All Criminals Need To Do To Stop Being Criminals Is To Be Told To Stop Being Criminals

So this happened a few months ago. 

I had to take a test with the state to be able to apply for select jobs. I’ll leave it at that.

 

The day started with me getting up at five in the morning because the website said to get there early.  The test was at eight AM so I figured two hours would be enough considering it was supposed to be first come, first serve.  In Minnesota, when it says get there early, you get there a couple hours early and bring a book, and at exactly 8:00 AM on the atomic clock, they seat you as needed.  Not the case in the South.

I got to the place where I was supposed to take the test, to find that nobody was there.  Confused, I checked my phone to make sure I had the right address.  I did, so I sat in my car and waited.  After over an hour, the second and third person began to show, and slowly, cars began to trickle in.  After a few people were in line, I decided to get out of my car and stand in line with the rest of the people.  About fifteen minutes before the test was supposed to start, people were running from their cars to secure a spot in line. 

Not a big deal.

 

The first person in line, however, was around my age, and was very privileged growing up.  Now, I say privileged because you can tell this kid wanted and currently wants for nothing.  He had ironed pants and an ironed shirt.  His glasses were hipster and brand new, he had a man purse, no acne scarring, a soft southern drawl, and even said that he graduated five months prior and decided that he should get a job before his student loans kicked in.

The second person in line, was probably the polar opposite of this guy.  It was a woman, but she had tattoos and piercings everywhere.  Her clothes were ripped, she had a cigarette hanging out of her mouth, her voice was raspy, her hair was several different colors, and as she spoke about herself, it all made sense.  She was a maximum security prison guard at Colorado’s most dangerous men’s prison.  She worked with Serial Killers, well, she used to before she moved to Louisiana.  This woman was, by far, the most badass woman I had ever seen.  If I ever meet her again, I’m buying her coffee and I’m just going to listen to her talk about stories of her work.  She was the goddess of punk.  She was a plethora of badass and hilarity in the best possible way.  Madam, if you are reading this, I would marry you if I were a lesbian and not married.

Sorry, getting off topic.  Let’s just say this chick was a badass. From here on out, I’m calling her The Goddess.

The Goddess looks over at the young gentleman in front of her, and asks him what he’s taking the test for.

“Oh, I’m a criminal justice major.  I’m taking the state test to qualify,” he tells her cheerfully.  She begins to laugh… Like she’s laughing at him.

“Sweetie, I’ve worked in maximum security prisons before.  I have worked with every type of criminal you could even imagine and worse.  You are not going to survive in the Criminal Justice system.”

He looks at her confused.  “You don’t know that…”

She responds to him as if she had this all scripted.  “I’m working on a doctorate, my job is to read people to see how well they’ll survive.  Looking at you, they’d eat you alive.”

“I got good grades.  And I figure that as long as you give them a little love and a push in the right direction, they’ll straighten out and not commit crimes anymore.  All criminals need is a stern talking to and they’ll stop.”

The Goddess just chuckled and shook her head.  “Trust me, they need a lot more than that.”

The rest of the time was silence, idle chit chat, but you could tell this guy was eager to prove her wrong.  In a weird way, I hope he does. 

 

What are your thoughts?

 

Note: If the guy in this story ever reads this, please note that I was not laughing at you, I was merely amused by your sincerity.  It was very refreshing to see someone think like that, even after taking CJ classes.   But it was still hilarious. 

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