A Penny Tossed, A Penny Earned

In June 2010 I started working in a part of Philly known as Olde City. (or Old City, but I like that old-school irrelevant E. It‘s classy.) It’s the historical part of the city. It’s kind of a museum in and of itself. Olde City has become my playground these last few months, not only do I work there but I would have lunch between shifts there. I went on fancy dates down there. I even took to partying in Olde City bars. During the day it’s swarmed with tourist but in the evening and at night Olde City is very beautiful and chic.

There is one particular spot in Olde City that I would visit at least once a week. Ben Franklin’s grave. I found it last July. I was walking from my usual Starbucks at 3^rd & Arch Streets to the African American Museum where there was a Phillies Phanatic statue (there were 20 Phanatic statues all around the city that summer & I vowed to find them all. I got 14). As I walked straight down Arch Street towards the museum I passed a gate where tourist were gathered. I didn’t think much of it because tourists gather all over Olde City because there’s something historical with every half step you take. But then, a jeep stopped at the red light in the street and a man jumped out hastily. He ran right in front of me, tossed some pennies through the gate and darted back to his jeep as the light turned green. He was not a tourist. I moved closer to the gate and noticed the final resting place of Ben Franklin; a large marble slate on the ground. There were pennies covering it, some silver change as well. Like most native Philadelphians, I had never seen any of this historical stuff that draws tourists to Olde City. Honestly, I didn’t even know Franklin was buried here.

But what’s up with the pennies?

Well, I’ve been told several things. The most common answer I received is simply, it’s for good luck. I also heard that all the change is collected daily and donated to a local church. Another theory taught me that it was Ben Franklin who coined the term, “A penny saved is a penny earned.” And people toss their pennies on his grave for financial luck.

That first day I stumbled upon that grave I tossed a few pennies through the bars just for kicks and giggles. Later that week I received a raise at work. I’ve been going back every single week to toss a few pennies on ol’ Ben’s grave ever since. Except for this month. Since the boat’s being renovated I haven’t been working in Olde City so I haven’t been to see Ben. The last time was the morning of New Years Day. The girls I work with and I were leaving our hotel and the last thing we did before parting ways was toss some pennies on the grave. We stood together quietly, each making wishes, a separate wish for each penny we tossed.

Last weekend I met up with a friend down there in Olde City, at my usual Starbucks. Before I met him, I stopped by Franklin’s grave. I had grabbed a fistful of pennies from a bank in my bedroom. When the two tourists who were there walked away I was surprised to find myself alone. No tourists? Creepy. But it was an opportune moment for this young, meek Philadelphian to admit to this legendary, immortal Philadelphian that I’m not as brave as I pretend to be. Was he listening? Of course not, he’s dead. But it was therapeutic regardless. I’ll be leaving Philly soon. Because life isn’t happening for me here. But I couldn’t leave without tossing a few pennies.

One penny for good fortune

‘Cause you can never have too much

One penny for my health

My heart and bones and brain and such

One penny for my family

My Mom, Grandma and sister too

Make that two pennies for my family

In case the 1^st doesn’t come through

One penny for my friends

The ones I have to leave behind

One penny for strangers like me

All the friends I hope to find

One penny for my city

My neighborhood, my house and bed

So one day if I follow my feet back home

I’ll have somewhere to rest my head

One penny for strength and courage

That I’ll always find them in a clutch

And one more penny for good fortune

‘Cause you can never have too much

~ADev

The Waiting Place

Today I found myself sitting in the dark. On a bench. Alone. It’s dark like midnight all day long so you can never tell the dusk from dawn or the night from day. It’s just dark. But the air is cool and clean. I can’t tell you where I am exactly, or if this place is a park, or a train station. Sometimes I can hear an ocean nearby. And planes. And cars and carriages. But I never see anything. I just hear them. All I ever see is people. There are people everywhere. They walk by as if they have somewhere to be. All kinds of people. Some seem excited about wherever they’re going and some walk so slow I wonder if they really want to get to where they’re going. Me, I just sit here. Because I don’t know where to go. I’ve been sitting here for years. Sometimes people stop to talk to me, they sit with me awhile. But they never stay long. Not that they should. Everyone’s got somewhere to be. Everyone. I have somewhere to be too, I just don’t know where yet. So I’ve been sitting here on this bench waiting. I’m not sure what I’m waiting for. Maybe for a stranger holding a sign with my name on it to say he’s my ride. Or for a distant voice to sound, telling me my flight is about to take off and from which gate. When the boats and trains whistles blow I can always tell from the sound that they’re not for me. So I don’t move. I just sit here and wait.

