"So what's with all the jobs?"

"What's that mean?"

"I read your file, you could have been valedictorian, you just stopped showing up. No college, just a string of meaningless jobs."

"Whoa, meaningless? No I was a raft guide in Costa Rica; I raked the infield for Nolan Ryan. Did you ever do anything just for the experience?"

"Yeah. But you could be running IBM."

"Why would I wanna do something like that?"

-Pilot (International Version)

--

The Application

April 14th 1995

Have you ever been convicted of a felony?

Shit.

Marijuana convictions that are at least five years old do not apply.

Well at least he didn't have that problem.

Have you ever been convicted of a felony?

He gnawed on the end of his pen and stared harder at the question in a futile attempt to make it disappear. Maybe he could lie? Pretend like his dad had not arrested him a little over three weeks ago for borrowing the car.

Have you ever been convicted of a felony?

But they would check. He had already put his social security number on the top of the page, so they had a way to access his records.

"This little incident here is going to go on your record. Your father won't be pressing charges, but as of today, you have a criminal record. You've become a thief. Do you want to be a thief Shawn?"

Sure, Chief Harton had said his father was not going to press charges. Of course after the eight hour fight with Shawn's mother, his father had been even more angry with Shawn than before. Once they'd finally found him at his mom's apartment Henry had since changed his mind about pressing charges.

--

Two Months Earlier

He'd driven around Santa Barbara aimlessly for about four hours, stopping at the beach to watch the waves-twice.

Finally he had figured out where his mother had been staying and made his way to her apartment.

It had been two in the morning when his mother had called to find out if he was there. Unfortunately she had been called in to work and wasn't going to be back for at least six more hours. He knew how the hospital worked. Six would turn into eight, and then ten before suddenly it was fourteen hours later and she was still working.

He had crashed on her couch and been awoken by the loud persistent knocking at the door. Since his mother's roommate didn't seem to be there he got up to get the door.

He shouldn't have.

His father had been at the door, angrier than ever.

"Shawn, you're coming with me."

His father had pulled out his handcuffs then, motioning for Shawn's hands.

"Is the Ivanz family pressing charges?"

"No. I am."

He had been sentenced to 250 hours of community service.

They said it was because he was a first time offender, but he was relatively certain that Chief Harton and the rest of the guys at the station had done something to keep his punishment minimal.

He had stayed at his mother's apartment, working every community service job he could find from dawn till dusk in an attempt to finish as quickly as possible. He had not told anyone other than Gus he had dropped out of school and he didn't want to be in town when his parents found out.

It had taken three weeks, but finally he had finished. So he jumped on his bike, and got the hell out of town.

--

He had been trying all month to get a job. Every place turned him down. He was a criminal, he didn't have an education. He was no good.

He needed a job. He hadn't had much money in his savings account and he was rapidly running out of cash.

Have you ever been convicted of a felony?

He continued to chew on the pen. People didn't like to hire thieves.

"Mr. Spencer?"

Uh-oh, he was out of time.

"Mr. Dearsing will see you now."

Taking the slimy pen from his mouth he pressed it hesitantly to the page and scratched out a single word.

Yes.