The O & D

It was a little ironic that she had called Security, because at my other job, I was Security. They didn't actually call us that, but that's what we did, or rather, provided. The O & D (Observation & Detention) was another residential program, and, again, I was a relief worker. Again, primarily for the midnight shift. Its purpose was to detain (D) 'young offenders' while they were waiting for a court appearance—for trial, sentencing, or whatever. (So actually we were called Adolescent Workers.) (In reference to our clientele.) While at the O & D, said young offenders would be observed (O), and the log kept by said adolescent workers offered to the court for consideration. This meant, of course, that, as with regular jail, you had innocent kids rooming with guilty kids.

Furthermore, in an odd display of parallelism to the mixed agenda of the MHA's workshop, the O & D also served as a safe house for kids who had been abused—who had not even been charged with anything criminal—while they were waiting for an adoption placement. (Essentially, for trial, sentencing, and whatever). And the interesting thing was, relief workers weren't allowed to read the kids' files. I confess that my behaviour toward a kid who's taken a cigarette lighter to the family gerbil would be different than my behaviour toward a kid who's had a cigarette lighter taken to himself. (So if it was the same kid—as it was likely to be—I was, well, confused.)

And as for my behaviour toward the cigarette-burning parents of such a kid (occasionally, parents came to visit their kid; very occasionally, now that I think of it), first, I'd have them both sterilized. That's it. No more kids. Then, since such parents demonstrate arrested moral development and are probably operating at thepre- adolescent stage, understanding morality only in terms of reciprocity, I'd take a cigarette lighter to the both of them.

Now, you might point out that chances are that's already happened—that's why they're the parents they are. Right. So not only would I sterilize the parents, I'd also sterilize the kid. The O & D could easily add it to their referral services. It could be a family outing. We're supposed to encourage that sort of thing.

But that's not fair! I know. But one, you're assuming the kid will actually want to have kids, and, truth be told, that's probably unlikely. (I say that because, truth be told, most people don't actually want to have kids. Whenever people announce to me they're 'expecting', I ask them 'Why?' They usually give me a look, as if I'm sort of slow, and then they say, with a rueful grin, something like 'It was sort of an accident.') (To which I reply something like 'Excuse me? You don't accidentally ejaculate into someone's vagina, nor do you accidentally catch some sperm with your vulva.') And two, it may be unfair to the kid, but otherwise it's unfair to the kid's kids and all the people who then have to deal with yet another victim of cigarette lighters. And it's especially unfair to gerbils.

Another interesting thing about the job was that staff were expected to psychoanalyze these kids' every move, or failure to move, and none of us were psychoanalysts. Half of us were ex-daycamp leaders, and the other half were cop-wannabes. (And then there was me. I just liked the hours.) Let me just say that if for twenty-four hours/day, seven days/week, your every word and action was subjected to intense microscopic examination, by unqualified idiots, you'd have an anger management problem too. (Admittedly, most of us would have such a problem if we were subjected to intense microscopic examination by qualified idiots.)

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Once, during an evening shift, I was reprimanded because I sat on the couch in the main room, reading. (Popular Mechanics or Car & Driver, I can't remember.) (Amish porn, in any case.) A mistake. Not what I was reading, but that I was reading. I was supposed to interact with the kids. Hell, we interacted with the kids more in one day than my own parents interacted with me in a whole year. (Not that instead they ever sat on a couch reading. Or took a cigarette lighter to me. But the only time my parents interacted with us kids—apart from the occasional reminder or query regarding various aspects of the household routine—was during the holidays. On Christmas Day, during that long time between opening the gifts and Christmas dinner,when we didn't have any chores to do, we weren't allowed to do any homework, we especially weren't allowed to watch tv, and there's only so much enthusiasm you can generate for new socks and pyjamas and one or two toys, mom was in the kitchen, of course, making Christmas dinner, which somehow took all day, but dad wouldn't dare escape to his workshop, so he and my brother would have their annual game of chess, and my sister and I would sort of watch. There we go: parent-child interaction. Normal, healthy parent-child interaction.) (Okay, perhaps more normal than healthy, but still—)