Zia's Fables in Two Tales, or Lessons Learned

On "Trying To Do The Right Thing:"

Yesterday, we finally, finally cleared the last bits of leftover stuff from the basement, remnants of the moving out the renovation, the moving in, the thinning out. Seth loaded them all up in the Jeep so I could take them to Goodwill. A few boxes of books, a box or two of clothes and odd housewares, a lamp, two maple barstools.

It was drizzling when I got to Goodwill. The folks there helped me sort out the boxes into their proper places, and pointed me around the corner where I could take the furniture. I pulled up, and a guy with a not-happy expression looked up at me. "Hi. I have a few pieces of furniture? I have these two barstools..." I pulled them out of the car. Now, the barstools were maple with woven rattan seats, and were in near- perfect condition: not a mar, not a scratch, not broken, not damaged in any way. They had, however, been stored in various spots around the house during the renovation, and there was some dust on them. Seth had wiped some of it off when we loaded them in the car, but yes, they were still a little dusty. The man eyeballed them with a look of disgust and delicately touched the dust on one barstool seat with a finger. I said "It's just some dust. They've been in storage." He said, his voice increasing in volume with each word, "We can't take things like this. I can't believe people bring things like this to us in this kind of condition. It's disrespectful to the people who are going to get it. I don't know if we can take these, I mean, you're lucky we have this truck here (gesturing to a moving van) so maybe I can take them and throw them out. Maybe this one time I can take them, but you can't bring things in this kind of condition. It's disrespectful." I stood there with my mouth open, and finally managed to stammer, "I'm sorry...I didn't know...it's just some dust...I didn't know...." I almost started rooting around in my car for a rag, to take the 30 seconds to wipe off the dust that it would have taken to put the chairs in pristine condition. "And we can't take that lamp," he added. I got in my car, and almost hit a post trying to drive out of the Goodwill lot, because my hands were shaking. I took a wrong exit going home, because my stomach was knotted up and I felt like crying. What had I done wrong? Had I really been disrespectful? I thought of the beat-up furniture I'd gotten in thrift shops and from the newspaper in college and law school, and the elbow grease and paint it had taken to put some of it in usable condition. I'd used some of that furniture for years, before I could afford better. I thought of the dust on the upper floors of some of the "antique" shops on Magazine Street in New Orleans, where you were welcome to hunt through the maze of mismatched bedframes and battered dressers for a prize. I couldn't believe I had just been chastised, belittled, dressed down, for giving something away that was in very good condition.

I have concluded that my mistake was in trying to do something charitable, to give away something in good, usable condition, to just give it away for no money. Next time, I'm braving the nutballs on Craig's List, and having them come to me and give me cold cash for my perfectly good stuff. No good deed goes unpunished.

On "Very Stupid Stupidity and Restoring Faith In Humanity"

This morning, I drove to a local running path along the Potomac for a change of scene. Helene fell asleep on the drive. Trying to be quiet, I got the jogger and all my gear out of the car. I then gently lifted the carseat out and snapped it into place on the jogging stroller. I hit the "lock" button on my car key remote to lock the doors, and started my run, moving smoothly out of the parking lot to keep the baby lulled to sleep.

It was refreshing to run somewhere different, and I passed other jogging stroller moms, regular stroller moms, women running with dogs, cyclists, and whole families out for a walk or a bike ride. It wasn't too hot yet, though the humidity was starting to creep in from the water. I reached my turnaround point, and ran back towards the car. Perhaps half a mile from the parking lot, a fit, middle aged woman with a long blond ponytail and an American bulldog on a leash passed me. I remembered her from the way out, and remembered how the jingle of her dog's tags was as good as a bicycle bell for letting you know someone was passing. She passed me again, and I thought enviously that she was probably a woman who could somehow afford to stay home all the time, since she was out running with her dog at 10:30 am on a Monday.

I got to the parking lot, and realized the car next to me was running, so I approached cautiously, so the driver would see me. To my surprise, he called out to me when I got to the car, "Hey, ma'am, I think you left your door open!" And indeed, the rear driver's side door was wide open. Me: "Oh my gosh, I did. I completely forgot. I'm sorry - let me close it and get it out of your way. I was just thinking about too many things." He said, "I was worried about whoever was in this car, because the door was just open, and I didn't know what happened." Then the woman who'd been running with the dog pulled up in her car, and said "He's been waiting for you to come back, to make sure you were OK." I was almost speechless. "Thank you." I said to the woman. Then the man in the car spoke again. "I could see that you had a baby, because of the carseat. I was worried. I was asking people who came along if they knew whose car it was, if they'd seen someone with a baby. Then that lady back there came along, and she said she'd passed someone with a baby about half a mile back. So I decided to wait for you. She said maybe you just forgot to close your car door." I thanked the man again, profusely, explaining that yes, I had just forgotten to close the door. "Thank you so much. That was so nice of you to wait. I was just thinking about too many things. Thanks."

