The Extra $20

I had to make a payment on the credit card today.  After a very easy job of escorting a patient from the doctor's office to a taxi, I found a Capital One Bank and went in to pay the account.  I've done this hundreds of times.  I go to the ATM, take out the predetermined amount of money, the walk it to the teller and give them the card number.  They apply the payment and give me a receipt.  You've done it.  I've done it.  In and out in five minutes.  Unless it's a Friday afternoon, then you might as well write the rest of the day off.

I entered the location and found the ATM.  I pushed my card in the slot and punched in my PIN number.  The first notice said there were no receipts available, and did I want to continue.  I did.  I requested cash and then typed in $400.00.  The machine whirred and growled and then the door opened.  I saw four crisp, one-hundred-dollar bills and one $20.  The twenty was a little bit crumpled and the corner was torn.  Not detached, but close.  Due to my quick thinking and the reflexes of a cat, I was able to grab $420 from the ATM.

I went over to the teller, but this time was not like the others.  I had twenty dollars more than I thought I would, so I slipped it into my wallet where it fit nicely next to the receipts for yesterday's purchases.  After several minutes, it was my turn.  I went to the window and explained that I wanted to make a payment on this card, of this amount, slipping both the cash and the card under the bullet-proof window.  The teller took the cash and returned the card to me with a receipt.

As far as I was concerned, I was home free.  But the walk to the door was really long.  I knew I would be in the clear, and I was 98% sure that I would not be tracked down.  Now or ever.  I had a thought, though.  I like to talk.  A lot.  I thought about how this story would probably come up soon.  This weekend?  Next month?  I was also sure that if I told a story about getting an extra twenty from an ATM and that I kept it and I deserved to, I would not be condemned by anyone.  Awesome, I was heading toward the door.  Another thought crowded my thoughts.  What if I could tell the story and end it with, "and then I gave the twenty to the teller."  I would be able to buy twenty dollars less in groceries than if I didn't return the money, but if I returned the money, I could make myself look really good without any spin at all.  Please understand, these thoughts plowed through my head in just seconds.

To the left of the doors was a banker with a desk, and he had no customers.  I walked past him slowly.  He asked if I needed help.  I said, "I'm struggling here.  I got some money from the ATM, and I got this ratty twenty in addition to the cash I requested.  I guess I should give it to you?"  The banker took the money and said, "Oh, the man before you was $20 short and you got $20 more?"  I told him that I didn't know what happened before I went to the window, but that I had an extra twenty.  He rephrased his question to imply that someone had come to him earlier with a complaint of not receiving all the money he wanted.  He thanked me for being honest, and I grunted.

The end of this story is and then I gave the twenty to the banker.  I did the right thing.  I don't have to justify stealing from a bank that would never know it was missing because I didn't take the money.  I should feel so good for doing what I did.  The truth is, I don't.  It doesn't feel good to do the right thing all the time.  I will trust, and I daresay believe that the great cosmic ledger has tipped in my favor.

There are some good people out there.  There are people of any religion or no religion who would have returned that money and there would have been no hesitation or question in their mind.  Not so for me.  On the human, fleshly side, an extra twenty would have been helpful.  On the other side, spiritual, eternal, there is a Bible verse that comes to mind that was drilled into my memory when I was young.   I Corinthians 10:31  Whether therefore ye eat, or drink, or whatsoever ye do, do all to the glory of God.  My feelings are inconsequential.  Are my actions glorifying God?  I strive for that and fail, often.  As a side note, the end of the chapter says "even as I please all men in all things, not seeking mine own profit, but the profit of many, that they may be saved." (I Cor 10:33)

Another Year, A Different Kind Of Night

Happy New Year!  Two-Thousand Sixteen seems to have been a pretty rough year for a lot of people.  I, for one, had a pretty good year.  My standards may be low, though-I exited 2016 with four limbs and they all work.  I'm good.

This New Year's Eve marks my ninth(!!) in New York City.  Two of those have been in Times Square in some form, two were spent higher than a kite, last year, I was in bed by 11:00 PM and the other three could have been anything.  But this year was unlike any other.  I worked a party in some one's house.  Here's what happened.

