I've got my charity. How do I get the money?

Have you ever begged for money? It’s horrible. And I’m not even talking about standing on the sidewalk, pacing back and forth with an empty, torn Dunkin’ Donuts cup, sweating in the blazing summer and freezing in the icy winter, because I can’t even imagine that. That’s gotta be a million times worse than what I’m talking about. I used to drive by this strip of median where the same guy would walk up and down all afternoon and evening with a crappy little misspelled sign; he was just one of many, and I’m sure you have seen someone exactly like who I’m talking about. The sign claims he has kids and a family and has fallen on hard times; he is sober of course and any little bit will help. Sad story, no? Anyway, I’m not really into just giving away money, and I never have any cash (do people carry cash?), and don’t forget I’m so broke I’m living in a dorm with 25 high school guys to pay the bills, so I thought I would give him a sandwich instead. Now I didn’t make this sandwich myself, I’m no saint; I took it from the “old sandwich” donation pile that didn’t get picked up at the deli where I worked. Regardless, it was a perfectly good sandwich made yesterday and I thought this guy on my route to and from work could use it more than the pile in the store that would sit still until tomorrow. PS. It was a good sandwich. I had it myself, on occasion. I rolled down my window, and he walked over. My dog (sometimes Dog is my co-pilot—don’t you hate that bumper sticker?) sniffed the air a little but was otherwise not interested. I didn’t know what to say, so I shoved my hand, nervously holding the sandwich, out the window and waited, hoping the light wouldn’t turn green and force me to make an awkward(er) exit. The man took the sandwich, stared at it, held it out in front of him, pulled it up close to his face, and asked me what it was. Excuse me, do you really care? Aren’t you f’ing starving? I was so shocked I just said, “Cheese,” and stared at the license plate ahead of me, now wishing the light would turn. I felt like such a failure. He hated my free sandwich! A bum, begging on the smoggy median, sweating on the summer solstice, didn’t like a free sandwich. Dammit! But then he looked at it again for a second, smiled at me so his scraggly whiskers crinkled in all different directions over his creased cheeks, and told me about how he had been hoping he would make enough money this afternoon to go get two hot dogs for dinner and boy, wouldn’t this sandwich be way better? So I slapped myself across the face for feeling bad for myself (not really, but that would be funny) and drove away in the traffic of Boston commuters, sitting alone in their cars, not car-pooling, and not giving away delicious sandwiches. Didn’t I tell you I am better than most people?

Ok, so I have had to start begging for money. Not in the just-mentioned sort of way, but via e-mail to friends and long-lost friends and friends-of-my-mom and random people in my Yahoo address book. They call it “Friends Helping Friends” or something, which is true, of course, but it sounds so lame, doesn’t it? I may be pessimistic, but the name could be a little more powerful sounding I think. Asking friends for money is rather humiliating; they could at least make it sound cool like…”Hot Babes if You Donate” or “Best You-Tube Ever!”. But again, I can’t really feel that badly. It’s for a good cause, and it is not because I am out on the streets. But still, I have to whine a little. I mean, do you ever get e-mails or calls from people, asking for you to donate to such-and-such? Yeah, I hate them too. They are so annoying! And for my cause, so I can put myself through the torture of training for and running a marathon, I have to ask everyone, and anyone, for money. I wish I could take a delicious sandwich instead.

PS. If you want to donate, friend, visit: http://metrolacrosse.kintera.org/faf/home/default.asp?ievent=253234