Kind readers: Meet Larry. Larry was born and raised in New Jersey. Just over fifty years ago he became “of legal working age.” Despite his peers waking up each morning with the innate desire to find work and make a few bucks for themselves, Larry never really took to the idea of a life of labor. His friends would offer him help by asking if he wanted to join them along delivery routes–just to introduce him to the world of employment–and every so often he would show interest. But, Larry was never steadily employed, and while his friends were became accustomed to the business world he was left behind. Although he and his friends went through the local school system together, from elementary to high school, one could say they grew up at different times. While some of his boyhood friends went off to college or joined the army, Larry decided not to. Instead, he hung around Jersey doing odd jobs, eking out an existence.
Through the years, Larry would pop up every now and then in the lives of his friends–who were now older and more experienced. As they found and settled into careers, Larry was still Larry–he would surface once in a blue moon to lean on somebody when he needed cash for rent, if he or found himself in some other kind of financial trouble.
A few years ago Larry showed up at an establishment belonging to one of his childhood friends–the same one who used to ask Larry to join him in delivering milk in Orange, New Jersey–looking for money. He was in a pinch, and the friend reached into his pocket and found some money for his old friend Larry. Larry promised to return and work off this loan but he did not hold up his end of the deal. More recently, Larry returned–again–in need some quick cash. Again, the friend reached into his pocket and handed Larry money. Larry again promised to work it off.
This time, Larry actually showed up to work. He was given mostly menial chores–odd-jobs like raking leaves and cleaning–and at the end of the week he was paid. Larry expressed his gratitude to his friend, and in turn the friend promised Larry a steady job, and told him that he would be placed on the payroll to receive weekly compensation for his chores.
The next week, some supplies went missing from the business. It was almost obvious that Larry had lifted the items because they were taken from the room in which he spent the majority of his working-day. Security cameras and videotaped evidence proved this theory. As clear as day, Larry was seen walking over to a shelf and pocketing it’s contents. The next day, Larry showed up at work with an envelope for his friend–the contents of which was a “Thank You” for the chance to start earning a living, a note that was ripe with flowery language intended to flatter his friend. At the end of the week, Larry had enough foresight to send his wife to pick up his paycheck for him. The owner of the business sat the lady down, and began asking her how she first aligned herself with this “foul ball” named Larry. She inquired as to the nature of the comment, and the owner told her that Larry would not be receiving his pay this week because he had decided to steal five-hundred dollars worth of material that was probably sold on the street for a quick twenty bucks. The wife was asked to inform Larry that his presence was no longer welcome here, and that if anything else disappeared, legal action would be imminent.
Larry was a thief, forever unashamed. Throughout his life, he had intelligence enough to latch onto people that could help him along without ever really having to give anything in return. Larry was like a mouse content to nibble at the edges of a piece of cheese without biting-off enough to spring the trap with which he flirted. Yet, Larry was inane enough not to think that other people could recognize this behavior. Although he had the wherewithal to con friends out of money (and do so by asking small amounts), he wasn’t cognizant of the fact that people are not-to-often oblivious to con artists. As Jack would say, Larry was the epitome of a person who was, “Smart. Smart. Smart. Dumb.”
And you’d better believe I can spot a con-artist.