Friday afternoon, I was waiting in line for someone at the Carnegie Deli.  That venerable City institution would be serving its last corned beef sandwich late Friday night, and people came out of the woodwork to have a sandwich there before they closed.  That's what brought me to this line.  At one point, I looked at my phone and found I had been hired for a party at 7:00 PM on Saturday night.

Ugh.  My plan had been to go to Father's Heart Ministries for New Year's Eve because I had seen on Face book that they were having a party.  I love serving with that organization, and the time on the Face book event was 10 PM til midnight.  A group of people that I like to be around, and a NYE church service that was not four or five hours?  Count me in!  But I just got hired.  I asked two initial questions:  What do you want me to wear? and Until what time do you think you will need me?  White shirt, black pants, and a bow tie and three or four hours were the answers.  I asked for more specifics on the job, but never heard anything.

Saturday afternoon, I sent the client, Amy, a message saying I was unable to find my bow tie and still, no response.  I arrived a little before 7:00 PM having already accepted the fact that I would not be done working at 11 as she suggested, but that I would probably be there well into the new year.  I rang the doorbell and introductions were made and immediately Amy asked me to begin to make the vegetable tray.  Her husband offered a place to put my jacket and bag, and then said I should begin working on the vegetable platter.  What vegetables?  Where are they?  Why am I being asked to prepare food?  Amy said she would get me a platter and find the vegetables that she wanted on it.  Neither happened with any urgency.

And, the dog - a big golden lab.  As we know by now, I have a severe dog allergy and it says that in my work profile.  I thought about raising that objection, but that would leave this family in the lurch for their first New Year's Eve in New York in ten years.  I was not going to do that.

Amy came to check on me a few minutes later and asked how I was doing.  I said, "I have no idea what I am supposed to be doing!"  I put together some sort of vegetable platter and she said, "You did a great job with this!"  If  I were going to have a dinner party and I were going to plan a menu and I were going to cook, I would not be throwing together a vegetable platter, and hoping it's right.  If I were going to hire someone to help me, that person would not have to guess.

I want to be friendly.  I want to show the client the deference a boss deserves.  I want to do an amazing job.  So, I asked, "What is the plan?  Your husband says I have to cook pigs in a blanket for the kids, but what time do they need to be ready?  When will people be arriving?"  Amy glanced at me and said, "Some people will be here at 8 and others at 9:30 tonight."

I was to create a cheese tray with two kinds of cheese, one type of cracker, and some salami.  But there was bleu cheese, too, and another kind of cheese.  Can't I find it?  No, I can't.  It's not there.  Horseradish for  cocktail sauce?  It must be here somewhere, but it's not.

I was sent to the store for horseradish.  Just the deli downstairs should be fine,but nope!  They didn't have it.  I walked several blocks, checking delis and restaurants until I came to a supermarket that had it.

Can I take the dog for a walk, since there's nothing going on here for a while?  My mind wants to serve.  I want to do what I can to help.  I'm not sure sending the dog out with an unfamiliar person is a good idea.  I'm also not good at hiding my thought process.  I wanted to help and I told Amy so, but the dog was not trying to get in the elevator with me.  Thankfully, a guest came out and offered to walk the dog in my stead.

This woman was so hard to read.  One minute, when she asked if I was making the Chateaubriand and I told her I was not (I've never made one of those in my life), she seemed upset.  But, she said "thank you" occasionally.  I couldn't tell how the evening was going at all.  At all.  Her husband did the bulk of the cooking, and I was happy to assist.  He was able to communicate what needed to be made, and only slightly better at sharing with me what he actually needed me to do.  Somehow, he (we) got dinner prepared and served in some kind of way.

Amy came in the kitchen and asked me to clear the first course.  I was getting ready to wash the pots and pans, and again, I was willing to do whatever she asked, but I was shocked.  I had no idea she wanted me to clear the dishes like a server.  She never asked me to serve or clear dishes from the table with the exception of the first course.  Around 11:15, Amy's husband asked if I would be able to stay past 11.  Of course, I said yes.

