Blog Bits

It started with a post to the church Facebook page on a random Saturday morning, 9 a.m.:

Good morning my name is Tyler I rededicate my life to the lord I got it work out with my train ticket I’m leaving tonight on train Tonight was wondering if you could help me with a meal and some snacks for my trip? Sorry I feel embarrassed talk to you later… great sermons online

I’m one of the people authorized to respond to messages like this on the church page. A quick check of his FB profile indicated that he hadn’t posted anything to it in 6 years. This was most likely someone using an abandoned account to scam people. If I continued, he’d probably ask me for money before too long. There was a chance he was sincere, but it seemed very unlikely to me. I sent a polite “sorry”:

Hi, Tyler! Your Facebook profile says you’re in California, so I don’t think we’re close enough to help you. God bless you on your journey.

Oh, no, he answered. He was in town, leaving on the train tonight.

Now, I’ve dealt with scam artists before. For me the fun lies in stringing them along for as long as I can until they realize I figured them out 10 minutes ago. I rubbed my hands in glee.

I’ll be happy to help you with a meal and some snacks. I’ll meet you at the train station. What time does your train leave?

His train left in the wee hours of the morning, he said.

That was right – the only train out of town left at 3 a.m.

He still hadn’t asked me for money, so I invited him to meet me for lunch downtown at the Bistro and promised him some snacks to go. Call his bluff in a public location.

He said OK.

The Bistro is a small-town coffeeshop where everybody knows everybody. I got there early and told the staff what was going on, including my firm belief that no one was going to show up, but that he would ask me for money. IF he showed up at all. Everyone was curious. I shared a story of the last scammer who crossed my path, proudly ending with “By the time it was over, he was saying, ‘Lady, I have to go.'”

I made this into a community event. “Oh! He just texted that he’s lost – can’t find the courthouse!” (Group scorn) “Oh, he just texted that the courthouse is closed! Ya think?” (Group sarcasm) I never expected anyone to show up. I expected him to ask me to Venmo some cash. 

He liked the sloppy joe special. He shared stories about different places in California, where he’s from. We talked about people not getting along and about being able to disagree with respect. He shared wisdom from his mother.

We talked for about an hour. My friend made sure he had chips and cookies to take with him. We said a prayer for his safety, and we called it a day. I came home humbled. 

I started the morning very cynical about this situation; I was looking forward to putting a scam artist to shame. Instead, the shame is on me for judging someone who just wanted something to eat. There’s a sermon here, and I hope I’m listening.

Note: “Tyler” is not his real name, and the young man in the photo is not the young man I met.

Catch a cold in winter, and you’re among friends. “Drink green tea. Really. It’s amazing.” “My sister swears by zinc.” “Get some rest.” The corner drugstore is crowded with remedies in colorful boxes. How many tablets do you want? What flavor of cough drops do you like? Even the tissues sympathize and make themselves available with “gentle lotion” and “cooling mint” options. Time it right, and you can catch a sale, which lets you go home and recuperate with a sense of having made the best of it.

Catch a cold in the summer, though, and you are alone. “How did you catch a cold in this heat?” “Listen, stay away from me, I’m going on vacation next week.” The drugstore likewise shows little sympathy. The “cold remedy” aisle is almost dusty, offering only one brand of tablets and limited tissues. Don’t even think about a sale price. I can almost hear it scolding, “Sensible people catch their colds in the winter.”

So I’m home, alternating tea and TV reruns, watching my tissue supply dwindle, wondering how long these sniffles will last.

Maybe I should plan to get some sunburn in December.

Note: I wrote this in June 2018, pre-pandemic, on Facebook. I’m posting it here to archive it.

She dropped the last gallon of milk into her cart and reached eagerly for the receipt. Her reward points were totaled at the bottom. “982?” She was disappointed. “I was hoping to get to 1000 points this month.” She looked at her full cart, trying to figure out where she’d gone wrong. “I bought everything I needed. I guess I didn’t quite make it.” Her shoulders slumped.

The elderly woman behind her in line looked at the cashier. “She needs – what – 18 points? Can you credit my purchases for her points?” The cashier nodded. “Let’s do it.” She turned to the young woman. “Swipe your card.” The older woman was only picking up a couple of items, and the young woman was still two points short.

“Well, thanks,” she said. “I appreciate the thought.”

The woman turned to the people in line behind her. “Can you help her out? She just needs a couple of points to make it to 1000.” The couple shrugged and dropped two jars of spaghetti sauce onto the belt. The clerk scanned them, and the goal was reached.

A small victory, granted. But lots of small victories will get us through the day, the week, the pandemic. Make them happen.

(I wrote this in 2021 and posted to FB. Saving it here for future reference.)