Misheru

Today I did a walk of shame.  It’s been a lot of years since I’ve had to do that walk, and I thought I could avoid it forever, but for someone who is rather shy and (despite being a blogger) a somewhat private person, the walk of shame is almost unbearable.

I was supposed to start working a real-life, professional job tomorrow, and (being myself) I had prepared for every contingency.  In my closet: two new suits, one beige, one navy pin-striped, with an additional black suit jacket to make all my black clothing look somewhat professional (I have eight black skirts — I counted).

For Maya: a two-week head start on preschool, with bus schedules mapped out so I can drop her at preschool, walk on to the bus and avoid campus parking issues.

For Ben: I signed him up for three after-school enrichment programs (they aren’t cheap, people!) and had him on the waiting list for Kidco, the county’s very inexpensive after-school program.

For final contingencies: we bought an extra motorcycle, so that I can ride on and off campus without paying so much in parking.

Then my job fell through.  I say “fell through,” when what I really mean is crashed around my ears, spraying everything with emotional shrapnel.  The short version is this: my supervisor-to-be basically jerked me around, promising things and then retracting those promises, and then, a week before I was to start, she cut my pay by$3/hour and told me to take it or leave it.  I left it.  For 20 hours a week, it seemed like it wasn’t worth the humiliation.

I had forgotten about the walk of shame.

Let me clarify what I mean.  Everyone who has grown up poor (lower middle class or below middle class — I’m not talking to those middle-class families who clipped coupons or bought from the sale rack.  I’m talking about people who didn’t get their clothes torn because they didn’t have any other clothing to wear) knows what it’s like to be offered an “opportunity” and to accept, only to find that there isn’t enough money in the coffers to pay for incidentals.  The result is the walk of shame — that walk where you go up to that teacher/counselor/authority figure and explain that yes, you appreciate the week-long trip for free to Washington, DC where you can meet senators and see government at work, but no, you can’t take it because your family can’t afford the $75 in spending money you’re required to have.

That walk of shame.

That’s the point where the teacher/counselor/authority figure huffs and puffs and either hands you $75 out of his/her pocket, or decides that that other poor kid?  The one with the $75 in his/her grubby hand?  Is the one that gets to go.

I was a smart kid, a bright, eager kid, and I had to go through the walk of shame A LOT.  One of the things I wanted to do as a parent and as an adult was to make sure that I was thrifty and had enough to give my kids opportunities.  That’s what I went to college for, right?  So I wouldn’t have to live hand-to-mouth, depending on other people for a leg up?

Well…the best laid plans, and all that.

Today I made the rounds, disenrolling Maya from preschool and enduring the look of pity in the director’s eyes as she said yes, yes there is supposed to be a two-week notice but she’ll let it go…and then the after-school program coordinator, who abruptly gave us a $55 scholarship so Ben could stay in two after-school programs instead of just one…and in both instances, the kindness almost did me in.  I could barely stand the weight of that terrible, terrible kindness, even as I was glad not to have to come up with yet more money from coffers that are nearly dry.

Now I am talking to people interested in buying that extra motorcycle, and lovingly getting out the new suit I bought that is still in its plastic and preparing to return it to the store.  People all over the United States are hurting financially, having lost jobs and retirements and homes and cars and enduring their own personal walk of shame.  All I have to say is, I’ve been there before, I’m here now, and even though I’d hoped to avoid going through it again — it’s going to be okay.  We’ll get through it.

In the meantime — anyone want to buy a motorcycle?