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."

 

.

Rock N Roll

I had never heard of the Rock N Roll Marathon series until I got this weekend gig cashiering at their expo. They were hosting a ½ marathon here in Philly; a sold out marathon at that, with 19,000 runners. What is a ½ marathon? Its 13.1 miles of raw endurance. Early Friday morning before the expo opened I walked around the hall and looked at all the photos hanging from the walls. Photos from a marathon in San Jose. Another ½ marathon in San Antonio. A marathon in New Orleans. NYC. Dallas. Las Vegas. Photos of Rock N Roll Marathon cheerleaders enthusiastically shouting from the sidelines. Photos of a Rock concert, which always awaits the runners at the finish line. Photos of people smiling.

As a runner I never run more than 2 miles on any given day because, well, I’m lazy. When I realized what this Rock N Roll Marathon was I figured, if I’m gonna be surrounded by real runners all weekend maybe they’ll inspire me some. But what is a real runner anyway? Super skinny girls in tights whose legs make up ¾ of their bodies? Yeah, they were there. But they only made up a fraction of the crowd. I met runners of all shapes and sizes. I met a heavy-set gay couple who told me that this would be their 5^th marathon this year!
An Asian guy with a thick accent was buying a black fleece with the logo ‘Rock N Roll Philadelphia ½ Marathon 2010’ branded across the back. I asked him if he was running & he said yes. I couldn’t make out what else he said but I caught the word ‘siete’. He saw the confused look on my face and explained but I still couldn’t understand him. All I heard was “Something something something siete. Siete something something siete.” “Seven what?” I asked, “I’m sorry, I don’t….” But then he turned around to show me the back of the black fleece he was currently wearing, which was identical to the one he was purchasing except for the logo read ‘Rock N Roll Seattle ½ Marathon 2010’. “Oh, Seattle!” I said, “You ran in Seattle too!?” He nodded, beaming.

In fact I don’t think a single Philadelphian came through my line all weekend.

My favorite customers were the ones who were nearly pissing their pants because this would be their very first marathon. One girl asked me if I was running and when I told her no she asked, “Why not?” “Well,” I explained, “I’ve never run that far before. The most I’ve ever run is 7 miles, I’d never be able to do a ½ marathon.” She replied, “The most I’ve ever ran is 6 miles! But I’m gonna try.”

Last year I raised money for the AIDS fund and then on the morning of the AIDS run I never got out of bed. I freaked out and stayed under my blankets. I didn’t think I could do it. And here I was surrounded by 19,000 runners, most of whom have never run 13 miles before in their lives but have crossed the country just to try it. They reminded me of myself when I was 17 years old. I had never run a single mile before but I wanted to join the cross country team, just to try it. I remember that feeling, the uncertainty of self as you’re standing at the starting line trying not to throw up. The anxiety as you’re halfway through & see so many other runners dropping like flies. And that feeling when you cross the finish line. It doesn’t matter how many people are behind or ahead of you, when you cross the finish line, you’ve won. And you realize the only person you were trying to beat all along was yourself.

One woman was in my line with new shoes, clothes, compression socks, a belt & some other things I didn’t even recognize. She was talking so fast I barely caught a word, then she picked up a tube off my counter & read the label, “Anti-friction lotion.” She looked at me, alarmed, “Do I need this too? Oh my God! What else do I need? I heard I should wear two pairs of socks, is that true? I packed pants to run in and now I need shorts because I think it’s gonna be hot and I don’t want to get over-heated. Do you know what the weather is gonna be like tomorrow? I checked it an hour ago but it changes-” She was talking too fast to comprehend at this point, going on about the course and rocks and extra soles for her running shoes, “I’m gonna lose, I don’t even know why-” “Is this your first ½ marathon?” I asked her. “Yes,” she answered. “Well,” I said, “Don’t think of it as a race, but a run. And all you have to do is finish.” She seemed to have taken her first breath, smiled and said slowly, “You’re right, and that’s all I want to do. Just finish.” And I made her put the anti-friction lotion back.

Indeed I was inspired this weekend. By real runners and real people who were just trying to prove something to themselves. I miss the feeling you get from challenging yourself. I think I want to start pushing myself again, the way I used to when I ran for a team. And next year, maybe I’ll run a Rock N Roll ½ Marathon.

