This afternoon, I gave $30 to a complete stranger. I'm not sure if it was the right thing to do, but I'm glad I did it anyway.
I don't consider myself one who is easily conned. I'm generally pretty skeptical. And I have very little trouble saying no to people who ask me for money. When this woman approached me in the parking lot of Home Depot, I had every intention of blowing her off.
But something in her story rang true. In a nutshell, she told me that she had moved to the area three months prior and had been looking for a job ever since. She said that she was due to start a job on Monday, but that she had to show a state-issued ID Monday morning, or the job would be given to someone else. She had scraped together the money necessary to get a copy of her birth certificate, but didn't have enough to pay for the ID.
Sounds like a scam, right? And who knows? It might have been. But there was something about her that made me believe her. She showed me a receipt proving that she'd paid $18 to get her birth certificate yesterday. And her mannerisms--she seemed so embarrassed, and so nervous. And desperate.
But I almost never have cash on me. I gave her what change I had--less than $1--and got in my car and drove away. And then I worried. By the time I arrived back home--where I did have cash--I'd decided to go back.
I changed my mind six or seven times as I drove back. By the time I pulled into the Home Depot parking lot for the second time, I'd decided that I was being an idiot. Part of me hoped that she would no longer be there. But she was. And as I watched her talking to other people, she became visibly more upset and panicked looking. As I walked up to her, she was in tears. So I gave her the money. And I'm glad I did.
Thirty dollars is no small amount of money, but it's also not a big deal to me. I could afford it without really thinking twice. And something that I kept thinking about during this whole experience was that once upon a time, I was in a precarious enough financial situation that I couldn't handle unexpected expenses. Waiting tables was perfect for my mental health, but it was hell on my bank account. While I made enough money to pay rent and other critical bills, it took very little to send me into financial crisis. But I had a safety net--while I don't know that my parents ever really understood what made their college-educated daughter take three years off to work in the food service industry, they were willing and able to help me out when necessary. If I hadn't had them to lean on when I had an unexpected medical bill, or on that memorable occasion when I accidently hit submit twice when paying my student loan (which paid it twice), I don't know what I would have done.
So maybe it was a scam. If so, so be it. I know that if I hadn't given her the money I'd still be worrying about it. And while I know that I'm not responsible for other people's lives, I also know that I don't do enough to help people who are less fortunate than I. And maybe--just maybe--I helped someone take a small step toward independence. I'll never really know. But I do know that I'll sleep better tonight.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Monday, August 10, 2009
Why I avoid doing things in DC in the summer, or letters to the assholes at the Holocaust museum
Dear college-age girls sitting on the floor just inside the entrance,
Perhaps you could find a more appropriate place to discuss the new shoes you bought yesterday. Or, perhaps you could discuss it quietly, and not so loud that you drown out the sound of the video playing in the exhibit.
Regards,
Kate
Dear teenage kid who planted himself directly in front of every single display I was trying to read, *
If you happen to see a semicircle of people, standing a few feet back from a display, perhaps you should take into account that they have positioned themselves so that they can all read the sign at the same time. You do get points for saying excuse me as you cut through the group, but doing so and then standing six inches from the sign--leaving all of us staring at the back of your head--doesn't cut it. Neither does doing the same damn thing at every single display.
You are not the center of the universe,
Kate
*Also, the short woman who took over this role once I finally lost the teenage kid.
Dear Rebecca's dad,
I am not a parent, so some might say that I have no right to give parenting tips. But here are a few things you clearly need to know.
1. Common sense should tell you that little Rebecca should not be climbing on the displays. But even if common sense didn't tell you that, the nice woman with the walkie-talkie did. Four times. Now, of course I heard you relaying this to your little angel, but you seemed to be having some communication issues, since she ignored you.
2. If you tell your child "Now, we talked about this," and she hits you, perhaps responding by repeating yourself isn't going to cut it. Especially since she hit you again every time you said it.
3. This may have escaped you, but the Holocaust Museum is a fairly emotionally taxing place. Most visitors spoke in whispers, when they spoke at all. There was an air of solemnity and reverence that I felt was very appropriate. But not your little Rebecca. She tried to lighten up the room by emitting ear-piercing shrieks and announcing "My name is Rebecca" every thirty seconds. I know that helped me truly grasp the horror of Birkenau.
