Fraud

The day before I left for maternity leave seven weeks ago, my boss looking overburdened from the recent politics at work and the news from the doctors at home, thrust a paper in front of me. “Did you see this? Does anything about it look odd to you?”

It was a copy of a high school graduation diploma, more or less, declaring that one of our new inmates had graduated from Elko, Nevada. Or did she? My boss wasn’t convinced and neither was the Elko School District, but the high school was conveniently closed that week. There was something odd, he thought, about the copy. Given his experience I wasn’t about to argue. He went grumbling down the hall to ask for other opinions.

In the staff room I found some teachers browsing the records of the new inmate, so they were prepared when he stepped inside, the “diploma” still clutched in his hand. “You know,” volunteered one of the teachers, “that she’s in here for fraud.”

He sighed, and decided that he would wait until the high school reopened the following week before marching up the hill to set our new resident straight about how things are handled on our campus.

The story gave me something to laugh about as I left to deliver my baby, but my laughter is in check, my breath bated in anticipation of my return next week. Should it be?

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About hey miss

A teacher. A prison guard. I used to think that was like oil and water. Like lightening and metal. Some days it is. Some days it's magic.
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