But here’s another thing when your boss goes bye-bye. It’s not really good news for you. It’s not like your boss’s bosses are gonna look down from on high and say: “hey, let’s forget the paperwork. Let everyone run themselves for awhile.” Hell no: you, my friend, are gonna get a new boss. Bureaucracy abhors a vacuum. It’ll create a boss out of thin air, if it has to, because no one, but no one, can go bossless.
And all bets are off on New Boss. Could be worse — some jagoff who thinks he knows your job and your cases better than you do. Sticks his nose so far into your business he can smell the shit you’re thinking. Could be better — some political hire that doesn’t know his ass from his elbow and just stays the hell away from you. But wherever they start, they end up the same. They end up like my boss (former boss, I mean): middle-of-the-road, not really making a difference one way or the other. That’s convergence.
It’s a good lesson for being in law enforcement. If you’re ever trying to figure out why something horrible happened–some nightmare thing that makes you think God’s got the same sense of humor as Hitler–nine times out of ten the answer’s money. Some chick pimping her ten-year-old daughter for meth. Some teenage gangbanger cuts the fingers off a kid trying to take his corner. Money: it’s always money, somehow or another. I mean, I’m not a commie–I work too damned hard for every thing I got–but you gotta believe rich people don’t do that stuff. They have their own insane gerbil-rectum interactions with the wrong side of weird, sure. But they don’t go out and do the sickest sh*t, because they don’t need the money. That’s the truth.
The poor bastard… he kept that smile up through the whole thing. Even when he opened up the little car-sized trash can. For chrissakes — that’s what plastic take out bags are for! We’ve already solved this problem, people. That was nothing compared to Marie’s gift though — a car vac. What sixteen-year-old boy would ever, in his life, suddenly think — man, I gotta vacuum this mofo right now! There’s too much lint on the passenger seat! Yeah… eff that noise. Even more ridiculous? The kid’s folks own a car wash. There’s no way that kid is ever lifting a finger to vacuum the upholstery himself.
Ever. Should of just lit that handful of cash on fire, Marie.
Say you’ve got a secret life — something you don’t want anyone knowing about. Maybe you’re cheating on your wife, cheating on your taxes, cheating on your diet — whatever. What do you do everyday? It’s not like you’re living your secret life out in the open. You’re not some simpleton cramming Twinkies down your piehole in full view of the public. No… you’re hiding. You’re sneaking them out of a shoe box buried in your closet.
But then one day, your wife finds the shoebox, and there’s hell to pay. Suddenly you’re being shamed like some pre-schooler who peed himself on the first day. Goodbye, manhood! It’s all broccoli and tofu from here out. Your wife buys one of those cookie jars that berates you when you open it. (Because that’s what the world needs — nagging outsourced to your home furnishings. Here’s a tip: don’t buy the cookies. Problem solved! You’re welcome, America.)