This is part three of The Crime Hump Chronicles, the creative non-fiction narrative of quantum events.
My Friday starts. My husband already has the coffee on. I read our small town’s local weekly newspaper. I’m in it again.
It’s a school day and the morning is busy. I drop the kids off at school. I can tell who reads the newspaper by the glares I get.
I spend the day volunteering downtown at the drop-in centre.
I go to pick up my kids from school. Also waiting at the front office are various school staff and parents that have said some not-so-nice things about me on social media. I hope if they come to my trial, they brace themselves for the shocking truth, again. We drive home and my kids tell me about their day.
We play, eat, clean-up, play, do homework, play, then I put my kids to bed. I stretch out on my chair for about an hour, play on my computer before getting ready for work.
There is a heated debate about basic income going on in our town. I’m in a Facebook group about it. Unfortunately, the mayor’s wife is also in this group. I know if I post anything, she will kick me out of the group. I just can’t help myself though. Within ten minutes, I am banned. At least a few people got to read my article.
I throw on my backpack and work clothes. I have a voicemail. He wants me to pick up while I’m in the city. I call my other phone, the one Detective/Constable Rodcocker seized. He left the same message on it. I think I should tell him not to call that number, but I don’t want to tell him that my house was raided. I could make something up, but I can’t lie. No time for an ethics debate. It won’t be a problem for another week and I should leave now.
I drive to the city. I work in a bad neighborhood. I work all night. I have a physically demanding job. In the morning, I am very tired.
I stop to pick up on my way home. I ring the buzzer at a side door. A guy lets me in. He is the same guy that always lets me in. He lets me go to the back now. There are four carts and they are full. I bring them to my van and start loading. I drive back to my small town to drop it off. I am beyond tired at this point. I know this because I have a rush of energy. Usually one of the regulars walks by and helps me unload in exchange for first pick of the treats.
This week, we got a lot of muffins and apple turnovers. I put the baguettes on a chair to prop open the door while we unload my van. They need to be given out today because they’ll be as solid as a rock by tomorrow. The centre has lots of bread to give out this week. While we unload the van, a local business owner stops by and asks if she can bring her leftover knitted mittens and hats. I tell her yes, absolutely!
I finally go home. My husband already has the coffee on. I’m not sure when, but my Saturday has already begun.
Sounds like a typical day in the life of a cyber terrorist, right? Was there an unprecedented hack? Or was there a not-so unprecedented breach of statutory duty? Today, the newspapers only report the allegations made against me. But tomorrow never lies. The truth will come out. It always does.