Now, I don't want you to think I'm a monster. I'm not angry at Rebecca here. She's a kid, and she was acting like a (slightly spoiled) kid. I'm angry at her dumbass parents who didn't realize that taking a five-year-old to the Holocaust Museum is a bad idea. But maybe I'm being too harsh. I mean, they only warn that the exhibition isn't appropriate for children under 11 seven or eight times before you get in the door. And clearly your desire to see the exhibition under any circumstances trumps the right of the other fifty people in the room to see it peacefully. I mean, did you see that lady with the crying baby? She actually hustled the kid out the door as quickly as possible. What an idiot!
Really, I should probably thank you. I'd been planning to try to go to the top of the Washington Monument before I go back to work, but you've reminded me why that's a bad idea this month. I'll save the rest of my trips downtown for October, when you'll be back in Nebraska or wherever the fuck you come from.
Good riddance,
Kate
Perhaps you could find a more appropriate place to discuss the new shoes you bought yesterday. Or, perhaps you could discuss it quietly, and not so loud that you drown out the sound of the video playing in the exhibit.
Regards,
Kate
Dear teenage kid who planted himself directly in front of every single display I was trying to read, *
If you happen to see a semicircle of people, standing a few feet back from a display, perhaps you should take into account that they have positioned themselves so that they can all read the sign at the same time. You do get points for saying excuse me as you cut through the group, but doing so and then standing six inches from the sign--leaving all of us staring at the back of your head--doesn't cut it. Neither does doing the same damn thing at every single display.
You are not the center of the universe,
Kate
*Also, the short woman who took over this role once I finally lost the teenage kid.
Dear Rebecca's dad,
I am not a parent, so some might say that I have no right to give parenting tips. But here are a few things you clearly need to know.
1. Common sense should tell you that little Rebecca should not be climbing on the displays. But even if common sense didn't tell you that, the nice woman with the walkie-talkie did. Four times. Now, of course I heard you relaying this to your little angel, but you seemed to be having some communication issues, since she ignored you.
2. If you tell your child "Now, we talked about this," and she hits you, perhaps responding by repeating yourself isn't going to cut it. Especially since she hit you again every time you said it.
3. This may have escaped you, but the Holocaust Museum is a fairly emotionally taxing place. Most visitors spoke in whispers, when they spoke at all. There was an air of solemnity and reverence that I felt was very appropriate. But not your little Rebecca. She tried to lighten up the room by emitting ear-piercing shrieks and announcing "My name is Rebecca" every thirty seconds. I know that helped me truly grasp the horror of Birkenau.
Now, I don't want you to think I'm a monster. I'm not angry at Rebecca here. She's a kid, and she was acting like a (slightly spoiled) kid. I'm angry at her dumbass parents who didn't realize that taking a five-year-old to the Holocaust Museum is a bad idea. But maybe I'm being too harsh. I mean, they only warn that the exhibition isn't appropriate for children under 11 seven or eight times before you get in the door. And clearly your desire to see the exhibition under any circumstances trumps the right of the other fifty people in the room to see it peacefully. I mean, did you see that lady with the crying baby? She actually hustled the kid out the door as quickly as possible. What an idiot!
Really, I should probably thank you. I'd been planning to try to go to the top of the Washington Monument before I go back to work, but you've reminded me why that's a bad idea this month. I'll save the rest of my trips downtown for October, when you'll be back in Nebraska or wherever the fuck you come from.
Good riddance,
Kate
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Friday, June 19, 2009
Eyeliner 1,000, Kate 0
I've been calling myself girl-impaired for ages. I can barely dress myself. I have approximately 3 different things I can do with my hair--if all the conditions are right. And I don't understand makeup. I seem to have missed that period in high school where girls experiment with makeup, make themselves look like hookers, and then finally get it right.
When I was invited to the Reading Is Fundamental Gala earlier this month, I paid someone to fix my hair, but I was determined to do the makeup part myself. I went to the M.A.C. store at Columbia mall and threw myself on the mercy of one of their salespeople, who was patient and wonderful and I wish I could remember her name, because you should all go and buy many, many things from her. She did what no one else has been able to do--she showed me how to use makeup, and made it simple enough that I could do it myself. She also sold me over $100 worth of makeup, so clearly she's good.