I cleaned the kitchen and loaded the dishwasher.  I started it, then hand washed the china.  At midnight, the fireworks exploded overhead.   At 12:15, I explained that all of the dinner dishes were washed or in the dishwasher.  I asked once more for some guidance.  Should I wash all of the glasses sitting around?  What about what's left on the table?  What else should be on the list of things to do?  Things that I would be happy to do, if I know what they are.  Amy looked around and mercifully let me go.

They say that how you spend your New Year's Eve is how your year in general will go.  I didn't feel good about tonight, but how I feel is irrelevant when I'm working.  If my client is happy when I leave, that's all that matters.  The problem is that I could not tell if my client was happy and she didn't say she was when she dismissed me.

What a mixed bag of an evening.  Just before I left, Amy's six-year-old daughter caught me and said, "Happy New Year!"  For one second, I was a part of the festivities and I relished that second.

Here's to a wonderful 2017 for you and yours, and to doing something new and different.  That's how my New Year's Eve went.

A Brooklyn Tale

I have been working with the app TaskRabbit (www.taskrabbit.com) for about a year-and-a-half, eight months full-time.  It is fascinating what people with no time and some money will ask you to do.  Most of it is normal, some worth talking about with friends, and one worthy of sitting down and recounting in great detail.

Tuesday was my first day back after a well-deserved and amazing vacation.  I had a couple things to do that morning, and was making some progress.  A job popped up that was near my house, and was, according to the description. fairly simple.  It involved moving a couple of garbage bags and some furniture to the curb.  It paid well and wouldn't take long, so I accepted.  I began the usual conversation with Sabrina*.  I expressed that I would be happy to help, and asked if 9:00 PM was the time she wanted to start.  She answered that 9:00 would be great, and then gave a few more details about the job.  She explained that she was moving out of her apartment because it had bedbugs and the landlord refused to treat.  There would be a bed, dresser, small table, and several bags that needed to be moved from a fourth floor walk-up (or as Sabrina chose to say, a "walk-down.  After all," she said, "we will be bringing stuff down, not up.")  I thanked her for her honesty, and went on with my day.

Later that evening, I went to her neighborhood.  Which was my neighborhood.  Kind of.  Sabrina lived 6 or 7 blocks from me.  I got there early-about 8:30, and sent her a message explaining I was early, but could start whenever she was ready.  As I waited for her response, I glanced around.  Flatbush Avenue is a major roadway through the neighborhood, lined with shops and restaurants.  This block appeared to be mostly residential and this building was twice as wide as a brownstone.  A man was standing on the stoop and the front and vestibule doors were open.  There was a police officer inside the building speaking with an older man.

A man approached the stoop and began speaking with the man on the stoop.  I overheard the man on the stoop say this was his building.  He had owned it since 1979.  I was still under the impression, based on previous context, that Sabrina was moving into this building.  Somehow, I believed she had moved everything into this building and wanted to moved the infested items out.  It didn't make sense to me, but I didn't ask.  I figured there would be time to discuss that later.

"IN THE NAME OF JESUS OF NAZARETH, PLEASE HELP ME!!!  Lord Jesus, I am your child," the man who had been speaking to the police officer shouted.  He pleaded for help for a few moments and quieted.  I still had not heard from Sabrina, so I approached the man on the stoop.  I asked if he owned the building and explained why I was there.  That I would be helping a tenant move her stuff.  I was going to ask if I could wait for her inside, but before I could get the request out, the man showed me into the building.  He explained to the people in the lobby and the police officers that I was there to help one of his tenants.  I followed him upstairs, and the door to apartment 8 was open.  He showed me in, and said, "Everything in here goes."

I started in the living room.  I collected garbage bags and put them in a dresser drawer and took the drawer to the curb.  Going back up the steps, one of the officers asked me what my role was in the building and if I was an electrician.  I explained I had been hired to remove the things from the apartment upstairs and that's all I knew.  He said, "Oh, you're the hit man.  I just wondered because they are having some issues in this building.  Good luck!"

I made another trip or two before a lady stopped me in the lobby.  "How did you get into the apartment," she asked?  I told her the owner had let me in the building and showed me upstairs where the door was open.  She said, "I'm Sabrina, it's nice to meet you," and we shook hands.  I apologized and she said I had done nothing wrong.  She immediately went to the police officer and said the landlord had entered her apartment illegally.  She said the landlord had previously told her he had lost the key to her apartment and couldn't open the door, yet her door was now open and I had been let in.  She was furious- but not with me.