Good Charlotte

This time of year 8 years ago I was just beginning my life at Saul high school. We all had to complete a month of summer courses before being admitted into the school. I remember that July like it was yesterday. That was the summer I stepped into who I am. I switched from Air Force Ones to Chuck Taylors. I started listening to different kinds of music. I started painting on everything. I stopped trying to fit in & tried to build a life that would fit me. I stopped looking at what was cool & started looking at everything. That summer I sort of wiped my life clean & started from scratch. Like clothes, I let my wardrobe go & asked myself, “If there were no styles, no trends & no dress codes, what would you wear?” And something in me answered, “T-shirts. I kinda like graphic t-shirts.” And so I started wearing nothing but t-shirts. And my entire taste in music changed. And I chose my music the same way, by pretending that nothing was popular & no one could hear what I played. Everything was based simply off of what I liked & what I wanted. And at 14 years old one band in particular caught me; Good Charlotte.

Their poster from back then is still up on my wall. Their single, “The Anthem” became my anthem. They were the soundtrack to my teenage years. Their music added to the changes I made. As I stepped into who I am, their music was there. And in the last 8 years they’ve come to Philly several times to perform. And of course no one would go to a Good Charlotte show with me because that kind of music isn’t cool where I come from. So I missed show after show after show. At some point in your life you wake up & realize that the majority of your regrets don’t come from things you’ve done but things you haven’t done. So when the Bamboozle Roadshow came to Philly last Sunday I bought myself a ticket and went. Good Charlotte was gonna be there & I didn’t wanna regret missing them anymore. It was hot that day too. 96 degrees. It was at Festival Pier, on the waterfront. I got there at 10:30am. Waited in the sun until the gaits opened at 12:30. Got inside, got some beers, something to eat, met some cool people, ran into some people I already knew, got some more beers, and by 4:00 the show was starting with a band I knew nothing about. At 5:05 Simple Plan took the stage, & they’re a band I can sing along to, and I did. Then I started feeling sick from the heat & the beers. I told the girls I was with that I’d be right back & I took a walk around.

At 6:00 sharp I saw a familiar bowler hat hit the stage, followed by an identical man in a black cap… then Paul and Billy and Deano. And by myself I raced to the stage & got pretty close, forgetting that I was sick. I was high off my eyes because I was finally seeing Good Charlotte for the very 1^st time after all these years. And when they started, they started with ‘The Anthem’. I swear I was 14 years old again, jumping and screaming and singing at the top of my lungs. During Benji’s guitar solo this guy next to me shouted, “We’re over thirty and we’re both singing like teenagers! Wooooooo!” Everyone, no matter how old they were, was a teenager during ‘The Anthem’. After Good Charlotte I went home. The show stretched until after 11 o’clock that night but I was hot & drunk & sick & absolutely sun burnt. But I won’t forget the crowd surfing and water fights. I had a blast last Sunday.

I remember that summer, this time of year, 8 years ago, when I discovered Good Charlotte, when I stepped into who I am, I had dreamed of a day like last Sunday. 8 years later I got it. And having a dream so simple as seeing your favorite band live come true, it makes me wonder about the fate of my other dreams. But for that short half hour or so I felt 14 again, when the only thing I wanted was to see Good Charlotte. And there I was & there they were…. And just like that I had everything I wanted.

The Day I Tried to Save the World

I’ll be honest… when I woke up this morning my plan for the day was to save the world. It was my first day of my canvassing job for Penn Environment. When I 1^st went to the interview for this job last week I was stoked, excited to get a job that wasn’t retail, I was ready for it. But then the interview started & I found out that it was a canvassing job, which was exciting and intimidating at the same time. Standing on a crowed city corner tryna convince people to give me money to save PA’s parks wasn’t something I was crazy about. But I was crazy about doing something positive.

I remember the day I was approached by a Greenpeace canvasser on 16^th Street over a year ago. His name was Guillermo & I walked right past him at 1^st. Then I looked back at him, he smiled at me and said, “You look like you wanna save a Polar Bear.” These were the magic words. Polar bears have been my favorite animal since I was a little girl and when I was 13 years old & learned that they were endangered, that’s when I became environmentally aware. That day I became a bit more vocal on environmental issues. And when I got this job I thought that I could be someone’s Guillermo.



When I got dressed this morning I was still a little iffy about the whole thing but I thought, maybe this is how saving the world starts. It was pouring outside so I put on my rain boots, grabbed my umbrella & headed out into the downpour. When I got to the office on Walnut Street I made my way up to the 6^th floor. It was 8am. For the 1^st hour they made me practice “the rap” which is the schpeel you’re supposed to say to people, and you’re supposed to know it word for word. They made me do it so many times I became irritated. Then my trainer, Mike & I headed out to our destination. Since I had no ‘Penn Environment’ shirt yet, I had to wear a ‘Penn Environment’ rain coat.


