Page 42 - Three Adventures

Deflator Mouse

“Right. Sometimes I have to use my brain to keep the country safe,
but I’d rather be using it to make the country cleaner, or healthier, or
wealthier. You know what I mean.”
Bob smiled. He was in his early twenties, and, like his sister,
seemingly incapable of dissembling. “Yes, I sure do. Big question, of
course, is how to change the economy around to take advantage of all
the know-how concentrated in California.”
Ken, having skated over thin ice, now felt he was sailing through
calm waters. “Well, I do what I can to push it in the right direction.
But what about you? Cindy says you have a new job.”
“Oh, yeah, well, it’s nothing as important as your line of work. I
just started as a cub reporter with the Inglewood Spectator. It’s my first
real job since I graduated.”
Cindy interjected. “Stop being so modest, Bob. They only hire one
person a year in that position, and what?—about a hundred people
applied, didn’t they?”
Bob’s rosy cheeks became even pinker. “I guess so. I don’t know
the exact number, really.”
Ken pretended to study the hieroglyphics encoding the daily lunch
specials on his menu. “That’s great, Bob. Got to have some cool
heads in the media. You majored in journalism?”
“Cal State Long Beach.”
“He got straight A’s in his last two years,” Cindy said proudly.
“Fantastic! You know, Bob, I went to San Jose State, and it can be
tough in state colleges: they don’t give away those grades.”
The three, all beaming, turned from agape to glorified hamburgers
and exotic salads. Ken thought Cindy was a bit too solicitous about
her brother’s welfare. Had he lost jobs in the past? Was he unreliable?
Unaggressive? Too honest? As they finished their meal, Ken decided
to probe a little deeper.
“Boy, that sure hit the spot. I ought to eat here more often! So,
Bob, how long do you have to be a cub before they promote you?”
The younger man’s brow knitted briefly. “Well, to tell the truth,
unless I can make some kind of impression on the news editor, I
won’t get anywhere on the Spectator. Next year they’ll find some other
bright boy fresh out of school and I’ll be given a pat on the back and
sent out into the streets.”
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