Government Waste

J.J. Dufresne has a bachelor’s degree in journalism with a history minor from Augustana College, a private liberal arts school in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. In May 2001, this educational background evidently provided him with the skills necessary to land a job in Washington D.C., where, despite his limited knowledge of things related to science – his mnemonic device for remembering the planets is Minnesota Vikings Eat My Juicy Sloppy Unappealing Nasty Poop – he was hired to work as a Staff Assistant for the House of Representatives Committee on Science. This committee includes Sub-Committees for Research; Energy; Environment, Technology and Standards; and Space and Aeronautics. During his two years of employment with this office, J.J. Dufresne received a salary of $31,500 a year to do stuff, though what exactly he did has never been clear to me. I’ve asked him a couple of times what were his duties and responsibilities, and each time J.J. gives me the same vague answer: every day, five days a week, he slipped on a pair of pleated tan Dockers that were hand-me-downs from Ted; a white dress shirt from Sears that Nancy had given Ted for Father’s Day; and a striped tie that Ted didn’t wear anymore, and he took the train to his job on Capital Hill.

As far as I can tell, J.J. spent some of his time answering the phone and sorting mail, both snail mail and electronic. One time, he answered the phone, and it was Buzz Aldrin, the second man on the moon; Aldrin wanted to speak with J.J.’s supervisor, so J.J. put him through. Another time, a nut job sent the Science Committee an email that claimed the government had planted a chip in his head. This enabled them to monitor his thoughts, the nut job said, and he was fixing to get back at the government for this. J.J. forwarded the nut job’s email to the police.

But he spent the rest of his time looking for ways to pass the time. He might look at porn on the internet; he might take a nap in a forgotten storage room. He might tap his foot or eat his lunch at ten a.m. or fold a sheet of paper into the shape of a football then flick it across the room or daydream about what it would be like to be a hero. Being at work was a lot like being bored.

Until J.J. devised a time-passing amusement he called a Log Log.

The Log Log was a file containing detailed accounts of his on-the-job bowel movements. “I took a folder from the office,” he told me. “I used paper from the office, I used the computer in the office, I used the printer and its ink. All of it paid for by you and your husband and everyone else I know.” He said, “I still have it. I could show it to you if you want.”

I told J.J. that for an anal retentive type like me – a girl who didn’t have a BM the entire year she lived in the freshman dorms – the very idea of shitting in a stall where I can see the tasseled leather loafers of a congressman who is shitting in the stall next to me blows my mind. It’s something I’m just not capable of.

J.J. nodded. “That’s because girls don’t poop,” he said.

But, I said, it’s committing this action while on the taxpayer’s clock. That’s what’s unconscionable.

J.J. nodded again. “That’s true,” he said.

I wasn’t saying anything J.J. hadn’t already thought of himself. In fact, even back then, the more he thought about it, the more it bothered him. He was, after all, a taxpayer, and what he was doing was…well…government waste, and it really annoyed him. It annoyed him much so that he contacted a reporter at The Washington City Paper. Using the name Calvin Carr – it’s his uncle’s name, but it’s also a cool-sounding alias – J.J. Dufresne blew the whistle on himself, on his own frivolous and reckless use of taxpayer money. He hoped his actions would be seen as here’s a guy who is just trying to do the right thing.

The reporter, however, didn’t seem terribly interested in J.J.’s story. Instead he wanted to know about J.J.’s supervisors, where were J.J.’s supervisors during all this, and J.J., who had nothing bad to say about his bosses, kept telling the guy hey, look, it’s not them, it’s me. It’s me. I’m an idiot! he said. I’m an idiot!

But the reporter didn’t want to hear about that – there’s no story in that, he told J.J. – and that was the end of it. A few days later, J.J. Dufresne decided that since no one else was going to hold him accountable, he’d have to do it himself. He resigned from his position as Staff Assistant for the House of Representatives Committee on Science and he moved back to his home state of Minnesota where he joined the ranks of the unemployed but looking.