Heather Hadon called me on my cell today.
"Will you do something for me?" she asked.
"Sure, why not?" I replied.
"It's really, really important" she said.
"Just name it" I said. I like Heather.
She and I go back a long way.
I knew her when we were students together
at Oberlin College. She studied anthropology.
I studied farrier technology.
Which I flunked out of.
And then we both got reporter jobs at
the Bergen Record.
"I need you to buy a subscription to the
Wall Street Journal. The print edition.
Not the online edition" she told me.
"Can do" I replied. "Any particular
reason why?"
"The paper is losing readers. It's hemorrhaging money fast" she said tearfully.
"Really?" I said, amazed. "That's so sad. What happened?"
"I dunno. People don't want to get ink on their hands, I guess" she said. "So each reporter has to sell ten subscriptions per week or get fired."
"Land o' Goshen!" was my only response.
After I hung up I immediately went down to the news stand on Fifth and Center. I told Barney, the guy who runs it, to sign me up for the Wall Street Journal.
"No can do, chum" he told me.
"Why?" I demanded.
"They only take on readers with college degrees" he said. "And I happen to know you washed out of the farrier program at Oberlin. You told me so yourself."
"Well, then, can I at least buy a copy of it?" I asked in exasperation.
"I guess so" he grumbled, handing me a copy. "But don't tell anyone where you got it. I might lose my license."
Sad to say Heather lost her job at the Journal.
She couldn't meet her sales quota.
Which is a real shame, since she writes so well
about supermarkets and restaurants.
She gets awards from the National Press Club
all the time.
I hear she went back to work for the
New York Post.
A step down, sure.
But better than going back to Oberlin for a
masters in anthropology.
You can't do anything with that nowadays.
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