Citizen SnoopIn a few short months the United States would elect to the most powerful office in the world a sixty-nine or seventy-year old, and yet he Tom Fletcher, sixty-five, could not even get an interview for an evening attendant's position at the local university art museum. Everything was youth, youth, youth. They wouldn't even consider him for substitute teaching at the local high school. He guessed they figured the teenaged ruffians would eat him alive, or maybe he had already yielded to senility, which in the mind of a thirty-something hiring authority was inevitable for a man his age.
I suppose I shouldn't complain, he thought.
Social Security and a modest retirement account enabled him to pay the bills, and along with the income of his wife who still worked full-time at that s
