A Burr Under His Saddle

I wish I knew what triggered the undercover agent, what put a burr under his saddle so to speak. I tried laying my cards on the table, telling him in so many words, "I know you are an agent, buddy." He never talked plainly, but kept playing his little game of entrapment, with every reply elaborating upon some variation of "Just say the word and I'll mail a package of marijuana--free--no charge!"

I could never in a hundred years believe in a stranger giving me anything except the flu. I wash my hands after shaking someone's hand. Strangers offer me their hand every day on my job, thinking it the civil thing to do. Bah! Handshaking is an accursed unscientific custom. I have yet to meet a doctor or nurse that is first with the hand, and why? Because they know better. Invariably my first thought is to go to the bathroom and wash off  whatever germs were laid on my fingers.

The whole affair just underlined for me what a cruel world we live in, dog eat dog. I'm glad I'm wise enough to avoid what can be avoided, although certainly I succumbed to some foolish things in my youth. I pity the unfortunate, careless young and untested, whose first great test may result in their being marked for life.

I think that Facebook fully cooperates with agents, because Facebook locked my account abruptly about two weeks into my correspondence with the agent, so I had to call in to verify my account, thus refuting a potential future "it wasn't me at the computer" defense.

Such ridiculous nonsense. I can think of a thousand productive things the government should be doing, but this is not one of them. One can scarcely credit we are living in 2013.