays and the only star is Mr. Dooley.

[WARNING: As you can see from the quotes above, the stories are all written using spelling that is intended to replicate Mr. Dooley’s thick Irish brogue. It gets easier to understand, the more you work at it. And it turns out, you can get some lessons on youtube for this. Try this one here – though honestly, I couldn’t understand half of what the guy was saying. Or this one here.  Good luck.]

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Not-So-Small Small Change

Not-So-Small Small Change

by | Jul 18, 2015 | Business, Life in Romania | 2 comments

The young woman looked at me like I was crazy. I had just handed her 21 lei to pay for groceries that cost 20.91 lei. She finished helping me bag the items, handed me my receipt and began to ring up the next customer when I interrupted her, forced an awkward smile, and asked her for my change. She looked confused. I repeated my request. “You owe me 10 bani,” I said, knowing there was no way she was able to give me nine. Forcing an awkward half-smile of her own, she looked down, and picked up a 10-bani coin from the small collection of coins that had accumulated near the plastic bags – you know the pile, that collection of assorted coins people don’t bother to pick up after she places them on the counter rather than in their outstretched open palms (which I happen to find incredibly rude, but that’s a different topic).

Now, because I could not explain to her at that moment why I did this, I’m explaining to you. I don’t need 10 bani. (For you someplace else, that’s officially 2.5 cents in America using the current exchange rate, though it’s more equivalent to a dime or more in people’s pocketbooks here). In fact, few people I see in stores here need 10 bani. Or, I should say, few people need only 10 bani. And banks here don’t hand out paper sleeves for you to wrap coins in and there are no automatic change machines to “cash in” your cash. So lots of this loose change gets left at the registers.

But not by me. Why? It’s true that sometimes I benefit when the cashier ignores that I owe her five or 10 bani and she tells me not to bother. But that is not nearly as common as her expectation that I should ignore the fact that she is the one who is doing the owing. No. More often than not, cashiers will wait for me to produce a paper 1 leu and then place eight or nine coins on the counter for me to pick up.

So the issue is not the money. It is the assumption of these people, and the tacit complicity of the grocery stores, that grates at me. As I said, five or 10 bani to me is not very important. Not in isolation. And, the assumption goes, it is not important enough for the store to bother about either. But think for a moment what is happening here. Consider the thinking. And consider the result at the end of the day when this same type of transaction has been repeated over and over and over and over. (Don’t worry. I’m not going to use the old silly argument that begins by asking what if what happened to me happened to everyone.)

The MegaImage store where I most frequently shop has seven cash registers. In casual conversation with an employee there, I’m told the store easily has several thousand customers each day. A worker at one of those tiny MegaImage stores that has just one cash register in a different neighborhood tells me they have several hundred each day. Now, we could attempt to estimate this by assigning a 1 percent chance that each purchase equals a different amount of bani – you know, 9.00 lei, 9.01, 9.02, 9.03, etc. We could then estimate whether it’s more or less likely to receive the change from the cashier, or if she is likely to let me not pay the four bani, or if the total is 9.05 and I give her 9 and a 10-bani coin, whether I’d get back five bani, etc., etc., etc. From that, we could estimate how much change would be left over.

But really, let’s keep the math simple. Let’s say just 44 times a day at each store (that might be a very high 10 percent of transactions at one store but only 1 percent at others), someone doesn’t bother to receive (or pick up) the five, 10, 15, or even 20 bani that is owed to them. Let’s assume that the cashier will forego on average five or 10 bani from a customer. This would mean there is an average of 10 bani remaining each time in favor of the store.

If it happens 44 times at each store by the end of the day, that is equivalent to one euro. Not a big deal. But we assume it happens every day, 365 times in a year. That is 365 euros a year that this store might be “keeping.” Again, who cares? Well, the MegaImage group has more than 400 stores in Romania. So cumulatively, the company could conceivably be collecting 146,000 euros each year from all this “irrelevant” change just floating in or out of their system. That might not seem like much to MegaImage (it’s 2 percent of just 1 percent of its revenue), but for some folks out there, this adds up to real money.

