Chapter 30

It wasn’t the dockage fees that got the bartender fired. Nope ... it was the books. They were so well cooked I could have had them breakfast.

With corruption rife in government, I wasn’t surprised that Trickle Down only works in politics. Big corruption at the top and little corruption at the bottom. Our bartender was a crony of a member of the board and cronyism is part of the broad base of corruption.

Political corruption includes bribery, cronyism. kleptocracy. The economics of corruption include electoral fraud, legal plunder, nepotism, slush funds and political scandal.

New Zealand ranks second in governmental corruption. Only Australia is ahead. The things the Australians do to the native population...

One thing to remember is that writing leaves a traceable trail. Our bartender was over pricing the booze and pocketing the difference. The board didn’t care that he was collecting slip rent from me and the boat in the slip ... he was picking the pockets of the board.

I cared about my boat. I was paying for protection and not getting it. $65 a week ... a buck a foot a week.

The new bartender was a woman.

Oh ... I didn’t get my slip back. One hundred vs sixty five. I was on the chain. $25 a week or a hundred a month. Cheap ... but damned inconvenient. I had to go to the university every day. That meant the dinghy ... and the Yamaha outboard that had never given me a lick of trouble ... until now.

Now ... I didn’t have time to fix it. Part of my doctorate was teaching basic algebra to older young adults. You can imagine...

“Hey, kid. You waiting for someone?” He was big. He was blond. He was wearing a football jersey. Sorry ... rugby shirt. He was gods gift.

“No time! I have class.” I have advanced to my mothers estate ... her face and figure wasn’t bad enough ... I have her voice.

I spoke ... he visibly pulled himself together. That voice.

“You’re a student? Pull the other one.”

“Nope ... instructor ... and you better hope you never have my class.” I cannot help that I have this voice ... the voice that launched a thousand woodies.

I look 14 ... almost 15 ... I am what I am. A kid with an Einstein of a brain. I’m used to me. I look like me ... what I’m used to. Except ... when the baby fat dropped it stopped at my chest ... grew a bit and filtered down to my hips. My chubby legs migrated to my butt. My waist? 20 ... I had a 22 inch waist when I was 7.

He was inclined to see what he saw the way he wanted to see ... a ripening teen on campus ... a visitor ... strayed from her parent or older sister student, and therefore ... meat. A thing ... with the attributes all females have. A pussy. He was big, good looking, a University Rugby Star ... what female could resist?