Never say never!
My name is Sam, Sam Iszdat. I live in cell 315 H at the Allenwood Federal Correctional Institution ("Club Fed"). I got caught up in a petty expense account scam at my former company (Ginantonix, a newly owned subsidiary of the ReKlyne! Corporation). I was caught by the love of my life, my high-school sweetheart, Karyn Muhlenberg, a backstabbing witch of an accountant.
Like most folks, I have a web page or two that tells my story.
Isn't that something? So here I am, Sam Iszdat, high performance microprocessor designer, in cell 315 H, cellblock H, belong to one of the many gangs here in this prison -- the "Sandhill Vultures". Most of my gang-mates are former venture capital types from Palo Alto. We have official gang colors -- a blue paisley print with counter-clockwise swirls -- displayed as neck-ties or really snappy vests. Our official gang song is John Prine's "Let's Talk Dirty in Hawaiian".
The gangs here run everything. We've got the apple-jack concession in all of the cellblocks west of the cafeteria. We also have the prison-wide concession on imported scotch, wireless LANs, and electric shavers. Nobody gets crocked on apple-peelings, gets a glow from 18 year old Glenfiddich, connects to the prison roam-about network, or gets a good clean shave without paying us.
Seeing as how we're all here for embezzlement of one sort or another, finding someone to keep the books is a rather delicate matter. Funny thing about prison -- it's full of criminals. So, it being the case that, of all of the gang members, I was sent to Club Fed for the smallest theft ($700 in expense account over-charges -- I got 3 to 5) they picked me to be the book-keeper. I carefully apportion the profits from our prison operation to each of the gang-member/stockholders and pay the amounts into their off-shore accounts.
At least that's what they think. If the current rate that we're paying dividends stays constant I'll have about two and a half million dollars in my account in a few years, and they'll each have about seventy-three cents. Prison has hardened me. I'm bitter.
But in a few years I'll be hardened, bitter, and rich. There aren't many men who can parlay a $700 embezzlement conviction into a 2,500,000 financial empire.
It will take a few years though. If they let me out early, my plan is ruined. I haven't sprung the trap yet -- right now my account has no more or less than any of the other stockholders. It is going to take four years to really build up for the big kill. I only have two and a half years left on the short end of my sentence. Right now I'm trying to figure out how I can get myself checked in for an extra year or two.
So that's where I am right now. In prison. Club Fed. Surrounded by venture capitalists who wouldn't know the insides of a computer from the entrails of a goat. Life isn't all that bad.
Today's thrilling episode was brought to you by the Bailey Building and Loan. Do you realize what this means? It means bankruptcy and scandal, and prison!
Bailey Building and Loan -- almost constantly careful custodians of your money for over fifty years.
There may be less here than meets the eye!
Like I was saying, I'm beginning to settle into the daily routine at Allenwood Federal Penitentiary (Club Fed).
I don't get many visitors. Nobody except my Mom (on Saturdays) and Karyn Muhlenberg. Nevertheless, the other day Barney the guard came marching toward my cell. "Hey Iszdat!" he barked. "Ya gotta girl here to see ya."
"Wasser name?" I slurred, looking up from my book and downing a swig of a very fine apple jack that we had just bottled.
"Karyn Muhlenberg"
"Tell her to go away." I've been involved with a woman or two, and if there's one thing I've learned it's that when she sends you off to a federal prison, the relationship is probably beyond salvaging.
Karyn would visit about twice a week. It was quite a drive from the Ginantonix plant down to Allenwood, but whatever we had once was gone. It was water over the bridge. Spilled milk. Crumbled cookies. Each visit was the same -- guard barks -- I swig -- Karyn goes home.
But this morning was different. I'd been expecting the guard to bark, but when he did, it wasn't about Karyn.
"Iszdat!" the guard barks. "Ya gotta different girl here to see ya." He said this last part with a leer that indicated that it probably wasn't my Mom.
"Wasser name?"
"Says on this here biznis card that she's a law-yer. You thinkin' of 'pealin' Sam?"
"There's no grounds for appeal, you know that," I said, trying to sound discouraged. In any case, there were no grounds for appeal. Allenwood was crawling with lawyers who had been partners of some of the most prestigious law firms in America. None of them had managed to put so much as a scratch on the case that Karyn had constructed. And now that I had a plan to turn my misfortune into the scam I was working on my fellow inmates, I wasn't in any hurry to get out.
"C'mon Sam," Barney said, almost pleading, "at least talk to this one. She don't look so bad neither."
I wasn't bored, mind you, but a little diversion couldn't hurt. So, I stumbled out of my groggy fog and into the visitors center to meet Sonya Papermoon.
Today's episode was brought to you by the makers of Cydrazex. Cydrazex has been proven in clinical trials to be effective and safe. You needn't suffer any longer. Ask your Doctor about Cydrazex.
(In a small number of cases during the clinical trials, Cydrazex may have caused mild side effects that may include but are not limited to nausea, dis-orientation, bad breath, painful swelling of the eyes, difficulty in pronouncing words with more than three vowels, tendency to profligate spending, and urgent desire to wear plaid bow-ties. Cydrazex should never in any case be taken by women between the ages of nine and fifty three or again at four o'clock.)
Cydrazex. It may be just what your doctor ordered.
It's the story that just won't end
Well, as it turns out, Ms. Papermoon came to the prison to tell me that I was about to be pardoned. Geez! I finally get this plan together to scam two and a half million dollars from a bunch of imprisoned venture-vultures and some do-gooder goes and fouls it all up. I was incredulous.
"You'll have to excuse me for being skeptical, Ms. Papermoon, but I don't understand this talk about a pardon."