Each time I passed through the lobby, the crowd grew.  Sabrina was still there, and the people from apartment 2 on the first floor had their door open.  People from at least 3 other apartments were talking in the lobby as well.  All were listing their complaints to the police, who could not specifically do anything to remedy the situation.  Apparently, the cause of the original phone call to the police that night was that the landlord had shut off the electricity to the apartment of the man who had earlier been praying for help, but each person, including Sabrina, had a laundry list of complaints.  He had shut off the electricity to the whole building, would not treat for bedbugs and other pests, and would even ask for rent twice a month.  It seems that Sabrina had been in this apartment a short two months when she and her roommate decided they had to go.  The landlord was not going to return her deposit.

As I continued removing things from Sabrina's apartment, I double and triple-checked with her.  I didn't want to take things to the trash that she wanted.  There were things in the kitchen that she said she would get later, and a green bag that looked like some kind of air mattress but wasn't. Dresser drawers, pillows, and a box that had been shipped from Amazon and never opened went out on the curb.  A coffee table, side table and some kind of display rack went.  She also told me the things in the closets of each of two bedrooms was trash as well.  Winter coats, dresses, a teddy bear, an air mattress, dresser, mattress and box spring, hangars of all sorts, all gone.  I left the bed and dresser for last, as Sabrina had offered to help me get those down the steps.

As I cleaned out the closet in one of the rooms, I heard someone outside the room, but didn't pay attention to who it was.  Suddenly, Sabrina, who had come up to check my progress shouted, "Get out of my apartment!  We have paid through July 1, and you are now in here illegally!"  I looked up in time to see the landlord walk past the bedroom door, mumbling under his breath.  Not threatening, but more of an apologetic mumble.  She called the police again.  I told her that I was sorry she was going through this, but that I knew that I wanted her on my side.  She was one of those people who you could tell would be a great friend to have, unless you got on her bad side.

One of the many bags in the closet was small, canvas, and very heavy.  I looked inside it to make sure Sabrina hadn't missed anything and found a Minolta 35mm camera.  I brought it to her attention and she said it was her mother's and she probably should keep it.  She asked me if I had ever seen "The Jerk" where Steve Martin's character was ready to leave with nothing except this ashtray!  And this paddle ball game!  And this chair!  That's how she said she felt as I took stuff down and she pulled it off the trash pile.

As I finished bagging the stuff in the closet, she came to me and said we would not be taking the heavy items downstairs.  The bed, dresser, and a few miscellaneous items would stay in the hallway just outside the apartment door.  I don't know what prompted her decision to do that--the landlord entering the apartment while she was there, the refusal to return her deposit, or just that she was ready to sever ties with this situation effective five minutes ago.  Whatever the reason, I didn't give much of an argument for getting the large furniture downstairs.

Once everything was out of the apartment and on the street or in the hallway, I was dismissed.  She thanked me for my help and then offered me the camera.  I turned it down because it was her mother's.  She said, "Well, I guess I'll put it on the sidewalk, and maybe somebody will pick it up."  I told her that if that was her final decision, I would take it, but she should be very sure.  I left the job with a camera.

Sabrina was very kind, and even had a sense of humor despite the difficulties she had had and continued to have in just two short months.  I am always amazed to see a righteous anger in action.  She had every right to be upset, but chose at whom she directed her anger.  I was also intrigued by the owner of the building.  He never engaged any of the tenants or responded to their anger.  I feel like so many  people would have answered back and the whole situation as bad as it was, could have been worse.

I've never had a problem like that with a landlord.  I have heard such people exist, but have never had a personal experience like that.  I am blessed and lucky.  It was a hot, sticky night, so I was already itching a bit, but when I got home, I put everything I had been wearing in a plastic bag and took it to the laundromat straightaway.  I do not need the scourge of bedbugs, and I'm sure the two lovely ladies I live with would not have appreciated it either.

*I told my client that would definitely be writing about this experience, but that I would change her name, so obviously, Sabrina is not her real name.  But she did live somewhere on Flatbush Avenue.

