Several years ago during another economic downturn, Jim and I had just left Wal-Mart. We didn’t have a lot of money, so we had carefully selected enough groceries for the week. We stopped in a line of traffic waiting to pull onto Highway 50. A scruffy looking man carried a sign that said “Will Work for Food.” Several cars in front of us rolled down windows and handed the man money.
Jim said, “Roll down your window, Honey.”
Jim was a generous sort of man so I thought he was going to give the guy some money. We knew what hard times were firsthand. I began to rummage through my purse looking for a few dollars. Jim beckoned the man to come over, and the man leaned into my window.
Jim said, “Hey, I have a lot of work that needs to be done at my house. I can keep you busy for several days.” It was true that we could use help. Jim and I were building our house with sweat equity, and we had worked on it for months, and had many more to go.
I thought maybe Jim had lost his mind. No way did I want this man at my home with my family. Besides I watch a lot of TV and was pretty sure this guy looked like serial killer material.
The man got a strange look on his face and no longer seemed the humble job seeker of a few moments before. He looked to the right. He swept his gaze to the left. “I have to go,” he said. “Those people in the next car want to talk to me.”
I rolled my window up and slammed down the button to lock the door in case that Charles Manson looking character changed his mind. “Are you crazy?” I asked Jim. “I wouldn’t want that man to even know where we live, much less hang around for days!” I was huffy.
Jim just laughed. “Hell, there’s no way that guy wants to work. He only wants a handout.”
I always hated it when Jim was right. It would have suited my personality to hand the guy some money, but Jim was a man with quick judgment who could spot a scam artist a mile away.
We pulled onto the highway. “You still took a chance,” I said. “I would have been scared to death if that guy had climbed in the van with us.”
“Wasn’t going to happen,” Jim said. “You don’t look for a job standing out on the street holding a sign.”
I looked in the rearview mirror and saw the man back at the corner with his “Will Work for Food” sign held high as another car rolled to a stop and the window came down. Sometimes it’s easier to hand over money than to judge character. In hard economic times, scam artists work hard to take your money and steal donations that could go to people who really need it.
Showing posts with label Wal-Mart. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Wal-Mart. Show all posts
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Ten Thousand Cicadas and a Drummer Boy
Health wise, last year was my luckiest ever. I missed all the sickness and didn’t have so much as a cold. We all know what a difference a year can make.
Last week, I came down with a cold. I can handle a measly little cold by taking one day really easy. So, I spent last Sunday self medicating, fully confident that Monday would be full steam ahead.
I felt better Monday morning so I went to work at 7:00 a.m. as usual. About 10:00, my ear stopped up. I called the doctor and he penciled me into a 12:00 cancellation.
“You have an ear infection,” he said. He wrote a prescription for an antibiotic and sent me on my way. By now the whole left side of my face throbbed.
At Wal-Mart, I dropped off the prescription at the appropriate window and went to buy some chicken soup and green tea. While I shopped, I remembered the problems Jim had with his ears and how he couldn’t tell us how it hurt. Jim had aphasia and rarely spoke so it took observation to determine when he wasn’t feeling well. One time, his balance was off, and a nurse at the nursing home decided to take him across the lot to our family doctor’s office to have his ears irrigated.
“Does he speak at all?” the doctor asked the nurse as Jim silently sat on the examining table. The doctor visited Jim regularly in the nursing home and hadn’t heard Jim say anything in years.
“Not much,” the nurse said.
The doctor poked an Otoscope in Jim’s ear to take a look.
“Jesus Christ!” Jim yelled and jumped off the examining table scowling at the doctor.
“I thought you said he didn’t talk,” the doctor said.
“I said, ‘Not much’,” she replied.
I pushed my thoughts of Jim aside and got in line behind a woman with coupons and questions dealing with a novice checker. Ten minutes later, I paid for my few items and headed back to the pharmacy to check on my prescription. After I stood in another line, I picked up my medicine and headed home.
By now my ear sounded like it had ten thousand cicadas in it. Occasionally it would “thump” like the little drummer boy had given it a whack. After all these years, I began to think of an ear drum as a real drum.