The man finally pulled out, waving at me. I couldn't believe I'd been so stupid, so preoccupied as to leave the car door open. I even locked the car with the remote with the door standing open. Oh well - if someone really wanted my diaper bag (containing diapers, nursing cover, pink onesie, Desitin and hand sanitizer), a canvas shopping bag, a yoga mat, some jumper cables, or a bungie cord, they were all set. But amazingly, no one had taken anything from the car. I had been gone for forty minutes. I don't know how long that man sat there, waiting, watching. I don't know where else he had to be today. I just know I am grateful and surprised and amazed and delighted at how people can do the right thing when you least expect it.

Why it pays to be a creature of habit

Or, THAT could have been embarrassing for someone.

You know how at your gym, you get into a comfortable groove, where you find a corner of the locker room that you like, in a low-traffic area, with a locker that always seems to be available, and it's one of the full-length ones, and not one of the half-sized ones, so you can hang your coat and your suit up in it, instead of having to ball them up or fold them. And you gravitate back to this locker most days, because you just kinda like it.

So, when I got to the gym tonight, I went back to the same locker I used yesterday. I open it - empty. Oh, wait. What's that up on the top shelf, up above my head? It looks like...fabric.

My underwear. From yesterday. Right where I left them.

Tale of a Snow Shovel, or Why I Am Clearly A Stupid Pushover

From time to time, we get a knock on our door, and it's some guy, offering to do some kind of work for money. Sometimes, these things work out great, like the guy this summer who painted our slightly rusting and chipping wrought-iron fence and stoop, a job I had all the tools for (paint, brushes, etc.) but not so much the inclination.

And then there's Mike. He first came by around August, offering to weed the sidewalk and the front of the house, and whatever I chose to pay him would go to "the church." Whatever, I didn't buy that, but I did pay him $10 to pull weeds. I found out later that my neighbor did the same thing. (We often use each other as a gage for what to pay these guys when they're offering to do something we've meant to do, but haven't gotten to).

The weeds get pulled. A couple of months later, Mike shows back up again offering to rake all the leaves on the sidewalk and in our tiny front yard for "whatever I feel it's worth." I offer $5. He reminds me that I paid him $10 to weed. I offer $8 (because, really, I overpaid for the weeding). We agree. He goes to work on the leaves, and also apparently talks our neighbor into the same thing. He come back a day or two later," You see? I been working on your leaves. Tell you what. I'll give you the same deal that I gave your neighbor. He's paying me $20 for the whole month to clear the leaves. You be able to tell I been here, because all the leaves will be gone. I just need a trash bag."

I agree. Because I am a sucker. Here's what it is: this guy is actually asking for work. He wants to do something for me in exchange for money. He's not just asking for money. At least the guy is trying. I won't just give money to people anymore. I donate money to soup kitchens, I'll give them food, but no money to individuals.

So, I pay Mike $20 for the month of October. True to his word, the leaves are cleared. About the last week of October, he comes back to see if I want to "renew" for November. He also tells me that he got a leaf blower and that he needs $8 to buy gas for it, and if I don't have the $20, I can give him $8, and he will take it off my $20 for the month. I say I'm not sure if I have any money on me, but I will look. I shut the door, and Mike goes to work clearing the leaves. I can't decide what to do. I look in my wallet. I have $7. I open the door, and give it to Mike. I am a sucker.

He comes back later in November, on an awful, cold rainy night. He asks if I can pay the rest of the money for November, and also he need bus fare, and I can deduct that from the $20 for December. I ask him where he needs to go, and he tells me he needs to take the Metro and then the bus, and tells me the stops. He has kind of a thin-looking jacket on. I give him the $13 that I owe him for November, plus $3 for Metro and bus fare, plus a $10 fare card that's just been sitting around. For one of my old jobs, I got transit benefits where I paid pre-tax out of my paycheck, and I got stacks of farecards that I never used, because I quit the job. It was one of those farecards that I gave to Mike.