"It's very simple Mr. Iszdat," she said, as if explaining it to a rather dim child. "Mr. Vjelzcki, the CEO of ReKlyne! Corporation has some very well placed friends in the current administration. He has persuaded the President of the United States to grant you a full pardon. Your record will be wiped clean, and you will be a free man."
"There must be a catch somewhere," I said.
"Well, there is one condition."
"There always is!" I crowed triumphantly. I wasn't about to let Dzck Vjelzcki spoil the best shot I had at life on easy street.
"Yes," Ms. Papermoon continued, "you will be required to sign an agreement indicating that you will make yourself available for employment at the ReKlyne! Corporation for the next three years -- approximately the balance of your term here. You will be an employee at will of the corporation. Your contract can only be terminated by Mr. Vjelzcki. Upon termination, all obligations will be considered satisfied."
"And if I refuse?" I asked.
"Why would you refuse Mr. Iszdat?" she inquired.
She had me there. If I fought against the idea of a full pardon then it would look mighty peculiar to my room-mates. If the guys in cellblock H ever got word that I'd balked at a full pardon, I'd be in a real spot -- they'd figure something was up. It may be "Club Fed", but nasty things still happen to double crossers. My plan was ruined. To top it all off, I had to go back to work for the company that sent me to prison in the first place. Oh well, easy come, easy go.
I kissed my dreams of a 2.5 million dollar nest-egg good-bye and decided to take the pardon. But if I was going to be an employee at Dzck's pleasure, I'd make sure he wasn't pleased for too long.
"So, Mr. Iszdat, if you'll sign this employment contract, I'll arrange for your release and we'll make an appointment for a pre-employment screening session."
"Screening session?" I asked.
"Why yes, Reklyne! Corporation has instituted mandatory psychological and health screening for all its key employees."
That sounded interesting. Perhaps I could make sure Dzck's pleasure at my employment was short lived.
Today's episode was brought to you by "Alice & Freddie's Bait 'n' Pastry Shoppe" in the Fisherman's Plaza on Lake Wegonnadaihea. Serving the sport fisherman with a sweet-tooth for a few months now.
We're Really Rolling Now!
The federal pardon came through on a Tuesday morning. It arrived in the mail room, was passed to the prison's Senior Executive Vice President for Obstruction and Delay, signed by his secretary on the following Tuesday afternoon, routed to the Administrative Services Center and sat on a clerk's desk for two weeks. After being logged into the ISO 9000 paperwork tracking process, the pardon was forwarded to the supervisor of cellblock G.
My cell was in cellblock H.
About a month and a half after the pardon was signed, I was led to the Prison Out-placement Center where a ReKlyne! limousine was waiting.
The driver took me to my home. ReKlyne! had taken care of relocating the co-ops that had been renting the place. They'd even gotten a hold of Mrs. Vitriol and had her clean it. There was a new yellow Volvo station wagon in the driveway, a gift from Dzck and the Board of Directors. It felt good to be home, but I couldn't shake this feeling that I being set up for something.
This whole arrangement was giving me the creeps. Why did ReKlyne! want me this much? What could be so important to them? What did they mean when they said that I would be required to "make myself available for employment" and that I'd be "an employee at will"?
I had to find out. Clearly, asking them outright was the wrong way to do it. Instead, I decided to probe the limits of their tolerance. How far could I stretch the "will of the corporation?"
The next day (a Tuesday) I arrived at my "pre-employment screening interview". I'd really tied one on the night before -- the guys from work (Ramona, Jose, Jack, and Belinda) took me out on the town to celebrate my new freedom -- so I was looking really good.
The morning session was a series of those "psychological inventories". I'd been through them in prison a few times, so I knew what questions to expect:
Q: I would most like to
I worked hard at picking answers that were as inconsistent as possible. (I'd like to learn to fly. I am afraid of new things. Danger makes me sleepy. I want to live to be 100. I wish I was dead.)
Then they gave me an IQ test. These folks were strictly amateur-night. The test was from the Litton Quick Score(tm) Intelligence Instrument. We had several copies of the test in the prison library. One hundred questions, multiple choice. They used a computer to scramble the answers. Fools. They used a common twelve bit linear feedback generator with a period of 125. The pattern was obvious after just five or six questions. With a few minutes' study, I'd figured out the pattern for the rest. That gave them something to think about -- I made sure I selected none of the correct answers.
I handed in my papers and was ushered to the office of the "Staff Psychologist". She had her own set of questions. My favorite was:
"Mr. Iszdat. You are stranded on a desert island with one member of the cast from Gilligan's Island. Whom would you choose? Mary Ann? Ginger?" she asked with a leer.
I considered the question for a while, and answered that I'd always been intrigued with the depth and animal allure of Mrs. Howell.
After the morning session, the guy in a white lab coat who took my sample jar from me when I arrived that morning knocked on the door, gave me a look of disgust and announced:
"Your sample, Mr. Iszdat showed substantial traces of herbal narcotics -- specifically Nepeta Cataria -- and indications of Feline Leukemia." He raised his eyebrows.
I tried to keep a poker face, despite the fact that this man had just told me that my cat was going to die soon.
The lab guy and the shrink had a chat in the corner. From what I could tell, the lab guy thought that I'd failed the narcotics screening test. I imagine that my bloodshot eyes and obvious hangover couldn't have provided much of a counter-argument. The shrink kept shaking her head. I even think I heard her hiss at him, "It doesn't make any difference, we've been told to hire him no matter what."
The lab guy stalked off in a huff and a white coat. The shrink composed herself and looked me straight in the eye. She smiled and said, "Welcome to the ReKlyne! Corporation, Mr. Iszdat. You can pick up your badge at the front desk tomorrow morning."
"Forward to Part IV"Today's exciting episode was brought to you by the professional cat trainers at "The Felicitous Feline". We can train your cat to do just about anything.