TaskRabbit has given me the opportunity to do some interesting things.  I have thought about putting pen to paper for some other jobs, and this might just be the kick I need to pick up again.  Or I may wait ten months.  For now, I'm off to help someone move in, but not into that building!

A Contrast in Fast Food

The McDonald's on Broadway near NYU is awful. The other day, I was in a time crunch, so I ordered one cheeseburger. Not two. Not a double cheeseburger. One. Single. No special order. The order taker took my order and then turned around to wipe the counter down. I would assume that before he could finish, my one single cheeseburger would be ready and bagged. It was not. He took another order. He handed the person's before me to him. Still, no cheeseburger. In the back, I could see that no one was even making it!  Sure, they were busy rolling this cart or spraying that pan, but c'mon!

I asked for my money back. Of course, Mr. Ordertaker had to call for the manager, who then asked what the problem was. We were way past fixing the problem, though. I did not have the time or inclination to explain to the manager that no one was making food in a fast food restaurant!  Believe it or not, that's not the first time that's happened at that very same location.

Tonight, while working for Visor, I stopped at Shake Shack to get a concrete, essentially their version of the DQ blizzard. Again, I was in a time crunch. There was no line for cold food. I stood and waited. And waited.  Shortly after I placed my order, the announcer guy yelled for Ralph. While I waited, he called Ralph three more times. I went to see if he could check on my order, but before I could ask, he asked me if I was Ralph. "I'm not, but I'm about to be," I told him. Then, I asked if he could check on my simple order. He came back with the discouraging answer of three more minutes. So, I settled in for the wait. In the mean time, a job came through on Visor, so I really had to go. My concrete was finally ready, and the announcer guy almost handed it to me before he pulled back at the last minute and got a paper bag. "Oh," I said, "I'm going to eat that here."  He ignored me and instead, put my concrete in the bag, followed by Ralph's hamburger and strawberry milkshake. Riding a bicycle six miles to my next job while eating a hamburger, drinking a milkshake, and following that with an ice cream dessert is a story for another day. The point of this story is that in one of these instances, I left happy. The other, not so much.  A little thought goes a long way in the service industry. I would do well to remember that myself sometimes.

An Opportunity to Serve Honored Guests

For some time now, I have been interested in the possibility of serving the homeless in New York City.  As with most, the thought is strongest around the holidays, but even then, I have never done it.  Late last fall, I was in the Lower East Side and I stopped in at the Bowery Mission.  I suggested that I would be interested in helping out in some way.  The guy at the desk gave me the phone number for the volunteer coordinator, I called her as I stood in the lobby.  We spoke for several minutes, and it has led nowhere.

In December, an opportunity came through my church.  Once a month, a group from the Journey goes to Father's Heart Ministries to help serve breakfast to the homeless.  The next date was scheduled for January 10, but because of my work schedule, I was not able to commit until the week before.  As it turned out, I worked that Saturday afternoon, so I was able to go to the mission and help serve breakfast that morning.  Arrival time, 8:30 AM.  With the trains and the walk, I would have to leave my house no later than 7:00 AM.  Really, a small sacrifice in order to do something nice for someone else.  That's what I thought, I was doing something great-going to help those less fortunate.  I would be taken down a notch or two before the morning was over.

I arrived, actually a couple minutes late on one of the coldest mornings of the season.  I signed in, filled out the release form, got a name tag, and entered a large room, where I was directed to the contact of the Journey group.  After being introduced all around, I put my belongings in a somewhat unsecured room.  I wondered about that, but didn't say anything-after all, they have been doing this longer than I.

Around 9:00, Pastor Chuck gathered the volunteers in a bit of an orientation.  All 140 of us.  He began by saying, "Daddy is not angry.  You can come home."  This is the core understanding that Father's Heart wants the people they serve to get.  They begin by feeding the people physically.  And feeding them until they can handle no more.  Pastor Chuck likened it to when your parents have guests for dinner.  Two things kind of happen.  First, you feed your honored guests until they are full.  When the guest says they have had enough, you suggest more, and you ask more than once.  Second, you get to be the go-for.  Your parents are entertaining, and of course you wouldn't expect your guest to get the salt and pepper, so that leaves you.  And you do it cheerfully.  Lastly, when they leave, you offer to send some extra food home with them.  The funny thing about this analogy, is that when I was home over the summer, my parents had guests a couple times and this is exactly what happened.
The second point that Pastor Chuck made was to hold up a real, live, hundred-dollar-bill.  He said, "If I crumple this up and throw it on the floor, and we walked over it for a couple weeks, this bill would be dirty, tattered, and maybe even torn in half.  If I held it up after a couple weeks and asked who wanted it, every one of you would raise your hand.  This is what these people who will be coming in in a few minutes are.  Crumpled, dirty, torn...but they are walking, talking hundred-dollar-bills."  Wanna talk about changing your perspective on something, and fast?  That did it for me.

