Nate,

So where do I start?  Working at CFS was interesting. .  . hell, I might even categorize it as fun, but it wasn't really me.  I thought that working at a Friends school might free me up to do some more earthy things, but working there actually wound up wearing me out.  When you consider that I had to work an 8 hour day and still come home and call parents who paid me to care for their kids so they wouldn't have to, I never had much time for myself.  And it does get tiring being the school's only Puerto Rican, being dragged out for all of the "show us who you are" functions and what not.  That gets old fast.

So, I quit.

Then there was the job at the bank.  I was actually doing alright there until that fateful day with that f****** Shoprite manager.  An honest mistake got me fired.  Here's what happened; you tell me what you think.  Alright, so I was waiting on customers.  The place had been empty all day and I was bored like crazy.  I was writing you a letter on those little scraps of paper I keep at my desk (that's why you get 15 pages of letter every time) and that blonde chick that manages the Shoprite comes in.  They are one of our biggest customers and they come in all the time.  You'd think she'd know how to add and fill out a deposit slip.  Well, she comes to my window and hands me the slip.  It's all f***** up and s*** is scribbled out and whatnot.  So I had to retotal the thing and practically write it all over again.  You know me.  I'm thinking what a stupid b**** she is.  Then I hand her the receipt for the deposit slip and she leaves.  Fifteen minutes later she comes flying back into the bank and goes over to one of the account service reps.  She's fussing and showing something to Ann.  I couldn't really see what it was, but she was pissed.  Then Ann asks me to come over to her desk.  I saunter over, hoping that I didn't screw up the math, but at least having an alibi; her own deposit slip was all screwed up.  Ann hands me the deposit slip and asks me, "Did you write that?"  I took the slip from her (confused as hell, mind you) and looked at what she was pointing at.  Damn.  Apparently, I had unconsciously written "dumb-ass" on my copy of the deposit slip and it carbon-copied onto hers.  I said "yes" and then like an idiot just stood there.  Truth is, I was so freaked I didn't know what to do or say.  They just looked at me.  Ann asked me if I had anything to say about it.  I said, again like an idiot, no and she said that they couldn't overlook this.  So, working there for 6 weeks, balancing just about everyday, and doing a reasonably stellar job and I get fired for something like this.  Blonde b****.

So now I'm not really doing anything consistent.  I'm taking drum lessons.  You know that's always been a dream of mine.  The guy teaching the class used to play with Sancho Panza and is really good.  To keep some money coming in, I work out at a lumber yard moving planks around.  It's not so hot these days that the job is unbearable and it is buffing me out some.  Marisol's digging it, so no complaints from me.  Speaking of Marisol, she asked about you the other day.  Has she been sending her letters?  She was complaining that she couldn't think of anything to write about.  I told her to just talk into a tape recorder and then transcribe what she said later.  We all know if there's one thing Mari is good at doing, it's running her mouth.  She said she'd try it and the next thing I know she's always carrying around a tape recorder, whispering into it trying to be funny.  I just hope she's been writing you.  I know you're serious about this project of yours.  I need to get out and find some real employment.  Trudi keeps joking about moving out and I'm not so sure that it's still "just jokes."

Well, that's all in my head today.  More later.  We miss you kid.

Your boy,
Francis.