The leaves do get picked up. The yard probably does look neater than usual. I wish that he hadn't assumed I would "renew" for December. I really want to get out of this. The leaves are almost gone; they've hung around longer than normal because of the warm weather. But there won't be any leaves much longer, and Seth is adamant about shoveling the snow when there is some. After December, I'm going to have to break it to Mike that I won't be renewing. I will use Seth as the "bad cop" - "well, my husband, he normally does these things, and he really wants to do them, and he doesn't want me paying someone else anymore...." (enter me, as 1950's housewife with no control over the finances, a "yes-woman" to my bacon-bringin' husband).

In early December, I get home later than usual. I walk in the door, and Seth announces,"Your groundskeeper was here. He said you owed him $17 for December, and that he needed $5 in bus fare. I gave him $5." I sigh.

A week later, it snows. As usual, all of DC is in total pandemonium over an inch or two of snow. Seth has stayed home with a cold, and it will be up to me to shovel the stoop and walk later. I hear the front gate clang, hear something on the steps, and a few minutes later, there is a knock at the door. Of course, it is Mike. He has a pitiful-looking plastic broom in his hand, and he's whacking the snow off of our steps. A young woman in jeans and a short, puffy coat stands shivering on the sidewalk, apparently waiting for Mike to finish.

"You see I been cleaning up all those leaves. And I shovel your walk too! I come back tomorrow to get any more snow. Can you pay me the $12 that you owe me?" I tell him I'll be just a minute. Seth says, "I didn't know his rates included shoveling." Sigh. "I didn't either.
Seth queries me about what I owe. I confirm that it's right, and that December is the last month I will be paying Mike. I go to get my wallet, and I think that it's actually kind of fortuitous that Mike came tonight to shovel, since Seth is sick, and in no condition to do his favorite chore. I think about how heavy and sticky the snow is, and how little of it Mike is actually getting off of the steps with that sorry old broom. I open the front door.

"Here's the $12. Do you want to use our shovel? Just for right now, I mean. Just to shovel our walk." Mike says sure, and I trot down to the basement to get the shovel.

Now, this isn't any old shovel. It's ERGONOMIC. We dug through the piles of shovels in the basement of Frager's, our local hardware store for this shovel. Seth is gadgety, and he also has back issues, so this curvy-handled beauty appealed to him on many levels. Seth is attached to this shovel.

I open the front door again, hand over the shovel. Mike says,"Thanks. I'll bring your shovel right back." We hear the scraping of metal on metal, and then it stops. I open the front door. Mike and our shovel are gone. Huh. I thought I was clear that it was to be used JUST NOW and JUST FOR OUR WALK. Maybe he's going to use it around the corner on someone else's walk and bring it back. I wait. I think, it's just a shovel. Be Buddhist. Don't be attached to material things. Worst case, it doesn't get returned, and I will go get a new one.

I go so far as to tape a note to the door at 11pm that stays on the door all the next day: "MIKE - Please put the shovel under the porch. Thanks." Because I really, truly, sincerely, naively believe he is going to bring it back.

The next day. No shovel. A few more days. No shovel. A week. No shovel. Two weeks. No shovel. I am an idiot. Seth is a bit annoyed at my liberties with his shovel. I don't blame him. I go to get him another one. When I check at Frager's they don't have the ergonomic ones. Hopefully it won't snow. I look on Amazon, and price a few. On the bright side, maybe I got rid of Mike, finally. He'd have to have a lot of nerve to come back after STEALING OUR SHOVEL. I mean, THE MAN STOLE OUR STUPID ERGONOMIC SNOW SHOVEL. He already had me suckered out of $20 a month - why ruin such a good gig by stealing a $30 shovel? The mind boggles.

Sometime around Christmas, I go by Frager's. They have the ergonomic snow shovels again. I buy one for $21.

2008 arrives. Woohoo, the new year! We're sitting cozily at home one night, probably drinking some wine, watching a movie. And THERE COMES A KNOCK AT THE DOOR. There is one person, only one, who knocks on our door at this time of night on a weeknight. Seth and I look at each other. I know what a stupid pushover I am. I make a pathetic face at Seth, and flee to hide in the kitchen. Seth opens the front door.

Mike: "Hi!...."
Seth says,"Hey man, where's my shovel?" in a remarkably-Lebowski-like voice.
Mike: "Oh, it's right around the corner! I'll go get it!"
Seth: "You know you weren't supposed to just take it, that we gave it to you to use on our walk."
Mike: "Oh yeah, I know that!"
Seth:"So, where's the shovel been, then/"
Mike: "Oh, it's been with me. It's right around the corner. I'll go get it."

Mike leaves, the door shuts. We haven't seen him since.

Final tally:
Goodwill towards humankind- 0
Minor league neighborhood shysters - one kidnapped snow shovel