Community service schommunity schervice

When I was in high school, I was on our Community Service Leader board. That meant that I had racked up so many community service hours, they let me run a few events. I remember giving a speech in the beginning of senior year to the whole school, telling them why they should participate. Well, actually, I split the talk another leader. His speech was solemn, reminding all the students they live in a life of priveledge and it is their responsibility to give back. He echoed our school motto, "Cui servire est regnare" (To serve is to rule). My talk, to Mrs. Beck's dismay, was on how I was incompetent. (Leave it to me, to be self absorbed in a community service talk.) My sppech laid out my awkward conversations at the old folks' home, being mistaken as a child instead of being the Big Sister, dropping the potatoes on the floor at the soup kitchen, and my inability to stuff envelopes.

I don't do any community service anymore. When I first moved to Boston, I used tape periodicals for the blind in a little recording studio in East Cambridge. But when the weather gets bad the trek out there is a pain in the ass and soon I realized I was a highly unreliable participant. I tried to join Boston Cares, but after wanting to smack the holier-than-thous and the hey-are-you-single people I gave up on that too. Sometimes, I try to read a book in the Jimmy Fund reading room, but let's be honest that is really more for me, because some of those books are pretty entertaining. (I got a chance to read Holes before the movie.) But lately, it has been all about me and my work.

Yesterday, I got a sad email from a friend in the Peace Corps. She is pretty amazing, having worked as a social coordinator here in Boston. She is tough as nails and truly caring. It seems the rainy season and human nature has gotten her questioning her role in her community. Was she truly effecting a positive change? I have no idea if that change is taking place there, but it did spark that guilt thing in me.

As I went to the 7-11 for my daily fix of salty snacks, I ran into R, a local transient. T, my friend and a homeless advocate, always tells me that I should stop giving money to the homeless and that it is better to direct them to a local shelter 1) because they are scamming you 2) because if they are in trouble the shelter can provide them in assortment of services that your spare change cannot. Okay so I was going to try this new tactic. I came back to the lab and called some local shelters to see if they had room for tonight. I couldn't find anything. I went back to the 7-11 and gave him the address of the Roxbury Multi-Services center. I told him to go there tomorrow morning. Then he asked me for money again. I told him I had no more. He turned away and then he threw away the yellow post-it note I handed to him.

Strangely, I do not feel sad. It is one of those things. The odds were against me. I felt like I was in high school failing miserably, but at least trying. Although I know I am freaking lazy and evil and will most likely never do anything like that again, I have a story about how my friend in Senegal inspired me to do something here. And of course now I will rule you all (muahahahahaha)....

(Sorry about the weird posting schedule. I promise I will return to normal next week.)

PS
I wrote this on Wednesday, but thought I should make an update. I have been growing out my hair (which includes using conditioning, trimming, etc) for a year and a half to donate it to charity. However, an article in the New York Times the other day makes me question if this worth it. Foiled again!