After "orientation", we were divided up into groups.  First was the outside workers.  They needed 12.  It was 14 degrees outside.  Nine people immediately raised their hands.  I became number ten.  Two others were quickly named and we went outside.  The line had already formed and stretched down the block.  My job was to maintain order at one of the breaks in the line.  The benefit for me was that I got to greet every single person who came for breakfast that day.  I even got a hug or two!  The line moved quickly and we were actually done outside in 45 minutes.  We wrapped up the ropes and went inside to help bag food to take out.  When I took off my coat, and put it in the storage room again, I noticed on of the volunteers was standing in front of the closed door.  Everything has been thought of in this organization.  There are rules and procedures for every eventuality.  It makes things run very, very smoothly.  That day, we served almost 550 people in less than two hours.

As each  person finished eating, they were offered free legal assistance, if they needed or wanted it.  There was also a place to sign up for free ESL classes and other services.  The idea is to reach someone's heart, but first, feed them until they can't eat any more.  When they left, each person was given a bag of food with enough for six meals.

I spend a lot of time smiling at work, and sometimes coworkers think I'm a little nuts.  "You don't have to smile and offer a shopping bag to everyone!" they think.  But, that's something I love to do.  I get to find out where people are from and give them an opportunity to talk about themselves, and they do.  It was so cool to smile at people and welcome them for breakfast, and that was the expectation!  And our honored guests smiled back.  How anyone smiles when they spent the night outside or when they have no place to go after breakfast is beyond me.

If you want to volunteer regularly, you have to take a five-week series of classes called Discipline for Service.  I will be there beginning February 25.  I am looking forward to finishing the class and being able to serve any time I'm available.  Right now, I can only go with the Journey group, and the next time they serve will be February 14.  I have to work that day.  After the class, I will be able to go without the group two or three times a month.  I'm looking forward to seeing how God uses me there!

For more information about this organization:
Father's Heart Ministries

A Battle with The B**ch

It's Martin Luther King Jr's birthday weekend and ten years ago this weekend, I asked to be and was introduced to crystal meth.  This was not the first drug I had ever tried, but I will speak to the statistic that says marijuana is a "gateway drug."  I've never been a fan of weed, and it was not that that encouraged me to try meth.  The purpose of this post is not to glamorize or show pride in a bad decision I made, but as a commemoration and perhaps explanation of a milestone anniversary of something in my life that makes me who I am now.

Since 1995, the internet and more specifically, internet chat played a big role in my life.  That led to many interesting encounters with tons of people over the years.  In the big picture, if I had stepped back and looked at the number of people who were willing to meet me and do God knows what, I would know that I was at least OK.  The fact is there were some people I wanted to meet or even just chat with who would not respond to my overtures.  That strengthened my resolve to chat with them, even bordering on creepy.

One night in January 2005, I was chatting with someone who was willing to teach me about (and sell me some) crystal meth.  Before that time, I had run into meth only once or twice.  I drove to meet this guy-he was at his friend's house, and in the basement, I did my first hit.  One of the main effects, I was told, was that it would make me incredibly horny.  Let's be honest here:  I'm a Scorpio.  I don't need any help with that.  But, he was right.  It did.  The problem was this was first time with kind of experience, and I am shy in person.  We went downstairs a couple more times, but mostly I sat in the friend's den with three other people who were just talking-a lot.