After a short winter’s nap, I woke up and the pressure wasn’t as bad, but I felt liquid in my ear. I used a Kleenex to wipe out my ear and bright red blood covered it. I called my doctor at home. He explained how the pressure had ruptured my ear drum, but he was confident that it would heal. “I never knew of anyone to bleed to death from their ear,” he said.
Oh, crap. I hadn’t even thought of that! Didn’t the cowboys in TV westerns often bleed from their ears right before they died?
The doctor was correct, and I didn’t bleed to death and the ear eventually stopped hurting. I’ve become accustomed to the humming and the drummer boy has laid down his sticks. I can’t hear well out of the ear yet and my sound perception is askew. When I turn on the water, it sounds like it is running somewhere off to my right. My hearing has always been excellent and I thought God was compensating me for my poor eyesight. According to Google, my ear drum will probably heal on its own, but I have a few options if it doesn’t before I need to break out the hearing aides.
For now, it’s always summer in my ear, and it’s a good year for cicadas.
Last week, I came down with a cold. I can handle a measly little cold by taking one day really easy. So, I spent last Sunday self medicating, fully confident that Monday would be full steam ahead.
I felt better Monday morning so I went to work at 7:00 a.m. as usual. About 10:00, my ear stopped up. I called the doctor and he penciled me into a 12:00 cancellation.
“You have an ear infection,” he said. He wrote a prescription for an antibiotic and sent me on my way. By now the whole left side of my face throbbed.
At Wal-Mart, I dropped off the prescription at the appropriate window and went to buy some chicken soup and green tea. While I shopped, I remembered the problems Jim had with his ears and how he couldn’t tell us how it hurt. Jim had aphasia and rarely spoke so it took observation to determine when he wasn’t feeling well. One time, his balance was off, and a nurse at the nursing home decided to take him across the lot to our family doctor’s office to have his ears irrigated.
“Does he speak at all?” the doctor asked the nurse as Jim silently sat on the examining table. The doctor visited Jim regularly in the nursing home and hadn’t heard Jim say anything in years.
“Not much,” the nurse said.
The doctor poked an Otoscope in Jim’s ear to take a look.
“Jesus Christ!” Jim yelled and jumped off the examining table scowling at the doctor.
“I thought you said he didn’t talk,” the doctor said.
“I said, ‘Not much’,” she replied.
I pushed my thoughts of Jim aside and got in line behind a woman with coupons and questions dealing with a novice checker. Ten minutes later, I paid for my few items and headed back to the pharmacy to check on my prescription. After I stood in another line, I picked up my medicine and headed home.
By now my ear sounded like it had ten thousand cicadas in it. Occasionally it would “thump” like the little drummer boy had given it a whack. After all these years, I began to think of an ear drum as a real drum.
After a short winter’s nap, I woke up and the pressure wasn’t as bad, but I felt liquid in my ear. I used a Kleenex to wipe out my ear and bright red blood covered it. I called my doctor at home. He explained how the pressure had ruptured my ear drum, but he was confident that it would heal. “I never knew of anyone to bleed to death from their ear,” he said.
Oh, crap. I hadn’t even thought of that! Didn’t the cowboys in TV westerns often bleed from their ears right before they died?
The doctor was correct, and I didn’t bleed to death and the ear eventually stopped hurting. I’ve become accustomed to the humming and the drummer boy has laid down his sticks. I can’t hear well out of the ear yet and my sound perception is askew. When I turn on the water, it sounds like it is running somewhere off to my right. My hearing has always been excellent and I thought God was compensating me for my poor eyesight. According to Google, my ear drum will probably heal on its own, but I have a few options if it doesn’t before I need to break out the hearing aides.
For now, it’s always summer in my ear, and it’s a good year for cicadas.
Monday, September 22, 2008
I Will Remember You, Will You Remember Me?
Sometimes you are better off when you don’t get what you wish for. We had wished for our Memory Walk to be last weekend, but settled for this weekend instead. What a difference a week makes! Last Saturday I was flooded in, but Memory Walk day couldn’t have been more perfect if the request had gone straight from our lips to God’s ears.
