The Crumbling Hope of Thumbs

As the rains began to dissipate, Thumbs disappeared. He lasted through two winters, a fall and a spring. It was hard to see at first, but his shoulders slumped a bit after each season.

Thumbs outlasted all of his peers, most of who endured only for a single season. I noticed only one other crossing guard who lasted as long as two seasons.

Thumbs, you did well but your hopes were too high.

From the beginning, Thumbs was obviously different from the other school crossing guards. Thumbs stood tall and proud in his vest. Thumbs face was sincere, serious, approachable but never frivolous or relaxed.

Always vigilant, as soon as the main road's signal turned green Thumbs would mash the cross walk button and wait for the light to turn red. Often he would have to wait for as many as three cars to make it through the intersection, but he always waited patiently.

Thumbs would then stride with purpose into the intersection and hold up his sign. Little did it matter to Thumbs that the stream of traffic stopped for the red light, not Thumbs. Little did it matter to Thumbs that no one was crossing behind him. A lack of pedestrians was not keeping Thumbs from guarding his cross walk.

In the 30 minutes Thumbs was on duty, traffic would back up for two or three miles. Once Thumbs was off duty, traffic would return to normal in 20 minutes.

Thumbs was always punctual, at least for the first 3 seasons. His shift started at 7:30 and Thumbs would be on site at 7:25. Thumbs would carefully set down his coffee thermos and bag, then tidily adjust his jacket, his safety vest, his cap and his aviator sunglasses. Thumbs warmed up for 3.5 minutes, with arm waves and body twists. Thumbs leaned against the light post and stretched his legs and back and buttocks. Thumbs hopped up and down 20 times. Blood flowing and limbs loose, Thumbs was nearly ready.

Now Thumbs would carefully remove a rag from his bag and spend 30 seconds lovingly polishing the cross walk button, preparing it for the 17 mashes he would give it in the next 30 minutes.

Finally, almost ready, Thumbs would take out his most precious possession: his gloves. What wonderful gloves these were. Heavy leather to protect his hands and to protect the button. And a massive, re-enforced thumb on the right handed glove. A thumb that should have been on a goalie's glove. An assertive thumb, one ready to repeatedly mash the cross walk button.

At 7:30 Thumbs mashed the button for the first time of the day.

I never stopped to do a full census but in the random spot checks I made over 250 days I estimate that Thumbs helped about 23 people across the walk per day. That would be a mean of 1.35 people per button mash. The median was about 4 people per mash ... well, technically the median was zero people per mash but of course, I was unable to count the invisible people Thumbs helped across the street.

But at the beginning of this winter I began to notice a distinct difference. The traffic backup shortened to about a mile. Then swiftly to a half mile, then only a block or two. Was it the economy?

No, it was Thumbs. He had lost his enthusiasm. He still looked natty. He still held himself tall. But he rarely showed up for work until 7:29 and he stopped doing warm up exercises. Most alarming, he no longer polished the cross walk button. And while he still wore gloves, the gloves lacked that massive thumb. No more passion, no more cross walk button love.

And Thumbs lost his imaginary friends. He now only mashed in the presence of pedestrians visible to others. This meant about 6 mashes per shift instead of his prolific 17 of the past.

But Thumbs still wanted to mash. Oh he wanted to mash badly. He still had the burning in his belly. Thumbs would stand with his legs a couple feet apart, the left foot a bit ahead of his right. Thumbs leaned forward, hands slightly behind his hips and peered intently down the side street. Where were those pedestrians? If none were in sight, Thumbs turned and peered more intently in the other direction. With no pedestrians in sight, there could be no mashing.

Things quickly went downhill for Thumbs. His peering was unable to call forth the needed pedestrians and he grew weary from the effort. Thumbs began to stand listlessly by his button, still standing tall but looking off into that unfocused mid-distance.

Thumbs began to be late. I sometimes saw Thumbs approaching the intersection at 7:32 and once even as late as 7:35. No, Thumbs had lost it.

After spring break, Thumbs was replaced by a more standard crossing guard. A cold, irritated guard that won't last through the spring quarter. Just like all the other crossing guards.

Oh Thumbs. We miss you. Thanks for standing tall and protecting those children. You wanted the right things, but you wanted them too much.

Inventing Struggles: The Coprophilous Spring

What a weekend!

Yesterday I read Naked Lunch, then I did my taxes. I finished up the evening by reading a good portion of The Trial.

Burroughs and Kafka were amusing and uplifting. The IRS forms were a confused, bewildering graveyard of hope.

When reviewing potential deductions, I felt like the under-privileged child allowed to tour the rich man's house and see what he can never have.

Cyndi and I had a long discussion wondering if I should call her a dependent. In the end I did. In the end it made zero difference.

Take the number in row 47 and divide by two. Add the number to itself. Replace the number in row 47 with this new number. Repeat.

Oh, there is one nice IRS feature. At a certain point you find a comment something like "to help reduce paperwork and the time you spend doing your taxes, the IRS can calculate your taxes for you". To determine if you are eligble, you have to download a form and then download the instructions. You spend 30 minutes completing the form to find you are not eligible.

But to be fair to the IRS, there is a small group of people who can let the IRS "calculate their taxes for them". So if you are in this very small set, what exactly does the IRS do? Well, they look in the tax table to determine your tax. That is all. You have to fill out all the rest of the forms, do all the rest of the calculations. The only easy part of the whole process is to look in the tax table. Gee, thanks guys. You saved me nearly 12 seconds.

In the end it came to this: take my income and multiply by .28 and that was my tax. All the rest was folderol. It was the equivalent of making your dog do a bunch of stupid tricks and then not giving him a treat. I want to bite my master's ankle.