I was a young college student living with my ex-boyfriend in the back of a small antique shop when I had my closest encounter with a homeless person.  True, I was about as homeless as I have ever felt in my life given we weren’t supposed to be living in this space meant for our business, but I easily blended in with the rest of the bathed society and chose to identify myself with them.  It was during this time that I became a regular plasma donor.  I received fifteen dollars for my first successful donation and forty-five dollars for the second – potentially a nice supplemental income for a college student.

I took off one evening, upset at my ex-boyfriend, with no intention of returning.  I planned to donate plasma the next day and receive forty-five dollars.  Being anemic, I had to stock up on high protein foods the night before to boost my hermaticrit level.  Without a high enough red blood cell count, they would turn you away instead of risk leaving you without enough energy.  I didn’t have enough money for bus fare much less a can of red beans when I wandered out that night.  I came near a church where someone had set up some blankets for a shelter, but it seemed to be unoccupied.  I had no idea where I was going to sleep that night, so I decided to poke around this shack and hope for a place to lay my head.  I’m not sure how I got to a point where sleeping on some dirty blankets next to a church somewhere in downtown was acceptable, but I didn’t twice about it at the time.

To my surprise, I was invading the privacy of a homeless man lying on a mattress watching t.v. from his battery-operated set.  I don’t remember what he was watching – I don’t even totally remember what he looked like – only that he was probably in his thirties and wore a cap, glasses, and an unshaven beard.  I apologized and intended to move on, but the man insisted that I stay, offering me the spot on his mattress while he slept elsewhere.  Somehow that wasn’t enough for me, and I proceeded to explain my need for a can of beans.  Who would have thought this homeless man had more cash with him than someone as respectable as me, but it wasn’t long after my story that we were walking out of the local food mart with a can of Van de Camp beans that he had purchased for me.  He opened it, of course, with a knife he carried with him.  I was overwhelmed by this man’s kindness and never once felt threatened by him, nor did I ever get the sense that he ever expected anything back from me.  I told myself that I would return the next day with my forty-five dollars and dole out a portion to him.

After a successful plasma donation the next morning (thanks to the can of beans), I headed back to my friend’s shelter, excited to share with him the fruit of his kindness.  To my disappointment, there was no shelter left standing – only the church gardener belting out the loud noise of a hedger.  It was as if the makeshift shelter and the friend I had met there never even existed.  I considered stashing the cash somewhere that he would find it, perhaps in a nearby tree with a note.  But what if he never came back?  And wouldn’t it be pointless if he did, in reality, never exist and that the whole encounter was just a gesture from God to restore my hope?  I’ll never remember what I spent the forty-five dollars in my pocket on, but I can’t help but remember nearly ten years later that kindness can come from the most unexpected people and places.

Deborah Wilson

A poignant observation as the fall air chills and makes me long for the hayrides of my youth. The “cubicle” of corporate America is being corrupted by the fat-cats in power that take, and keep on taking. My office is erased by the notion of “Work at Home”, and as I get a call from my creditors in India telling me my account is past due, I think “ Geez, I’d love a job calling people telling them their bills are late”, especially the CEO’s of the banking institution because they were caught spending company funds on hookers in Costa Rica, and funneling the “business expense” through an off-shore bank account, while people trying to buy houses are unable to get quality loans because of the abuse of the past.

I think, that as the government bailed out these lenders, the lenders are holding on to the homes trying to persuade the consumer that they can’t quality, but in reality, they are holding on the homes so they (lenders) can turn the house around when the economy rebounds.(whatever that means)

The economy for me pretty much sucks, not because I lost thousands in stocks, or that even though gas prices have declined, I still can’t travel, no. The economy sucks for me because as unemployment increases, I can’t even get a job as a cashier because I’m “over-qualified”. I had to dumb-up my resume to reflect my lack of achievement, and not my achievements. I’ve had to omit degrees, experience, qualifications, and work experience to get even the most basic of employment. (As of this writing, still unsuccessful.)

The office I speak of at the beginning is the cubicle of the mind. The confines of the cubicle are a direct reflection of the aptitude and resolve of the common American. As an American, I feel (personally) that I am not too good for anything. I am willing to assume a position (sic.)that will allow me to live above the poverty level. (Apparently, 150% below the average income means)

I write, because it affords me to escape the cubicle, and allow the freedoms as Americans, have lived and died for. Basically, it’s the last place a boss can affect you work, because of it subjectivity. (Also, every once and a while, someone will pay you to do what you enjoy)

As the corporate cubicle compresses on the average soul, my office will continue to have a hand grenade on the desk, sitting on a sign that says please take a number, as a number one hangs every so gently from the pin.

Andrew Rutigliano

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My experience involves banking. As much as I try to manage my funds I can never come out ahead.  Try balancing my checkbook.  Miss something, overdraft.  Then the banks go and change up midstream telling you that they don’t care if you have money in your account or not every purchase will go through.

So I monitor my account online. My account gets severely overdrawn.  I call cust service they tell me that they rearrange your purchases according to amount, largest to smallest.  So I make about six small purchases.  My account has $800 dollars in it.  I make a purchase didn’t check my account rushing make a $758 purchase and 2 small purchase about $21 and $14.  They overdraft.  I check my account and see last 2 overdrafted. The next day I’m -$325 in the red.

Well I’m livid, distraught and freakin out. They rearrange all my purchase that weekend and all of them bounced because they put the $758 purchase first and instead of 2 overdrafts I had 6 overdrafts.  I’m so mad at myself for falling victim to this scam.  They took my whole check for 2 weeks. I’m still recovering.  I now have learned a very expensive lesson. Check my account daily, and make sure I don’t go over and cancel that keep the change crap they offer.

Even though it was my error I still think it’s unfair to make me pay overdraft fees on purchases that were NOT overdrafted. I rather them deny the purchase or take them out as they come in than make it seem like I go around making several purchases without money in my account. I WILL get through this and I WILL stop allowing banks to use my procrastination and disorganization against me.

Claudette Mahdi