C. A. Heifner - Mule: My Dangerous Life as a Drug Smuggler Turned DEA Informant

GOOD MORNING, PROFESSOR HEIFNER!SAID A FORMER STUDENT, HER smile warm enough to melt frozen butter. She added a saucy wink before we passed each other in the hall, reaffirming my decision to pursue a career in education. All the gold in Fort Knox cant buy you an ounce of true respect, yet I had amassed tons of it. Granted, the life of an adjunct faculty lecturer at El Paso Community College isnt one of decadent excess, but I loved it anyway. I had worked hard, and damned if I wasnt going to enjoy it.

It was the first day of spring 2010 classes, and the vice president of instruction had summoned me to his office. Dr. Dennis Brown had created a wide variety of special projects, and I was hoping that my efforts over the prior two years would result in some much-deserved recognition. The respect of the students meant a lot, but the respect of my peers and supervisors meant more.

My first meeting with The Man. His meek and rather goofy appearance surprised me. Wearing a peach shirt with a pink tie, he reminded me of a fashionfaux pas Mr. Rogers from the old kids show.

With him sat a trashy bottle blonde from Human Resources, whose namelike her personalitywas bland and forgettable. She had done her impossibly colored hair in a teased-out perm that hadnt been in style since the 80s, and her makeupsky-blue eye shadow, Pepto-pink lipstick creeping onto her teethmade her vampire-pale complexion equal parts disturbing and frightening.

After customary introductions we took our seats at the conference table in Browns large, drab office. An awkward silence ensuedhardly the immediate adulation my ego had been expecting. This low-key, risk-averse, no-pulse demeanor of most academics was nothing new, but the total absence of chatter meant that something was definitely wrong. My worst fears slid across the table.

Mr. Heifner, are you aware that an article about you appeared in the January 17 issue of El Paso Inc. ? he asked, his voice monotone, almost sterile.

The born salesman in me quickly entered damage control mode and smiled wideeven though I wanted to crawl into a snow cave and hibernate. They say any publicity is good publicity, but I was less than pleased with the article. The reporter misstated facts, sensationalized tidbits, and turned a blind eye toward many of the positive aspects of my speeches. But that article, along with a recent piece in the New York Times, was helping me make significant headway in my speaking endeavors.

Absolutely, sir, I said proudly. This year I plan on speaking to 25,000 high school students as a free public service, and Im trying to raise awareness of my efforts via any means possible, not to mention finding sponsors to help pay for travel expenses.

Dr. Brown and Blondie clearly were expecting a different response along the lines of an apology rather than pleased acceptance. Another pregnant pause followed.

Mr. Heifner, we want to go over some aspects of your job application, Brown said, withdrawing a second document from the folder in front of him.

A knot bigger than a Texas ranch formed in my stomach. I no longer wanted to hibernate; I wanted to hole up for an entire ice age. What was about to happen became painfully obvious. This dynamic duo wouldnt have parsed every detail of my hiring packet unless they intended to shit-can me. I bet this was how the Titanic s captain felt when frigid water began flowing over the transom. My ship was sinkingfast.

Mr. Heifner, on your application you affirmed that you have never been convicted of a felony, he said, screwing up his face in disgust as if he had just stepped in fresh dog shit.

Correct, I havent. Otherwise, I would have disclosed it.

Reputation aside, Brown instantly revealed himself to be a ballless, favorites-playing bureaucrat who had somehow ascended into management. He hid behind the rules and undoubtedly had never been forced to make a bold executive decision in his life.

It also asks if youve ever been involved in a deferred adjudication, Blondie added.

Ultravanilla drones like this who keep their heads low, dont make waves, and live for midday cigarette and coffee breaks make me sick. No, they were worse than drones; they were sheep. The highlight of their week was probably a trip to the local $4.99 buffet after church. That kind of lifestyle stood against every motivational speech I had ever given or would ever give. It made me want to swallow a shotgun.

Yes, it does, I agreed calmly, and given my rather unusual situation, I called the HR hotline and asked for the proper way to answer that question. I followed their instructions to the letter. I was told that as long as I dont have a felony conviction, the question is a misnomer, and I should simply answer no. Of course, I see my mistake now, but I have nothing to hide. If I did, I certainly wouldnt admit my past indiscretions in my speeches.

Why did it matter? Politicking hard and fast, I tried to spin the situation in my favor by mentioning the gobs of positive feedback from my speaking engagements. Any politician worth his soapbox would have praised my impromptu, impassioned speech. But despite my best efforts the garrote around the larynx of my career was pulling tighter and tighter. Brown and Blondie didnt give a crap about the inconsistencies on my job application or that I was one of the most popular instructors on campus. They didnt like the idea of a former drug trafficker and subsequent DEA informant getting any press, regardless of the knowledge I was imparting.

I poured my heart and soul into that meeting. I was honest, straightforward, and as upbeat and positive as humanly possible. I knew why I was there, and I knew what was at stakeboth then and for years to come. Future aspirations aside, I truly loved my job and the opportunity it presented to touch the lives of so many people who might have headed down the same rocky, pitfall-laden path I had taken. But their minds were made up long before our meeting; they just wanted to cover their asses before firing me. Welcome to reality. It suckedbut I wasnt going down without a fight.

Surely, youre both aware of my excellent teaching record and my stellar rapport with the students.

Mr. Heifner, this meeting isnt about your ability as an instructor. Browns emotionless voice went even flatter. You are hereby suspended until further notice.

But today is the first day of classes, and I have a class tonight.

Im well aware of that, Mr. Heifner. Ill inform you of my final decision this afternoon.

People make mistakes, and the good ones atone for themor try to. I was trying and succeedingor so I thought. I always wanted to do something noble with my lifesomething specialto become respected, to give back. So then why the fuck did I keep finding myself in unwinnable fights against impossible odds for ludicrous reasons?

My name is Chris Heifner, and this is my story.

AT AN AGE WHEN I SHOULDNT HAVE BEEN THINKING BEYOND LITTLE League and Pop Warner or which superhero was cooler, Batman or Superman, I had already conjured a plan to travel the world, experience incredible adventures, find fame and fortune, meet and marry the perfect woman, and raise awesome kids. I believed it was my destiny.

All or nothing is what I told everyone my life would be, courtesy of a God-given trifecta of looks, brains, and charm. Im no Brad Pitt, but Im no Steve Buscemi, either. I dont play in Albert Einsteins trivia league, but Im definitely smarter than the average bear. As for charm, when Eskimos need ice, they come to me.

As I grew older and pondering my future became more and more frequent, I surmised that all I had to do was stay the course, continue making progress, and sooner or later my big breakan event that would transform my life into fairy-tale worthinesswould occur. But sitting in my Business Law class, taking notes, stressed out of my gourd because I was worried about whether I had enough gas to get home, much less enough money in my wallet to eat not just today but for the rest of the month, my vision of that perfect life felt like a delusion of grandeur.