Almost immediately, I found a new kind of acceptance with those people I chatted with online.  I'm pretty smart (my father once said, "Relatively.") so I knew that if I had a baggie of shards, I could have friends.  The minute it was gone, my friends would be, too.  Sometimes, I had three or four guys over, and I felt great!  There are generally two reasons for smoking meth-the sex or the high.  Honestly, being high on meth feels great, but certain parts don't work.  The sex is generally a myth.  What I actually ended up with was a room full of naked guys doing almost nothing but looking at each other.  The high isn't all it's cracked up to be either.  Sure, it feels good, but you think you can do all kinds of amazingly productive things.  What ends up happening is a laser focus on one thing.  I knew people who would get high and then go to Walmart and go shopping for seven or eight hours.  They would leave with a pack of gum.  Others would clean and rearrange furniture, which was awesome, except when I would walk through the living room in the middle of the night with the lights off!

The main reason for doing meth was not the sex or the high.  No, it was acceptance.  On and off for 10 years, I have been accepted by people that I found attractive only because I had the Stuff.  Acceptance is a powerful, powerful thing.  I don't have any advice for how to get around that, but I can tell you that this particular method of acceptance takes a toll.  Financial, physical, emotional, spiritual, legal (though this is not part of my story, thank God)

There are people I met in the context of drug use who have become very good friends.  There are people who were friends before, and who supported me through this part of my story.  There were people who I met who were less than savory.  I am so thankful for the people who walked through it with me.

I felt like I had things under control, and in fact stopped using entirely for four years.  I stopped using when I moved to New Jersey in 2008.  I stopped because I wanted to.  I stopped because I was doing something new and exciting.  I stopped chatting online.  I stopped on my own.  That was not enough.  Quickly (relatively), I got into a new routine (ha! as much of a "routine" as one can have in New York City.)  I began chatting online and found within a very, very short time someone who said he had meth.  I took some money out of the bank, and went over to the City to meet this guy.  I arrived at the appointed corner, and he texted me and  said he was nervous because I look like a cop.  He moved the location.  And again.  It was very cloak and dagger all over midtown Manhattan.  Finally, he told me he had left the bag on a pay phone.  I went and picked it up.  When I got home, I discovered it was a large bag of...sugar.  At least I still had my cash!  Minutes after I got home, he messaged me online.  He said he had to give me something fake because he wasn't sure if I was legit.  He offered to meet me again, so I went.  This time we met, I gave him money, and he gave me....more sugar.  When I realized what had happened, I was upset that I lost some money, but glad I would not be able to use.

Later, I found someone who was a good dealer.  He even delivered...on time.  That opened a new chapter in my usage.  I really thought I had it under control this time.  I was convinced that I had it under control right up until the orange eviction sticker appeared on my door last June.  I went back to Ohio for two months to retreat, regroup, and charge again.  All wrapped up in that was another quit date.  I am using June 1, 2014 as the last time I used.  I don't know that for sure, but I do know it wasn't after that.  This time I have quit because I don't have any funds.  I have quit because I am doing something old and exciting.  I have quit because I am no longer chatting online (or on the phone.)  I have not quit on my own.  God did some amazing things over the summer, not the least of which was remove any and all desire for The B**ch.  I will be writing more about my amazing transformation later.

Reading through this, knowing the story of my life, and knowing the way addiction works, it may be easy to read this and think "He will relapse again."  The fact is, that's true.  But when I stopped before, it was on my own power.  This time I have the power of the Almighty God on my side.  I have faith that He will take care of this.

Note: Some may think this subject is not an appropriate topic to write about-that it may be salacious and indiscreet.  This is why it has taken me some days to write.  I have tried to convey an issue that many can relate to and explain why it was attractive to me, but NOT glamorize it or turn it into a side show.  (An entire book could be written about my hook-ups and experiences.)  This is, after all, one of the myriad experiences that make me me.

My Life Undercover

In August 2008, I moved to Jersey City, NJ with no job, no money, and no place to live.  It was not my idea, but a challenge I accepted nonetheless.  I shared a studio apartment with my sister, with the understanding that I would find a job first, and then a place to live.  She was helpful when it came to ideas for places to apply for work, and in the interim, suggested I should look into secret shopping.  I only had one experience with secret shopping before moving to NJ- lunch with her in Columbus, that was simply reimbursed.