One time, a few years back, this old man sat down next to me. He said he had been walking awhile and was real tired so he asked to sit on my bench and I didn’t mind. Company is nice, even brief company. Anyway, we sat there for a long time just staring out at the people. Funny thing about Waiting Places, all those damn people. There really is nothing but people. You try to look past them but as far as you can see there are just people. Walking. No horizon even, the crowd of people just goes on forever. I know there’s boats and trains and planes out there somewhere but they’re far off, hidden behind all these damn people. Anyway, this old man, he said his name was Mifflin. He was a thin white man with dark hair and the friendliest brown eyes I’ve ever seen. He was dressed in a snazzy grey suit, with a white shirt and a tie. He asked me where I was going.
“Nowhere yet.” I replied.
“Why not?”
“Because I have nowhere to be.”
“Everyone has somewhere to be.” he corrected, “You, me, everyone. We’re all born with a special invitation, He just doesn’t give us directions. Sometimes He doesn’t even tell us the destination. But that doesn’t mean He dosen’t expect us to get there.” He laughed but I was afraid that he was serious.
“What if we don’t get there?” I asked fearfully, “Or what if we end up somewhere else?”
Somewhere in the dark distance a ship was bellowing. We both looked south where the ship we couldn’t see was preparing for departure.
“Why don’t you run for that ship if you’re so worried about being somewhere?”
“Because it’s not for me.”
“How do you know?” Mifflin asked.
“I just know.” I said decisively, secretly not so sure. He stared at me curiously.
“Don’t be afraid,” he said putting a gentle hand on my shoulder, “Intuition is the only tool He gives to us all. Most people discard theirs in the beginning believing it to be unnecessary. But if you follow yours as He intended you to, use it as a compass should be used, believe me, you will find your way. Don’t doubt it because it has kept you here so long. Don’t be frustrated, be patient.” We sat there for a long while as the people walked by all around us. People with places to be. Finally Mifflin glanced at his watch and stood up. He said his goodbyes and as he walked away I shouted his name through the silent crowd.
“Where are you going?” I asked as he turned around. He smiled broadly and smoothed out his suit.
“I have a party to host.”
“What kind of party?”
“A grand party.” he said smiling, “And there are an awful lot of people who’ll be waiting for me so I probably shouldn't be late.” He winked at me once then turned away to disappear into the crowd.

That was years ago. I’m still here watching all these people walk by. I can’t tell you what I’m waiting for. Because I don’t know. But if I follow my compass like Mifflin told me to, I won‘t get lost. A plane or train or car or carriage will arrive eventually and if it’s for me, I’ll just know. I hope something arrives for me. I have to be patient. I have to have faith. I’ll sit here in the dark, on this bench, watching the people walk by. I’ll just wait. Because this is the Waiting Place.

Pictures Last Longer

Today I found myself on a hotel room floor wrapped in blankets. I woke up not just wondering where the night went but where the year went as well. The girls were sleeping soundlessly around me and I felt so content. Cold. Freezing actually. But content. But then the girls started waking up one by one and getting dressed and I knew there was no preserving the moment, it was time to go.

I work with these girls.

Bo only stayed last night until 3am. She’s our Cambodian mother-figure, always warning us about germs and how unhealthy our food choices are. Bo is nice, attentive and over-bearing to the point you just want to wring her neck. But we all can’t help but love her.

Alida is our sweet-toothed Repunzel with waist-length thick blonde hair. I loved Alida before I had ever met her because I had asked her (via email) to cover a shift for me her first week so I could go see John Mayer. She did. Alida is very mild mannered. She covered our office walls with pages from her Hello Kitty coloring book, and the collage seems to grow larger every week.

Lindsay is the funny one. She’s bold and honest, even when the truth is hysterically inappropriate.

Sarah, the one who wanted to turn the heat off last night. She has what we call a “big girl job”. It’s a dependable nine to five whereas our boat hours fluctuate. She’s still as crazy as the rest of us though. Sarah catches every single one of my Harry Potter references and I love that.

Rachel is the heart if we were a body. Not just because she’s our boss and she runs things with a soft iron fist, but because she’s our friend. She is the youngest of all of us. Rachel makes sure we enjoy what we do, so that we keep coming back to do it. I’ve had so many jobs throughout my life and have never worked for someone who genuinely cared about their employees. I didn’t realize until I met Rachel how nice that is. She is our Michigan wildflower. She moved to Chicago after high school, lived there for more than a year and now lives in Philly. Rachel has lived more than most 50 year olds that I know. She is so spunky she’ll give you a headache. When I went for an interview in the rain last June I only needed a job. So I thought. Now, looking back I realize what I needed were the friends I made. Wednesday nights at the bar, someone to talk to about things I’m unsure of, laughing until my sides hurt; that’s what I needed, not so much another job. But I didn’t know that’s what I needed until I felt myself emerging from a shell I climbed into years ago. I kind of owe that to Rachel.

We are photographers, the girls and I. We work on the Spirit of Philadelphia, a boat that cruises along the Delaware River. People spend the most important days of their lives on our boat. Birthdays, anniversaries and even weddings. Our job is to capture these days in frames because pictures last longer than cakes, dresses and even feelings. For months now The Spirit has been planning renovations, scheduled for right after the new year. It’ll be a two-month long project so New Years Eve for us felt like the last day of school until the new school year. Last night, for the first time, I brought my own personal camera along with me on the cruise. I got some pictures of us goofing off with some of the servers outside on the deck right before the midnight fireworks. The big countdown, the lights, the hugs and cheers. That was a moment I wish I could have kept forever. But moments are just that, momentary. Pictures last longer. And I got some good ones.
After the cruise the girls and I went to Wawa because we were all starving. Then we walked to our hotel where we cracked open some bottles, ate, played a few drinking games, exchanged secret Santa gifts and talked until we passed out sometime around 4:30 am. The entire time I’m thinking about all these months I’ve spent with these girls. All the fun we had.

It was a melancholy checkout this morning. Rachel, Alida and Lindsay stood in line to checkout and Sarah & I stood by the front door. On Monday, Sarah will go back to her full time job. Lindsay will be starting classes in another week or two, as well as student teaching. Bo has school too. Rachel will be headed to Texas soon to start up a new location while our boat is being renovated. Working on the boat was the highlight of my weeks, the perfect parallel to the useless depressing feeling I get at my other job at CVS. Nothing but CVS. That’s what’s awaiting me on the other side of today.
“Wouldn’t it be weird if someone doesn’t come back?” Sarah asked. I faked a worried look and felt guilty. I nodded. “Yeah.” I answered, "That would be weird."

 

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