Saturday, February 29, 2020


By: Kelli J Gavin 
The Writer's Offering

Trash. Absolute Trash. I can’t even read it anymore. 
Page after page of garbage. Wasted ink if you ask me. 
Drivel. Nothing important. No one cares to read it
anymore.  Trash I tell you. 

I was a reporter with the local newspaper for 35 years.
35 years.  Over half my life. I loved my job. I loved
interviewing people and exploring local towns. I loved
figuring out how all the pieces fit together. A perfect
puzzle waiting to be solved.  Me. I was the one that
could figure anything out. High school vandalism?
Freshman soccer players trying to impress senior dance
squad members. Who stole Mrs. Jenkins milking cow?
Mr. Jenkins. Long story, but he hated that cow. But he
hated Mrs. Jenkins more.  He never wanted to see that
cow again and enjoyed that Mrs. Jenkins remained
distraught the rest of her days because of the cow’s
absence. But that one story, that one that I am most
proud of? Oh yes. When 3 million dollars went missing
from two “small” local businesses. I uncovered the
largest money laundering conspiracy our county had
ever seen. Me.  I was the one.

When you age, apparently the rest of the world ages
with you. Those people that read the newspaper for the
past 35 years, well, most of them have died already. 
I am told no one reads newspapers anymore. That the
younger tech savvy generations desire to have all of
their news at their fingertips. One Google search away
and always available on their phone.  My small town
approach of news reporting was no longer needed. I
was informed that the publisher wanted to stay in
business, but they had to make some changes. I was
the first person they let go. My paycheck couldn’t be
supported as they were losing money daily.  Also, they
were no longer planning on reporting the small town
every day happenings as they had in years gone by.
They wanted to report about new restaurants and
breweries, destination vacations, parties and fundraisers
and new business openings. Hollywood and Celebrity
news would replace the Police Report Column with the
More Pizzazz. Less crime and sadness. Less small town
and more- Wow!  The publisher actually said that to
me. More - Wow!

So, retirement seemed like a good idea for me. Until I
realized I didn’t have any idea what no longer being a
reporter and retirement actually meant.  I hate every
second of it. Molly, the waitress at the local diner hates
it even more. Retirement means I take up a booth in
her section until I have read all the newspapers, and
completed the crossword puzzles. She has informed me
that if it wasn’t for my “cheery disposition”, she would
have kicked me out a long time ago. I am a terrible
tipper.  I should mention Molly in my will. 

Tomorrow, I will find a new hobby. I can’t sit here in
this diner drinking cup after cup of stale coffee and
reading all this trash day in and day out, or it will surely
make me find an early grave.

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