Well, mostly. I tried using the eyebrow pencil exactly once, made myself look like a clown, and decided that was a battle I wasn't going to fight. The eyeliner, though--that has been a problem. And I don't understand why. I mean, you're basically tracing your eye, right? I can trace. It's about the only art-related thing that I'm good at. I am not good at this.
Usually, I can get my right eye done without any problem. Then my left eye looks like a two-year-old scribbled on it. I don't understand why. I'm using the same hand to do both of them. I would just say screw it and give up, but I actually really like the way it looks, once I manage to get it right. (Usually this takes about 3 attempts.)
Sigh. I'm trying--but I'm still girl-impaired.
When I was invited to the Reading Is Fundamental Gala earlier this month, I paid someone to fix my hair, but I was determined to do the makeup part myself. I went to the M.A.C. store at Columbia mall and threw myself on the mercy of one of their salespeople, who was patient and wonderful and I wish I could remember her name, because you should all go and buy many, many things from her. She did what no one else has been able to do--she showed me how to use makeup, and made it simple enough that I could do it myself. She also sold me over $100 worth of makeup, so clearly she's good.
Well, mostly. I tried using the eyebrow pencil exactly once, made myself look like a clown, and decided that was a battle I wasn't going to fight. The eyeliner, though--that has been a problem. And I don't understand why. I mean, you're basically tracing your eye, right? I can trace. It's about the only art-related thing that I'm good at. I am not good at this.
Usually, I can get my right eye done without any problem. Then my left eye looks like a two-year-old scribbled on it. I don't understand why. I'm using the same hand to do both of them. I would just say screw it and give up, but I actually really like the way it looks, once I manage to get it right. (Usually this takes about 3 attempts.)
Sigh. I'm trying--but I'm still girl-impaired.
Monday, June 8, 2009
Embracing the cheese.
I hadn't even thought about the New Kids on the Block in at least a decade, but as soon as I heard last year that they were touring, I wanted to go.
Everyone laughed at me.
Even my sister, who was a New Kids freak bigger and longer than I was responded with "Yeah, have fun with that."
From the very beginning, I wanted to go as a nostalgia thing. When I hear one of their songs, which happens about once a year or so, I always smile and sing along, but it's not like I've been digging my old tapes out of boxes or anything. So when they came to DC last fall, I tried in vain to find someone--anyone--who would go with me.
I mentioned this to B. a few months ago, when I heard that they were touring again this spring/summer, and her eyes lit up. I had my concertgoing companion.
The show was last night, and it was AWESOME. Beyond awesome--it might have been the most entertaining concert I've ever been to. (Disclaimer: I don't generally like concerts. I find them extremely boring. This concert? Not boring.) First of all, let's get this out of the way:
This picture is courtesy of the lovely B., who took it while standing directly behind me. On an iPhone, no less--with no zoom. We were THAT CLOSE for a couple of songs, and yes, I turned into a 12-year-old girl for that fifteen minutes.
Actually, that's not true. I was a 12-year-old girl for the entire show, and I think that's part of why it was so awesome. Don't get me wrong--these guys do actually have talent--but the songs that were cheesy in 1989 do not get any less cheesy when the guy singing it is entering his fourth decade. That's kind of the point. This show could have been really, really lame, but they got up there and performed the hell out of two hours. Particularly when we were up close, it was easy to tell that they were having the time of their lives. And so was I.
I should pause here to share that I am not, in any way, a music snob. Miley Cyrus* and Metallica share space on my iPod. I actually own a song by Aly and AJ, which is something no adult should ever admit. I embrace the cheese, is what I'm trying to say. Those who do not may not have enjoyed themselves last night. But I did.
They played a pretty decent mix of old and new, which was great. (Though, a note to Joey M. Popsicle was a weird song back in the 80s. The years have not been kind to it, and while they have been kind to YOU, that little interlude was a little creepy.) I actually downloaded their new CD today, and there's at least one song I cannot get out of my head. They sang Tonight, which struck me as a song that is extremely appropriate for a reunion tour--moreso, perhaps than when it first came out. I also remember getting offended when it was first released, because of the line "We met a lot of people...and girls." "Aren't girls people?" I demanded to my mother. Aww. Bless my little proto-feminist heart. My favorite, though, was Hangin' Tough. That, of all their songs, could have been the most absurd as performed by guys pushing 40, but they knocked it out of the park.
