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Today was the day that I finally met my parole officer. Now, if you’re
reading this from my Earth, which you would only be able to do if my
alternate self decided to copy my story onto his own version of the blog,
you might be confused. There’s a chance that he’s doing that, I don’t know.
If he can still see me in this universe, I still can’t see him, so he
wouldn’t be able to get me a message. But if he is doing this, and that’s
where you are, then you may be wondering why I have a parole officer. Parole
officers are meant to be assigned after someone has gone to prison, and
gotten out early. Well, you see, technically that’s exactly what I did.
Legally speaking, I was sentenced to three months of prison time. I’m not
talking about intermittent jail here. This was a real prison where I should
have served time without getting out until I was up for parole. It just so
happened that my parole came up immediately, so I didn’t have to actually
spend any time in the building. It’s a technicality. Though I never stepped
one foot inside, on paper, I was sent to prison, so I’m still entitled
to—and am indeed required to meet with—a parole officer while I complete the
rest of my sentence, which includes weekend jail. Yes, there was a
reason for this. The record shows that I was sent through processing, and
had all the paperwork filled out, to inhabit a facility somewhere down south
in Missouri. This all comes from a bunch of legal complexities that my
attorneys handled for me, but it boils down to minimum sentences, and
loopholes that allowed me to subvert those minimums. The reason they
did this for me is that, not only did I aid in the recovery of a kidnap
victim, but my actions eventually led to the arrest of the suspects. I
didn’t know that last part before. They talked about it behind closed doors
due to the sensitivity of the case. So you can all rest, assured that the ID
makers who committed that crime are being served justice as we speak. All I
know is that it’s a federal case, because the girl originated from a state
other than Iowa, so someone had to cross a border at some point.
These are all the things that my parole officer explained to me at lunch. I
always thought it was weird that I was getting a parole officer, instead of
a probation officer, but I don’t know all that much about law and
order on any world. He is as cool as I imagined he would be. He’s not one of
those types who thinks that anyone who has ever committed a crime is a
lifelong criminal, and should be locked up for the duration of that
identification. He takes each of his parolees on a case-by-case basis, and
says that he modifies his attitude to whatever he thinks will work best for
each. He’s even told me that I’m free to reveal to the public what his name
is. So here it goes. I’m about to say it. He’s watching me write this, and
I’m sure he’ll watch me post it too, so I’m giving him ample opportunity to
change his mind. No? In three, two, one. Just a second, he twitched. No, it
was a coincidence. Okay, here it is. Leonard Miazga. He has had a long and
storied history so far, but I won’t get into all that today, partially
because I don’t remember all of it. He smiled and left, and I can’t recall
everything he told me about himself. This also means that he won’t be able
to stop me from telling you his name anymore. Hopefully he doesn’t change
his mind after it posts, because the internet is forever. As for the lunch
itself, it was really good. I’m pretty sure he paid for it out of his own
pocket, and it’s not something that he can bill to the state. If we ever
dine again on another day, I’ll pick up the tab. I got one job offer while
we were at the table. If nothing else comes in, I’ll definitely take it, and
I may even if all of the other potential employers respond positively. We’ll
just have to see. I’m going to try to not make any big life decisions at the
end of the week because of the whole jail thing. Tuesdays. Tuesdays are a
good day, particularly for me. You don’t ever want to deal with such things
at the end or the beginning of a given time period, and Tuesdays are just
random enough to work. Anyway, I’m going to take a shower, and get ready to
go back inside. Leonard will come back in an hour and a half to drive me
down there. I’ll see you Monday, but only if you comment below, and even
then, not really. Don’t you hate when TV hosts say that? “We’ll see you
tomorrow.” It’s, like...no you won’t. That’s not how TV works. Maybe that’s
just me.