Mike is from Oakland, California. He came all the way out here to do this job. To canvass. That kind of passion and dedication for environmental work is very rare and I admire him for it. As we walked through the city to our designated corner some kid with long blonde hair started walking beside us. He explained that he had done numerous canvassing jobs in the past, the most recent for a children’s hospital. Mike asked him what their project was and the kid responded, “Uh, I don’t remember. Sorry, I smoke a lot of pot. But you guys keep up the good work!”


Our corner for the day was 12^th & Filbert, right outside Redding Terminal. By late morning the rain had stopped & it hit 88 degrees. My feet were sweaty in my rain boots and I couldn’t take off the rain coat because I had to wear something with the logo on it. And not only was I hot & irritable but I got a pretty bad headache too.


But comfort wasn’t a part of the job, I knew this. So I kept my mind on the mission. I was out here to save the world after all. In a nut shell, a canvassers job is to make people care about issues they probably don’t even know about. But as you know, most people walk right pass you, not knowing that you get credit for people who just stop to listen. I prefer the people who walked right pass me over those who felt the need to insult me or shout negative remarks. There were quite a few of those.


There was a bald woman in cheetah print tights who kept us company. She stood on the corner with us with a Styrofoam cup & begged everyone who stopped for money. This made people stop even less.
But I stood, planted on that corner and as the hours passed I became more & more miserable. It’s hard to feel like you’re making a difference when the only people who will stop to listen to you are middle aged men who want your phone number in exchange for a contribution. Around mid-shift I strongly considered giving Mike my jacket & binder & walking down to Market Street to get the bus home. Especially when Betsy returned with her Styrofoam cup and started drooling like an infant, all down the front of her clothes, onto the sidewalk.


I had so many conversations with old people who probably just wanted someone to talk to. One guy told me about how the mayor owes him a million dollars. Another guy told me stories about how he used to feed deer when he was a child. Riveting stuff.


The best part of the day for me was when I saw Mike down the street reciting “the rap” to someone. But I knew her. I raced down the street. I definitely knew her. Not personally but we had taken a writing class together the summer before. Her name was Sarah & she was the best writer I had ever known personally. I was very excited to see her, I said, “You’re the one who wrote the story about the guy and the obituaries!” She took my hand & said, “Yeah!” Then she recognized me. “Do you still write?” she asked. And in that instant I just wanted to go home & write so bad. I had wanted to do this, but now that I was out there doing it I felt completely out of my element.


After 6 hours, I got 16 people to stop and talk to me and I raised $15. I don’t think a single person took me seriously all day long. My head was pounding, I was sweaty from head to toe and I would’ve been starving had Betsy not ruined my appetite & almost made me sick, eating unidentified items from a nearby trashcan.
I truly wish I possessed Mike’s endurance and dedication. I woke up this morning excited to make a difference. But canvassing isn’t for everyone. I think I’ll have to find a different way to save the world.
　

I Had A Dream

I had a cool dream last night;

I was a member of an environmental activist group and we were overseas somewhere, I think Japan or Switzerland. How you get Japan and Switzerland confused, I don’t know but it was one of the two. It was really late at night and pouring rain. We were on a ship in the middle of an ocean. The boat belonged to some natives who were attacking whales and endangered shrimp (I’m not sure if any species of shrimp are actually endangered) and each of us had snuck on the ship & positioned ourselves in front of a net. Each net held a poor baby whale or a bunch of shrimp. There were police on the boat and we were all surrounded.

Then one of my team took a knife from his pocket. He cut the net he was standing by & the whale fell back into the ocean & swam away. One by one, members of my team cut their nets & animals fell to the water, free. And each one of my friends who did this was tazored by the policemen. I was afraid as I watched them fall to the floor shaking in pain. I stood there, soaked from the rain, with my own knife in my hand, staring at the crew & police who were staring at me, waiting for me to make a move. I was so afraid of being tazored that I didn’t do anything. A couple of my team members were afraid as well & didn’t move either. We were all arrested & put to work that very night in a muddy yard, digging holes. It was dark & we were all soaked & covered in mud in this foreign prison. After hours of digging we were taken to a very small house where we’d be staying. We were prisoners. But we were all smiling & laughing. We were having the time of our lives, covered in mud & all.

Then I woke up. & I couldn’t help but hate myself for not cutting that damn net. I know it was just a dream but I am so disappointed in myself. I’m that type of person, I know I am. I have the best intentions but when it comes down to it, I’m afraid. I never make a move when I should. That’s why my life’s where it’s at, cause I can think about doing things but when it comes down to it, I just stand there, afraid of being tazored. Then every day I wake up slightly upset with myself. Because I never just cut the damn net.
Tomorrow is Earth Day, what an appropriate dream.

How do I become fearless? I want to be the kind of person who can make a difference. I need to be the type of person who will, when the time comes, cut the net. How do I become fearless?