The Amazing Average-Guy vs. The $#@&%$

     If you're a friend of mine on Facebook or in real life (or IRL in the digital vernacular), you've probably already read this story. But I felt it was interesting and entertaining enough to recount here. If you haven't heard this tale.... well, it's a good one. And with my limited storytelling ability on Mark Zuckerberg's Grand Social Experiment, I wasn't really able to share the entirety of the tale to my satisfaction. Gather 'round the fire, Faithful Readers, and I will tell you a story.

      Let me begin by saying that I am a Diet Mountain Dew addict. I didn't used to be. In all honesty, it used to be Diet Dr. Pepper. But my good friend, who is also a DMD addict, was kind enough to share one night when I was out of my drink of choice. And such is history. At my job, I tend to work more nights than days and I'm usually home by 2 a.m. On this particular morning, after I had gotten home, I curled up on the couch with my kindle and read until about 6 a.m. I started getting hungry. I had some milk in the fridge that needed to be used so I was thinking shortbread cookies. Which I love. Along with carrot cake, cheesecake, Reese's cups, and vanilla ice cream. Plus, I hadn't had any DMD for several hours so I was having a caffeine withdrawal and the mind-numbing headache that comes with it. My apartment is across the street from Walmart, which is both a gift and a curse. I typically walk over there rather than drive because:
   

1. Have you seen the price of gas?!?!?!     
2. I'm a type-2 diabetic who has fought it for the last 8 years and finally has it under control. I tend to walk more than I drive so I can keep my weight down and stay off the oral medication.

     STORY PAUSE
     
     Now, I bet you're thinking, "Michael. You said you were diabetic. But you just listed about twelve different sweet things that you like to eat."

     Yes. Yes I did. I have a wicked sweet tooth. It is proof to me that my God, who I love and adore, has a sense of humor by giving me a chronic illness that keeps me from satisfying my sweet tooth. And I do still eat them. Things are under control and I like to reward myself for my good behavior from time to time.

     STORY PAUSE OVER
   
     I walked over to Walmart in the early morning. This is actually my favorite time to shop because there's no one there. I don't know about the Walmart where you are, but the one where I live.... Sweet Georgia Brown. It gets a little hectic during the day. Anyhoo..... I gather up my pecan shortbread cookies and my 12-pack of Diet Mountain Dew and head to the wide open checkout counter. Again, I don't know about the Walmart where you are but here in Small Town, Tennessee, the cashiers have begun asking for donations to help the Children's Miracle Network.

     STORY PAUSE II

     I am a huge and stalwart supporter of kids. I will stand and fight fiercely for them. And I have. I remember my childhood fondly. When I was growing up in Ohio in the 70s, my parents let me walk or ride my bike to the public library alone. I, and the other neighborhood kids stayed outside until the street lights came on or dinner was ready. Being a kid back then had its dangers, but for the most part we were safe.
     Not now. Not today. Kids have no idea what it's like to be kids.
     Our kids have nowhere to turn. No one to trust. Teachers, church leaders, even parents.... people that kids know they can turn to in a crisis.... have let them down. Predators stalk children for no other reason than pure evil. Our kids think they can't trust adults. And for the most part, they're right. But I love kids. And I will fight, argue, stand alone, whatever, for our kids. For that reason, I donate lots of money to the Children's Miracle Network, St. Jude Children's Hospital, our own Monroe C. Carell Children's Hospital here in Tennessee at Vanderbilt, charities for childhood cancer, autism research, childhood diabetes, etc.

     STORY PAUSE II OVER


     So, I get to the cashier and put my items down on the counter. My headache is getting worse and I am anxious to tear into that caffeinated goodness sitting before me. The cashier asks if I would like to donate a quarter to the CMN. I chuckle lightly and hear the squeak of cart wheels behind me. Someone else in line.                
     "Yes, I would," I tell the cashier. "But I think I can spring for five dollars." And I give her the fiver.
     I hear the person behind me cough a rasping cough, followed by, "Well, you can give me five dollars. I'm poorer than them."
     I stop. It's possible, I think, that maybe the guy is down on his luck. Maybe my five dollars would better serve someone else at this moment. So, I turn to look at the man behind me. I froze. All I could do was stand there and blink for a few seconds. The caffeine monkey on my back continued to pound away on my head with his sledgehammer, grinning his monkey-grin the entire time. The guy is dressed in ratty clothes. His cart is full of beer and wine and junk food. Then he asks the cashier for a carton of cigarettes. This guy doesn't even appear to be trying. He's so poor that he can afford three different kinds of alcoholic beverages and a carton of brand-name cigarettes?
     I literally look him up and down for a few seconds and, with restraint that I am proud of, I say,

"I'll make you a deal. When you become a child with a debilitating disease like, say, cancer... or you become the parent of a child with a debilitating disease like, say, cancer.... and you throw hundreds of thousands of dollars and as many sleepless nights at it with nothing to show for it and your child asks you if everything is going to be okay and you fight back the tears because you have to be strong for her and you tell her 'Yes, everything is going to be okay' even when she knows you're lying.... or when she asks you if she's going to die and what is heaven like and you can't think of anything to say except 'It'll be okay.' Are you poorer than that, sir? When that happens to you, let me know and I'll be happy to give you five dollars."

And I grabbed my stuff and left the store. And I was pretty upset for a large part of the day. I consumed some DMD and my headache ebbed, the monkey satisfied.

     I have a friend whose daughter had cancer when she was around 12, I think. She went through the whole cancer-fighting gamut. Chemo and the rest. She beat it. Kicked its ass. She's a total superhero. She's 16 now and, aside from routine checkups and necessary medicines, she's fine. She's a normal, precocious, 16 year-old girl with everything that entails. That same friend has a son who is autistic. A very sweet boy. I'm an assistant manager at a restaurant. I believe one of my employees is autistic. I can't really know for sure, but I think so. She has a less-than-stellar home life. That I know. But she works so hard and always gives me 100 percent.

I would encourage you, in some manner, to give to a children's charity. Or be an advocate for kids. It has gotten to the point, really, where all they have is each other. They need us. And we need them.


A very special thank you and shout out goes to Susan at her blog "Super Earthling" for helping this not-so-computer-savvy guy get his blog up and running. She has totally gone above and beyond. Go check out her blog. And be a follower. I am. Go now. http://superearthling.blogspot.com/


And if you liked this, check out my companion page on Mr. Zuckerberg's Grand Social Experiment (everybody calls it Facebook, or something) at https://www.facebook.com/pages/The-Not-So-Secret-Files-of-the-Amazing-Average-Guy/369022626487647