IS NOTHING SACRED ANYMORE?


I eavesdrop. Some would call it snooping or spying or if the person is older, the word busybody might come into play but none-the-less I’ve been a serial eavesdropper ever since I was a kid and listened in on the party line in our house. I used to envy my poorer friends who had a three or four party line because their opportunities were so much greater to get the dirt and I only had one person and she knew who we were because she talked to my mother once and told her what I was doing. 
I never knew how she could figure out when I picked up the phone when she was on it—I was pretty clandestine about it but I got caught almost every time and would pretend to hang up with a clang of the heavy black receiver and there were times I got away with it—a few times until I learned about unscrewing the mouthpiece before lifting the phone from its cradle. 
There is a defining point in everyone’s life whether they know it or not; but being very intuitive I knew then that my defining point had just occurred even though I didn’t know the term. 
Now, when I sit in front of my bank of computers watching and listening in on a few of my neighbors who I’ve managed to wirelessly mike and watch on spy cams (I hate the word spy), I’m able to indulge my passion. It goes beyond snooping which is hard to imagine but when I hear a great piece of news or gossip that affects someone else it’s not unusual for me to write a note and anonymously mention something that’ll put the fear in them for doing something wrong or plotting to do something wrong. In this way I’m kind of a futuristic Judge akin to Number 1 in The Prisoner TV series or God-like in my way of imparting my tidbits of information to confront these wrong doers or wannabes. 
My brother is an airline pilot and I mail him the letters in another envelope and ask him to drop them off in different mailboxes around the country when he has a chance. STOP SCREWING THE EXTERMINATOR. PUT THE PETTY CASH BACK. SNIFFING THAT STUFF WILL KILL YOU. STOP COVETING. I signed all of these--Your Judge.
These are the type of notes I send out and there’s never any blackmail intended nor do I let on that I know any of these things when I see these people in social situations because besides being my neighbors they are also my friends. 
Today I got a small square box in the mail. It was wrapped in brown paper and inside was a fortune cookie which I wasn’t about to eat but I did crack it open and read the fortune; Stop your snooping. No more notes. Consider this a warning shot across your bow. The Judge’s Judge.

                                            



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