If they come back into town, I'd go see them again. It was a good show. (B. and I did decide that driving to New Jersey this weekend to see them again would be overkill, but it was a serious debate for a good couple of minutes there.) Also, for the record, the soundtrack to this post was the New Kids Greatest Hits. Laugh away. I had the time of my life last night.
* One of these days, I will post my thoughts on why Miley Cyrus and her ilk, while often incomprehensible to adults, are very important in the grand scheme of things. NKOTB fits into this category too. Also, the Jonas Brothers.
Everyone laughed at me.
Even my sister, who was a New Kids freak bigger and longer than I was responded with "Yeah, have fun with that."
From the very beginning, I wanted to go as a nostalgia thing. When I hear one of their songs, which happens about once a year or so, I always smile and sing along, but it's not like I've been digging my old tapes out of boxes or anything. So when they came to DC last fall, I tried in vain to find someone--anyone--who would go with me.
I mentioned this to B. a few months ago, when I heard that they were touring again this spring/summer, and her eyes lit up. I had my concertgoing companion.
The show was last night, and it was AWESOME. Beyond awesome--it might have been the most entertaining concert I've ever been to. (Disclaimer: I don't generally like concerts. I find them extremely boring. This concert? Not boring.) First of all, let's get this out of the way:
This picture is courtesy of the lovely B., who took it while standing directly behind me. On an iPhone, no less--with no zoom. We were THAT CLOSE for a couple of songs, and yes, I turned into a 12-year-old girl for that fifteen minutes.
Actually, that's not true. I was a 12-year-old girl for the entire show, and I think that's part of why it was so awesome. Don't get me wrong--these guys do actually have talent--but the songs that were cheesy in 1989 do not get any less cheesy when the guy singing it is entering his fourth decade. That's kind of the point. This show could have been really, really lame, but they got up there and performed the hell out of two hours. Particularly when we were up close, it was easy to tell that they were having the time of their lives. And so was I.
I should pause here to share that I am not, in any way, a music snob. Miley Cyrus* and Metallica share space on my iPod. I actually own a song by Aly and AJ, which is something no adult should ever admit. I embrace the cheese, is what I'm trying to say. Those who do not may not have enjoyed themselves last night. But I did.
They played a pretty decent mix of old and new, which was great. (Though, a note to Joey M. Popsicle was a weird song back in the 80s. The years have not been kind to it, and while they have been kind to YOU, that little interlude was a little creepy.) I actually downloaded their new CD today, and there's at least one song I cannot get out of my head. They sang Tonight, which struck me as a song that is extremely appropriate for a reunion tour--moreso, perhaps than when it first came out. I also remember getting offended when it was first released, because of the line "We met a lot of people...and girls." "Aren't girls people?" I demanded to my mother. Aww. Bless my little proto-feminist heart. My favorite, though, was Hangin' Tough. That, of all their songs, could have been the most absurd as performed by guys pushing 40, but they knocked it out of the park.
If they come back into town, I'd go see them again. It was a good show. (B. and I did decide that driving to New Jersey this weekend to see them again would be overkill, but it was a serious debate for a good couple of minutes there.) Also, for the record, the soundtrack to this post was the New Kids Greatest Hits. Laugh away. I had the time of my life last night.
* One of these days, I will post my thoughts on why Miley Cyrus and her ilk, while often incomprehensible to adults, are very important in the grand scheme of things. NKOTB fits into this category too. Also, the Jonas Brothers.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Out of the mouths of babes...
Today I was reading to a Pre-K class (4-year-olds). I got to the point in the book where one character was going to give another the BEST BIRTHDAY PRESENT EVER. So, I stopped and asked the kids to tell me what they thought that present would be. Most of the answers were fairly typical...a pony, a motorcycle, toys. And then another kid raised his hand. His answer?
"A machine that pops out hands to grab parents with."
The best part? Not even close to the oddest thing that I've heard this kid say.
"A machine that pops out hands to grab parents with."
The best part? Not even close to the oddest thing that I've heard this kid say.
Friday, April 3, 2009
How to know if you've completely lost control of a situation
If you walk into a dark room, flip on the light, and your cat raises her head and fixes you with a steely glare--and you hurry to finish what you're doing so you can turn the light off again--you are not the dominant personality in that relationship.
I was halfway downstairs before I realized what had just happened.
I was halfway downstairs before I realized what had just happened.
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