It’s been a busy weekend. We began on Thursday evening with Bank Day. Besides collecting team money, we put together goody bags and handed out tee-shirts. Friday, I introduced our new coordinator, Lisa, to the fine art of schmoozing. This is a long-standing tradition with our Sedalia Memory Walk. We visit our corporate sponsors bearing gifts. It shows our appreciation and reminds everyone of the upcoming event.
Friday was a good day. Lisa and I solved our last two remaining problems: (1) ice and water and (2) balloons for our balloon release. When Wal-Mart gave us a gift card, we solved Problem #1 and knew we could buy water and ice the next morning. Problem #2 was balloons for our balloon release. I knew from past experience that inflating the balloons, tying them off, and hauling them around is not a job for sissies. Balloons and Tunes quoted Lisa fifty cents a balloon. For $25 we bought fifty white and purple balloons ready for flight.
Saturday morning, festive music played in the background, and Don the balloon man made magical animal figures and hats for children of all ages ranging from a few months to 96 years. We served breakfast snacks with coffee and plenty of iced down beverages. Center Stage Dance Academy performed three delightful dances that lived up to the slogan on their shirts: “Dance Like Everyone is Watching.”
We began our walk to “I Like to Move It” from Madagascar and finished our mile to “Chariots of Fire.” After the Walk, we gave away door prizes and awarded the two traveling trophies to Fairview. Lisa handed out balloons and with a purple marker, we wrote names of the loved ones we wanted to honor.
“Whose name would you like on your balloon?” I asked Connie from Fairview Nursing Home. Jim’s Team and Fairview have been long-time friendly rivals for the trophies. As a former coordinator, I truly appreciate their commitment to Memory Walk.
“Put Jim’s name on it,” she said. I wrote his name and drew a heart around it.
The music keyed up and fifty balloons soared to “I Will Remember You, Will You Remember Me?” Some of the balloons flew toward the heavens and some caught in the upper branches of a stately tree.
“Those are the ones who are still with us,” my Aunt Labetta said. Before the song was finished, most of the balloons slipped on through the tree and disappeared into the bluest sky possible. Tears flowed for our loved ones lost to the disease. We will always remember them with love, even when they don’t remember us.
It’s been a busy weekend. We began on Thursday evening with Bank Day. Besides collecting team money, we put together goody bags and handed out tee-shirts. Friday, I introduced our new coordinator, Lisa, to the fine art of schmoozing. This is a long-standing tradition with our Sedalia Memory Walk. We visit our corporate sponsors bearing gifts. It shows our appreciation and reminds everyone of the upcoming event.
Friday was a good day. Lisa and I solved our last two remaining problems: (1) ice and water and (2) balloons for our balloon release. When Wal-Mart gave us a gift card, we solved Problem #1 and knew we could buy water and ice the next morning. Problem #2 was balloons for our balloon release. I knew from past experience that inflating the balloons, tying them off, and hauling them around is not a job for sissies. Balloons and Tunes quoted Lisa fifty cents a balloon. For $25 we bought fifty white and purple balloons ready for flight.
Saturday morning, festive music played in the background, and Don the balloon man made magical animal figures and hats for children of all ages ranging from a few months to 96 years. We served breakfast snacks with coffee and plenty of iced down beverages. Center Stage Dance Academy performed three delightful dances that lived up to the slogan on their shirts: “Dance Like Everyone is Watching.”
We began our walk to “I Like to Move It” from Madagascar and finished our mile to “Chariots of Fire.” After the Walk, we gave away door prizes and awarded the two traveling trophies to Fairview. Lisa handed out balloons and with a purple marker, we wrote names of the loved ones we wanted to honor.
“Whose name would you like on your balloon?” I asked Connie from Fairview Nursing Home. Jim’s Team and Fairview have been long-time friendly rivals for the trophies. As a former coordinator, I truly appreciate their commitment to Memory Walk.
“Put Jim’s name on it,” she said. I wrote his name and drew a heart around it.
The music keyed up and fifty balloons soared to “I Will Remember You, Will You Remember Me?” Some of the balloons flew toward the heavens and some caught in the upper branches of a stately tree.
“Those are the ones who are still with us,” my Aunt Labetta said. Before the song was finished, most of the balloons slipped on through the tree and disappeared into the bluest sky possible. Tears flowed for our loved ones lost to the disease. We will always remember them with love, even when they don’t remember us.
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