THE LAST CARROT
“It all started in Omaha.” When I was in junior high, a new kid made this phrase the running joke. He was from Nebraska. Omaha to be precise. Every time he opened his mouth, the first words that came out were “It all started in Omaha.”
It didn’t take us long to learn to mock him. He would open his mouth, and we would immediately chime in, “It all started in Omaha….” Poor guy could never get a word in before we preemptively finished his sentence. It was mean and cruel, but it was typical teenage wasteland stuff.
I have many “go-to” stories. When I start to fear I might be repeating myself, I google my name plus the topic that I am thinking about writing, just to see if I may already have mined this particular memory. There are definitely a few themes that repeat themselves. One time my older brother began a phone conversation with the preamble/trigger warning “ I am warning you in advance that I may have said some of this stuff before, but bear with me. It gets better.”
In my teens, I fancied myself as an actor. What’s my motivation? Think of some “Business for the Scene”, because physical movement will help create the mental process. How would the character walk? Don’t overthink it. It is easy to drown in overthinking.
This past week has been a hard one. Not put your hands in the deep fat fryer hard, but hard. Cue the keeping your head above the water music as it plays the sad piano. My eyes burn with mental exhaustion, and a heaviness has settled in. A fog of depression where thoughts swirl around the glass. So many glasses half full or empty. Cocktail of anger ready to explode in a moment’s notice. I find myself telling similar stories to different people. Am I repeating myself?
At my cardio rehab class on Saturday, I noticed Frank had shaved off his mustache. It was a big David Crosby-Wilford Brimley donut duster. I assumed it was his signature, as I have only known Frank for a few weeks. I pointed it out to him, hoping to get some background for the big change.
“It’s nothing. That gig was over. I had to move on. This is the new look for the new assignment.”
He continued explaining that he gets paid to listen to people. He works as an Insurance fraud investigator. Anonymously listening and taking notes, giving his clients a better picture of the claimant.
“I might be that guy at the other table in the cafe, on the bus, in a store. I don’t blame them for lying. It’s like a big carrot, all that money dangling in front of them.”
I noted that for many of them it might be their last carrot, or what they perceive as the last carrot. He sadly agreed.
“They can’t help themselves. They slip up. They get the details wrong. One day the story is this, next day it is that. Details changed ever so slightly. It’s all about the listening.”
He said he was retiring soon. He was happy about that. I said you must get caught up sometimes with their stories. He said he took a course in arbitration just to train himself to be objective and unbiased. In this line of work, you have to remain objective and play it straight. Let the subject speak long enough and they do your work for you.
I left the class thinking how does one get this kind of job.
I googled insurance listener.
Nothing came up.
Insurance Spy.
Surveillance came up.
Security worker.
Private Investigator.
A $600 course.
2000 hours and you can be a licensed PI.
DETOUR AHEAD
I have a story about stories we have told too many times.
My Friend Harold Rhenisch wrote a book called Carnival, inspired by the stories his father told him. His dad said after telling them to Harold one last time fir the book, he would never tell them again. And he didn’t.
I don’t think I could ever do that.