Now if I knew the employees were slipping all this into their pockets at the end of their work shift as they balanced the printed receipts with the cash-in-drawer tally, I’d be fine with that. If this is the case, however, I’d prefer there was just an explicit tip jar at the register. Or they could do something similar to what you find in the US where there are often small bowls at the register with customers’ discarded pennies and a sign that says “Take a penny, Leave a penny” to help you provide exact change.

Or how about another option: how about some jars at each register in which all those unneeded coins are collected for children, for education, for battered women, for the homeless, for blood donation, for the hungry? Doesn’t that make a lot more sense than expecting me to carelessly “donate” it to the store that I’m already paying just so the cashier doesn’t have to bother to go out of her way and complete her job by giving me my money? In fact, isn’t that what companies do to demonstrate they care and that they are part of our community? Isnt’ that what they do to increase my sense of loyalty to them?

This sounds, I suppose, as if I’m attacking MegaImage. I’m not. Well, I am, but that’s not my intention. I’ve seen their press release about at least one community fund it established that appears to have donated about 14,000 euros last year (about one-tenth of the amount of our spare change scenario). And certainly, the company is not the only, nor is it the largest, retail chain where all this small change, from an accounting standpoint at least, mysteriously disappears. It merely has the misfortune of being the store in my neighborhood where I prefer to buy groceries.

So, let’s return to that register and explain this quite simply. No, young lady, it was not the 10 bani that I needed. I just wanted to put a stop for a moment to the tacit suggestion that you take customers for granted and that institutionally, perhaps, you don’t recognize the impact that even small change can have. And to repeat this once more, I’d much rather give that money to charity than just ignore it existed. But, of course, for me to do that, you would first have to give me my change – and please, just this once, try to place it in my hand.

How I Know I’m Not in New York (Part 11)

How I Know I’m Not in New York (Part 11)

by | May 29, 2015 | Culture, How I Know I'm Not in New York, Life in Romania, Politics | 0 comments

“A Tall Blonde”

It’s been a very busy spring, but after an urgent phone call from my Romanian friend Remus, we had a chance to catch up.

“Hey Remus. Over here!!”

“Hello, my friend.”

The Romanian Parliament. [Source: http://www.rri.ro/en_gb/parliament_to_resume_its_activity-21585]

“Hi. I’m glad you called.”

“Yes, yes, I want to talk to you.”

“Wait, wait, wait. Hang on a second.”

“So, how was the US?”

“It was good. Wait, wait.”

“What are you looking at? Oh, the news.”

“Look at that. There goes another one.”

“Another one?”

“Yeah. See? Another government official – this time a minister – heading off to jail. It’s unbelievable.”

“Yeah. It’s great isn’t it?”

“Well, I don’t know if it’s great. It’s good they’re catching them. But it’s sad.”

“No, it’s not sad. It’s great!! Listen, listen. This is what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m going to become a politician!”

“What?! Remus, what?! What are you talking about?”

“Yeah, that’s great, huh? And it’s because these guys are going to jail. Thank god for jails, right?!”

“Remus, no, it’s not great. But wait. What are you talking about? How are you going to be a politician?”

“Ah, it’s fantastic! I should have thought of this years ago. Let me tell you what happened.”

“But….”

“Wait. Wait. Let me tell you. So my sister has a new boyfriend.”

“Ok.”

“Yeah, just a couple weeks. Anyway, she’s talking to him on the phone the other day and he says, just suddenly, ‘I want to make your brother a politician.’ Yeah, that’s right. Just like that. Do you believe it? The guy says he can get me into parliament with no problem and I won’t have to do anything.”

“Remus, hold it. That’s really strange. Even for you. What are you talking about?”

“Well, you know, he’s a politician. And he says he knows all the right people and there’s nothing to it.”

“What?”

“Yeah, that’s right!!”

“Has he met you?”

“No. Why?”

“Well, nevermind.”

“Can you believe it? Seriously. A real job. Can you imagine? Great food. Free trips. Nice clothes. A car. A car with a blue light on top!! No responsibilities. And so much money, I won’t know what to do with it all.”

“Remus, I don’t think it’s…..”

