Charitable [Mis]Adventures

Three years ago, I was leading a team of wish-granters for New York Cares's Winter Wishes program. We had received letters from needy children all over the city, and the time had come to shop for the Christmas gifts they wanted.

One little girl had asked for "accessories that would fit an 18" doll." Since I lived not too far from the American Girl Place, I decided to go over there and browse my options. To understand the rest of this story, you need to know three things.

1. At the time, the American Girl Place was located on the corner of 5th Avenue and 49th Street;
2. I was heading there from a doctor's appointment on 59th Street; and
3. Weeks earlier, a man who lived at 57th and 5th had been elected president.

I innocently hopped on a bus, and minutes later realized I had a problem. In fact, I had three: the traffic, the crowds, and the Secret Service. Between the pedestrians and the security barriers, the bus physically couldn't turn onto 5th Avenue. Neither could any of the 10,000 cars who wanted to do the same. We were stranded in a sea of honking, cranky people.

I decided to take my chances on foot. That eliminated the traffic issue, leaving just the Tourists and Trump-Being-President problems. I started politely but firmly working my way through the sea of humans. Nudging by families overloaded with shopping bags. Excusing myself over other people's feet. Edging past the armed guards.

Mentally wondering, why didn't I just order something online? And slowly developing a sense of righteous anger: What, you mean I can't even go shopping in Trump's America? No way! This kid wants doll clothes and dammit, she's getting them! It took almost 45 minutes to work my way down 8 blocks.

Once in the store, I went up to a total stranger and said, "Excuse me, is your daughter here about 9 years old? And if so, can I ask her opinion on what to buy for a 9-year-old?" Miraculously, that ploy worked. A random child advised me, I paid, and I left clutching the package triumphantly.

Last year, I was once again leading a wish-granting team. The operation had grown somewhat, thanks to my plethora of friends and cousins. All 31 of our presents needed to be wrapped, labeled, and shipped to their distribution points by December 7.

Most of my long-distance team members had arranged to send gifts to my house, where I wrapped and packed them. I was working hard to make it happen. By Monday the 3rd, we had about 6 more gifts to get in the mail, some of which weren't going to make it to my house until Tuesday the 4th.

And then, the USPS suspended services in honor of George H.W. Bush's funeral.

The last gift got to my house at 3:30 on Tuesday. At 4:15, I was jogging half-a-mile uphill towards the Post Office, with two gigantic boxes balanced on my arms. Thinking, Why the heck do we shut down major services when an old ex-president dies? All presidents die! And, I can't even jog properly with my bad back! And, oh shoot, I can't reach my inhaler with my hands full.

OK, lungs, don't fail me now.

Mine was the very last package that our USPS branch accepted before closing time.

This week, I picked up a shopping bag at church. Stapled to the front is a list of items that our local food pantry is in urgent need of. It is, unsurprisingly, a long list. Bryan and I talked it over and agreed on a budget for what we could give. He made sure I had the Stop and Shop membership card so I could take advantage of any in-store deals.

I spent an hour navigating up and down aisles with my calculator and list, strategizing. Is a 10/$10 deal on junky food better than a 2/$7 on slightly healthier food? Is the cheapest cereal too unsatisfying for most consumers? Why the hell are toothbrushes and deodorant so pricey?

Finally, I had assembled a good mix of needed items. I rang myself up at self-checkout, redeemed my coupons, and reached for my credit card...

...I had forgotten my wallet, and with it all my cash, cards, and license.

I ended up at customer service, negotiating with a manager for a chance to pay by personal check with no ID.

I left triumphantly clutching two bags of donations.