I began looking into secret shopping and found that it could be interesting.  I started off slowly, first a Papa John's shop.  At the beginning of the month, they wanted the pizza to be delivered, and the shop generally reimbursed the cost of the pizza and paid a small commission, usually $6.  As the month progressed, the commission would go up.  Even later in the month, they removed the requirement for delivery.  That meant that I could sign up for a shop in Harlem or Queens and be paid a commission of as much as $20.  My part of the shop was to call the store, order a pizza, and pay attention to customer service issues.  How long did it take to answer the phone?  Did they offer an upsell? Did they thank me for my order?  Then, I would arrive, pick up the pizza, and return home.  The company wanted very specific pictures of the pizza, including photos of the crust after it had been cut.  Free (reimbursed) pizza, some extra money, and a tour of an area of New York to which I would normally never go.  Not a horrible deal.

Since the summer of 2008, I have done secret shopping on and off.  There have been audits at Bed Bath & Beyond, Chase Bank, T-Mobile, McDonald's, Five Guys, and many, many more.  Somehow, I have signed up with probably 25 different companies in the last six years.  Each of these companies email me each time they have a new round of shops, or if they are coming up on a deadline.  This gives me hundreds of opportunities to accept shops, but it also makes for a lot of unread emails.

Some of these companies do more than secret shopping.  There are store audits (going to a store and looking for and documenting a certain product), merchandising (going to a store and setting up a product display), movie theatre checks (watching trailers before a movie to verify the correct trailers are showing, setting up movie displays, checking the number of patrons vs. tickets sold), and several other types of work.

Most companies pay with Paypal or by direct deposit to my American Express Serve Prepaid Card.  I don't have a traditional checking account, so I use American Express.  If you wanted the payments deposited to your checking account, they would do that.  If you don't, you can sign up with American Express or Greendot or another prepaid debit card.  Just make sure they accept direct deposit payments.  Some companies send a paper check, but those are few indeed.  They pay as an independent contractor, so it is my responsibility to report my income.  Theoretically, I would report every penny from every company I have worked for this year, but they generally only send a 1099 if they paid over $600.  Payment can sometimes take up to 45 days, but most companies pay every two weeks or so.

I have received $1200 in a year from a single company, and in November and December of 2014, I made $300 secret shopping.  Is it something you could do for a living?  Possibly-if you were very disciplined and did several shops every day.  Some shops have no purchase requirement and pay $15 or more, and some will reimburse for the food or small purchase you have to make, and pay a commission of $4 or $5.  Some shops pay more, some less, but even $200/month is helpful.  

I am writing this more informational and less anecdotal entry because several people have asked me about my experience or how to become a mystery shopper.  Here are a few tips:
     1.  Most importantly- NEVER pay to become a mystery shopper.
     2.  DO NOT EVER pay to sign up with a mystery shopping company.
     3.  Sometimes emails will pop up offering a shop opportunity if you send certain information.  There is no need to respond to those.  They could be phishing, and there are plenty of other jobs in the sea.
     4.  Some shops require a purchase.  The purchase will be reimbursed, and most of the time, there will be an additional payment.  This is not what I'm talking about when I say not to pay to sign up with a company.
     5.  If any company you sign up with asks for a referral, you can use my name.

There are several ways to find companies to sign up with.  Google is the most obvious way to find them, but is also the one with which you will want to use the most caution. These are some of the sites I use most often.  As you will notice after just a couple of clicks, some of these sites will take you to other mystery shopping company sites.  There are a ton:
www.mysteryshop.org   Scroll down to "become a shopper" and sign up with them.
www.prestomap.com   This site shows a map with available shops around you.  You must then sign up with the respective company.  Each of these companies use a fairly easy form to register.
www.marketforce.com  This is where the theatre checks are located.  Specifically, they can be found at www.certifiedfieldassociates.com  They also work with other companies, but cinemas seem to be the bulk of their offerings.
www2.mysteryshops.com  This was the very first company I ever signed up with. They pay quickly-usually within a week.  This is NOT the norm, but it is appreciated.

There are other companies that offer mystery shops and audits, but the sites listed will get you started. 

If you decide you want to become a mystery shopper and have any questions before or after signing up,  please comment or email me.  I'd love to help you!