“Have you seen those guys’ watches?? And their houses????? They have like 10 of them. Oh, and girlfriends!!??? Who knows how many of those?? And the guy who cuts my hair said some of them even get paid in gold bars. It’s like free. All you have to do is get elected. Or appointed. Or whatever.”

“Remus, wait. Really. I’m completely confused. You can’t just come out of no place and suddenly be in parliament.”

“Ha. Have I ever told you how American you are? Of course you can. Where do you think these guys come from? And the best part is, my sister’s boyfriend says there is a huge opportunity right now. He said there’s really a need. Uh huh. That’s right. He said the country’s about to run out of them. In fact, he said if things keep going like they’re going, there won’t be any politicians left!! So he says for the good of the country, I have to do it.”

“But Remus. You don’t have any experience. In fact, you’ve never actually had a real job. Not for long, anyway.”

“Yes, I know. I know.”

“In fact, when we first met, you had no idea what you were doing.”

“Yeah, I know. My uncle owned the company. They fired me after he went to jail.”

“Remus, I was going to fire you!!”

“I know, I don’t have any experience. You’re not the first one to mention that. My sister said the same thing, but then she told her boyfriend. And you know what? He said that’s perfect!! He said none of the politicians have experience. He said it just gets in the way. He said it’s better if you come in with no ideas at all.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, he said they even make fun of the guys with experience. They call them, umm, techno-rats, or something.”

“Yeah, I think the term is techno-crats.”

“Yeah? Maybe. Anyway, who wants to be called a rat? Not me.”

“Ok, ok. Not to be completely negative, let’s say this is possible. Let’s say you’re just given a seat in parliament. And you don’t have to do anything. You still have to show up, right?”

“Of course. That’s why I get the car. It is a real job, you know.”

“Ok, but when you do show up, you’ll need to know something – or pretend to know something. If nothing else, you need to know enough so you’ll know how to vote.”

“Oh, that’s easy. The guy said not to worry. He’d let me know.”

“What do you mean?”

“Yeah, he said someone would stop by my desk before anything happened and let me know what to do. He said that’s how everybody does it.”

“Ok, but what if you’re asked a question or something? What do you know about parliament? Or the government here?”

“Listen, I went to school. I’m not an idiot, you know. I vote.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, once.  Almost.”

“Ok. So you’ve read the constitution?”

“Hey, dude, leave me alone with the constitution!”*

“Remus. What are you 12? You can’t say things like that.  But wait.  Ok.  This is really confusing.  Ok, but let’s say it’s possible.  So what part of the country are you going to represent?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you have to be a senator or whatever from somewhere.”

“I know that. But I don’t know. My sister didn’t have a chance to ask him.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, when he was talking to my sister, someone stole his phone.”

“Someone stole the guy’s phone while he was talking on it!? Really? When did that happen?”

“A couple days ago.”

“And…”

“And?”

“And what did he say when he called back?”

“Yeah, well, he hasn’t been able to. Not yet.”

“No?”

“Maybe I’ll get a blue Maserati.”

“What? No wait. What do you mean he hasn’t been able to?”

“They’re not really supposed to have phones.”

“Who?”

“The prisoners.”

“The guy’s in prison?!!!!”

“Just for a little while.”

“What?”

“Ok, a couple of years.”

“A couple of years?! This guy, your sister’s boyfriend – or whatever – is in prison?!”

“Yeah, but he said it’s ok. He said the months are going by pretty fast.”

“Months? Wait a minute. Wait a minute. You just told me they’ve been dating a few weeks. You mean your sister started dating a guy who’s in prison?”

“Yeah, but hey, it’s not like he’s a bad guy. He’s young. He’s really nice. She said he’s really well-prepared.”

“Well-prepared for what?”

“I don’t know, but that’s what she said. My sister said he’s really cute. Well, she hasn’t met him yet. But from the TV, she said he looks really cute. Short, yes, but cute. Anyway, he didn’t really do anything wrong. My sister said he was just doing his job.”

“What? What do you mean she hasn’t met him yet?”

“Well, you know that she’s on that dating site. She’s had a bit of a problem finding a boyfriend, you know, that problem she has. Anyway, apparently this guy was a bit bored and, well, I guess after a few months, he got lonely. So they met on the site. Now they’re dating.”

