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Years ago, I talked to Michael about his drug and alcohol abuse. Michael was far more intelligent than me. Michael threw away every advantage that life gave to him. Michael had wonderful parents who had adopted him. They were a Jewish couple who had a business. Michael told me his daily schedule for thieving to support his drug addiction. I told Michael that I was too lazy to be a drug addict. Michael said my take was an interesting view on addiction. Michael, at the time of this conversation, had been sober for many years. However, life had passed him by in all aspects.

Across the street from Michael lived Walter. Walter was intelligent as well. Walter only had a father. Walter’s father didn’t seem nice. Walter smoked cigarettes and marijuana. That’s how Michael started his destructive drug journey. After Walter’s father passed away, Walter continued to live in his father’s house. Walter ran downhill quickly in his addiction to hard drugs. One evening, I came over to visit my mother. It appeared that Walter was having a party from all the cars and music. I went over to talk to Walter. Walter was busy with his friends whom I hadn’t met.

A young woman urged me to eat some of the party food. I opened the drawer to the silverware. The drawer had a lot of mouse droppings. I closed the drawer. The floors of the house had soiled clothing strewn about in every room but the kitchen. The clothing had been on the floors for so long that paths had been worn into the clothing. Walter had pet rabbits that I went to see in the backyard. I found the three rabbits’ hutch. They had starved to death or died of thirst. The rabbits had decomposed so that only the fur and bones were in the cage. The chicken wire floor of the hutch allowed the organs to seep to the ground in long black fingers that looked like tar. I departed by way of the backyard’s gate.

A few months later, while at the Sheriff’s Reserve Academy, we were shown drug addicts’ residences. The photos could have been taken at Walter’s house. Any deputy or police officer would have known Walter’s house had drugs in it upon entering the house. To my astonishment, neither Walter nor Michael served any prison time at the end of the ’80s.

Jeff lived across the street from me. Jeff, who had good grades, started smoking marijuana. I said nothing. Jeff’s grades went from A’s to D’s. I said nothing. Jeff was one grade behind me in high school. Jeff began using his lunch money to buy marijuana and sell what he didn’t smoke. Jeff showed me how much he had in his room. Jeff was beginning to make a lot of money. It was one thing to smoke marijuana, but selling marijuana carried significant confinement time in 1975. I worried a lot for Jeff’s well-being. I tried in vain to dissuade Jeff from selling marijuana. I made the hard decision to tell Jeff’s father, Bill. I knocked on the front door of Bill’s house. I timed my tattle when Jeff was gone with Bill’s second wife, Betsy. I explained why I was there and where the marijuana was in Jeff’s room. Bill became very angry and he closed the door with no words to me. Jeff was angry with me for a long time.

After graduation, Jeff enlisted in the Navy. I spoke with Jeff while he was in the Indian Ocean. Jeff was speaking over a radio, and the signal was being relayed over the phone to me. I was told not to ask where he was located. When Jeff was on leave, he told me that he hadn’t stopped smoking marijuana. I asked how he was beating the drug test. Jeff showed me a bottle of pills that were herbal supplements. Jeff never reached his potential.

Some time in the ’90s, I came over to visit my mother, Ilo. Before I left, I walked across the street to Bill’s house to check in. Bill and Betsy chain-smoked all day at home. In the early ’70s, Jeff and I calculated that Bill and Betsy smoked enough cigarettes to buy a new Harley Davidson every four years. Bill was a mighty man in appearance. I had always admired Bill. I hadn’t seen Bill in many years. Bill opened the door and invited me in. Bill was a shell of his former self. Bill was skin and bones with a barrel chest from breathing so hard from emphysema. Bill was alone.

Bill was barely able to carry on a conversation. Bill said the air quality was a factor in the symptoms I was seeing. I told Bill, “I will not leave you alone. I will wait for Betsy.” Bill said he would be fine. I stayed because Bill had taught me so much as I was growing up. It was just a few months more when Bill Chapman died. Bill Chapman reaped what he had sown. My mother was a light smoker. Ilo lived to the age of 85 because she had a 5-way heart bypass when she was 65. I reviewed the hospital bill and saw the heart surgeon’s billing was $34,000 for three hours’ work in 1993. The Surgeon told me he performed three heart bypasses a day, seven days a week.

I was at the Uriah fire attack base for the fire season. The engineer had been busted for growing marijuana nine years ago. The Fire Chief had given the engineer, Tom, a second chance last season. Tom was really a nice person. Tom had so much charisma that you couldn’t help but like him. His wife was beautiful, like movie-star beautiful. I began out of curiosity watching YouTube videos where “Mister Green” taught how to grow marijuana indoors. Mister Green taught a lot of usable information that could be applied to legal crops, like cloning plants.

Every so often, Tom warned me not to grow marijuana because the risk is too great. Tom’s lifestyle didn’t match his salary. Tom drove a high-end Mercedes; sometimes, he rode a Harley Davidson which had a sidecar. Tom’s wife came during lunchtime with two Napoleon Mastiffs. Both dogs were sweethearts. Those dogs may have cost $10,000 each. One morning, the Chief told us that we wouldn’t be seeing Tom this fire season because the police discovered Tom was growing marijuana in his house, which was a mansion in its size. The heavy electric usage and Tom’s possessions gave Tom away to law enforcement.

My toolbox has had cigarettes in it for the last 26 years. The same pack which I used in my Psyops against the smokers at Cal Fire during the winter maintenance cycle. The program manager, Jeff C, told the A&P mechanics that it was not acceptable to take smoke breaks in between their breaks. My Lead, Russell M, was the biggest offender amongst the smokers. Russell M was very intelligent; however, he lacked any fortitude to control his urges. I really liked Russell M, but I couldn’t resist exploiting his and the other smokers’ weakness. I didn’t do this every day because it would lose its effectiveness. About an hour in from our last break, I took a cigarette out of my toolbox to loosely hold in my lips as I worked on the aircraft. My fellow employees at first asked why I had a cigarette in my mouth as they knew that I didn’t smoke. I truthfully said that I liked the flavor of unburnt tobacco. However, that wasn’t the real reason that I had a cigarette in my lips. Russell M succumbed to his tobacco addiction every time he saw me with a cigarette in my mouth. Russell M was caught by our customer, Marty B, and Jeff C, taking unauthorized smoke breaks, as well as other smokers who did succumb to my cigarette Psyop.

Lol, one mechanic, Pete L, saw Jeff C coming while he was taking an unauthorized smoke break. Pete L attempted to hide in a bush beside the hangar. Jeff C saw him. It was glorious because I had set the event in motion. Pete L would be fired that spring for his incompetence.

Am I a bad person for my exploitation of my fellow employees’ weakness? Do I have the same character as the snake in the Garden of Eden? The snake didn’t force Adam and Eve to eat the fruit from the tree that God had forbidden. I did far less than the snake did in God’s Garden. The snake spoke to Eve. Whereas, I didn’t say to Russell M, “It would be nice to take a smoke break, you have earned one!”; while having a cigarette in my lips.

Guilty as charged, I was a trickster at Cal Fire during the winter maintenance cycle.