“I don’t know if I’d call that dating exactly.”

“It is for my sister.”

“Well, yes. I suppose.”

“And he said it’s not so bad for now. It’s like a reunion. The best part, he said, is that when he gets out, he knows lots of places to buy things tax free.”

“Yes, I suppose he would.”

“Maybe I’ll get a Rolex.”

“You know, Remus, this is not a game. This is very serious stuff.”

“Well, maybe. But it’s just politics.”

“Just politics? Remus, it’s criminal activity!!”

“No, it just looks like that. My sister’s boyfriend says it’s that Basescu and that other lady. And I’m telling you, I think he’s right. And you know why I think so? You know how I know? Did you see a little while ago the head the investigative agency here got arrested. That woman. Whatsername. The one in Paris. I mean you know what her job was? She’s the head of the investigative agency for the WHOLE COUNTRY. And then, THEN….the head of that something integrity office – the NATIONAL integrity office! You hear me? IN-TE-GRI-TY!!! – I mean, c’mon. Seriously. How’s the guy in charge of this country’s INTEGRITY going do something wrong??!!! They wouldn’t let him if he tried!!! So when THOSE TWO get arrested, you know it’s political. No sir. Someone is trying to get rid of them. Someone definitely set them up. You know what I think, it’s that lady Kvetch. Well, and Basescu.”

“You mean Kovesi?”

“Yeah, that’s what I said.”

“No, you said Kvetch. Kvetch means….”

“Whatever. And probably the Americans too. It’s you guys. You know that. You do.”

“Remus….”

“Ok, maybe not all of you. But you and the Europeans and probably some others. They don’t like us. You know, if you were Romanian, you would know that. They never liked us. You don’t know our history. Nobody likes us.”

“Remus, I really think you might be missing something.”

“No, I’m not. And you know what? You know how else I know it’s political?”

“How?”

“You don’t think I know the constitution? You asked me about the constitution? Ok. You know the most important thing in the constitution?”

“No. What?”

“You don’t know? I know. You want to know the most important thing in the constitution?”

“Yes, please. What are you talking about?”

“The most important thing is that we are a democracy. It says it in the constitution. Right? Romania is a democracy.”

“Ok. I don’t know that it says it that way. But yes, it’s a democracy.”

“And what’s the basis of a democracy?”

“Well, it starts with the principle that…”

“I’ll tell you. Majority rules! No more single guy, no more single bad guy can tell us all what to do. We vote. And you now what? We do what we want. And the majority rules.”

“Ok.”

“So let me ask you a question. This lady bigshot Kvetch says all the politicians are crooks.”

“Well, no, I don’t think she ever said that.”

“Ok, but she acts like it. So let me ask you, if they are crooks, then they’re not doing anything illegal.”

“What?”

“Well, because if she’s right, and everyone is a crook, everyone would be a majority, wouldn’t it? So if everyone does something, it can’t be illegal. Majority rules. See?”

“Remus, what? What? Wait. What?”

“Hmmm. Uh-huh.”

“Democracy doesn’t mean you just let people go because everyone does something.”

“No? Everyone parks on the sidewalk. You see any tickets?”

“Remus, I don’t know.”

“I wonder what color I should dye my hair.”

“What? What? Hey, are you listening to me!!?”

“You ever notice how many of those guys dye their hair? They’re old, they’re like, I don’t know, they’re like over 50 – oh sorry – and they have hair like, like, I don’t know, like Smiley. Hell, no one has hair like Smiley, I mean not if you’re more than 20. So what color do you think I should be?”

“Remus, I think your hair is fine. I think, be to honest, you have a lot of other things to worry about than your hair.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Well, you might have to write laws.”

“Don’t be silly. Politicians don’t write the laws.”

“Huh?”

“Politicians here don’t write anything. Even in school. We hire people for that. That’s why we’re politicians. C’mon you’ve been here for years. Don’t you know anything?”

“Oh, now it’s WE’RE politicians? That was quick. But wait, when did you say your sister’s boyfriend was getting out of prison?”

“In a couple years.”

“Well, for one thing, there’s an election next year. You’re going to have to run in an election.”

“Ok.”

“Well, that is going to require some preparation and some money. Remus, you don’t have any money.”

“No no no. My sister told him. He said he’s got a couple friends and money was no problem. Whatever I needed.”

“Wait. No.”

“Yes. He said he can call them anytime – well, I guess when he can find a phone – and they’ll bring over whatever I need.”

“No no no. Wait. You can’t do that. Remus, I don’t want to be visiting you in prison. You can’t just take money from strangers. You’ll need to report it. To someone. At least, I’m pretty sure.”

“Ok.”

“Well, that’s a lot of paperwork. Do you know how to do that?”

“Paperwork? Like what?”

“I don’t know. In the US, any donation more than $200 has to be publicly disclosed. So you have to keep track of it, give a receipt, report it, send in forms. Things like that.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m pretty sure we do that here, too.”

“Really? You have the same law? That’s good.”

“Yes, almost the same. Except I think it’s the opposite.”

“What?”

“Well, the guy told my sister something about the fact that I needed to keep track of any money I get over a certain amount.”

“Ok.”

“To make sure no one finds out. I think that must be the law.”

“Ummm, Remus, I doubt it.”

“Well, maybe not a law exactly. But, he said, that’s the rule. So that’s what we do. I guess we just do that voluntarily.”

“Yes, maybe.”

“We wouldn’t want anyone to get in trouble for denying the right to secret ballot, or secret giving, or whatever.”

“No, of course not.  So what did that boyfriend say will happen when he gets out in a couple of years?”

“What do you mean?”

“When he and the others get out of jail.”

“Who?”

“The politicians.”

“What about them?”

“They will want their old jobs back.”

“Why?”

“For the same reasons you want their job.”

“Well, I don’t know. I don’t think they can do that. That doesn’t seem fair.”

“No, I suppose not.”

“They can’t come back. They were in prison.”

“I know.”

“Are they allowed to do that?”

“I don’t know. I think so.”

“Well, that doesn’t seem right. I mean, they almost destroyed this country. They can’t come back and do it again! Can they? And kick me out of a job.”

“I don’t know if you can stop them.”

“Well, we should. We should figure out a way.”

“Yes, actually, this time, I think I agree with you.”

“They can’t take my stuff.”

“I don’t know if that’s the right reason. But you know, it won’t be that easy.”

“Wait. No. They can’t have their jobs back. They won’t have lived anywhere. They can’t be politicians if they don’t live someplace.”

“Remus, they still have their house. Or houses.”

“You mean they get to keep them?”

“Well, it seems they do.”

“Really? That’s not right.”

“So they’ll just become mayor or a senator again.”

“Oh.”

“And actually, I think they still have most of their money.”

“Really? You think so? Even the money they stole?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Then why did they bother sending them to jail?”

“They broke the law. They were sent to jail to punish them.”

“That’s not much punishment.”

“I don’t know. Prison’s not very nice.”

“Really? You don’t think so? I know some villages they should send them to if they wanted to punish them. I mean really punish them. I know one, it’s way up north…..”

“Remus.”

“Yeah, ok, right. Anyway, if they really want to punish them, they should take all their money and their girlfriends and stuff.”

“I’m not sure they can find it all.”

“Oh, yeah It’s hidden, huh? Like in Madagascar or someplace?”

“I guess.”

“You know if they started finding it all, then you know what?”

“What?”

“Then I say then we give them a choice. They can either give back all the money they stole – which would be everything – EVERYTHING – plus maybe a little more to teach them a lesson. And let’s say if they do that, they could stay out of jail.”

“Ok.”

“Or, we’ll make them a deal. They can keep it ALL – no matter how much it is – ALL of it – we won’t even look for it – if – IF – they move away and never come back. Never visit. Never call. Never take my job.”

“Hmm. You know, Remus, sometimes you’re a pretty smart guy.”

“See?”

“That really would be interesting. A fresh start here. A real fresh start. You know, yes indeed, that might be just the thing. You know what we could do then? Remus. Hey, you know what we could do then? Remus?”

“A blonde. That’s it. Definitely.  I think I’ll get a tall blonde, maybe from Moldova.”

###

FOOTNOTE: * Special thanks from Remus to UNPR Senator Ruxandra Jipa.