Gettin' the Paper

Every morning, one of the first things I remember to do is retrieve my paper from the front yard. This is a courtesy to my housemates and a precaution.

Since our home is located on the equator the paper has already turned yellow from the sun. I do not like reading yellow paper. It reminds me of yellow journalism and old history classes and Sister Marion. Besides, the pages are too crisp and hard to turn. And it's already two minutes past the time I am supposed to start work.

I started receiving the Whittier Daily News about two weeks ago. It comes every day. That is fourteen newspaper that are currently sitting in my room becoming more yellow. I do not have time to read the paper every day. I do not have time to read the paper every other day. I read the paper on Sunday and try to read at least one headline on the other days as I bring it in to the house.

Rather than storing these pages in my room, I should go directly to the recycling bin. That is where they will end up anyway so I'm not quite sure why I am gathering a collection.

I do know why I receive the paper daily. Two weeks and one day ago, a young boy of about 15 years showed up at my door. I had recently returned home from work and was wearing my charcoal gray work pants (the only work-acceptable item of clothing I own) and a white button down shirt (consequently, I wear this outfit every other day).

"Is your mom or dad home?" he inquired, peering around me.

I was shocked. Did he not see my business attire? Did he not see *my* car parked out front?

"No, I live here alone," I told him. I am aware that I gave him the impression that I owned the entire house (he actually peered in further, looking for something to prove me wrong). He deserved a lie though for insulting my business attire. I do not wear the same outfit every day for fun.

After carefully observing the inside of my home (there was furniture, afterall), he launched into a well rehearsed speech about the Whittier Daily News. There are five sections. It is delivered daily. It serves my community. Blah blah blah blah blah.

I am familiar with the paper, little boy. In fact, your paper has offered me writing positions. Yes, I know, hard to believe, in addition to owning my own home, I can spell.

I was about to turn him away when he ended his speech with the following, "I am trying to get a job and I need to sell 8 subscriptions in order to be hired. Would you be willing to try out the Daily News for 8 weeks?"

And now I receive the paper.

1996

Almost every day I receive emails from United Airlines because I willingly gave them my email address.

This was a mistake for several reasons.

(1) I get invited to join their Premier clubs all the time. In order to join I must fly to three exotic places in the next twelve days and/or pay at least $200 a year. In exchange, I get to use their nice "Red Carpet Lounges" and earn double miles. Note on the Lounges: It IS NOT no strings attached. They are not free inside. You still have to pay for everything. I know, I was disappointed as well. Regardless of the fact that I can neither afford or am available to travel to several exotic locations in the near future, I always read the fine print to make sure that it really is a good offer. I end up deciding that it is--for someone who travels a lot anyway. I am not that someone.

(2) They send me coupons for things such as 10 percent off my next purchase. I promptly print out the coupon and put it in my "current" folder which is about as thick as the stack of books which are also considered current and which I attempt to address maybe twice a year. Thus, the coupon expires and I have lost all that savings. This just depresses me.

(3) They send me E-Fares each week informing me of the ticket sales from Chicago to a variety of other cities and countries. Once, it was only $310 to London roundtrip. I remember thinking that I had just barely that amount in my checking account and that if I was actually in Chicago and didn't have to publish a paper the next day that I would be halfway to London.

The worst though is when they email me the weekend before the Fourth of July reminded me that I can travel for such great low fares that weekend.

It breaks my heart that for $101 I could fly roundtrip from Chicago to Cedar Rapids. Why can't I fly from LAX to Chicago for $101? Why can't I just take some time off work and leave this awful asphalt heat just for a weekend e-fare?

Their emails taunt me. They make me wish I had a different life and a different bank account and that I could fly to Chicago for the Fourth of July.

I wish I could grab an e-fare back to Fourth of July 1996 when my life was fireworks and Daddy Burgers with no strings attached.

Strangers

The great thing about living with people you hardly know is that you can make up stuff all the time. This, of course, comes naturally for me.

We'll be having a pleasant get-to-know-you-while-the-water-boils conversation, sharing things that we would never share with anyone we actually knew and exaggerating stories of former roommates, when all of a sudden I'll find myself just saying things that are not true. Not even remotely true.

I don't confess either because confessions would cross the line into friendship.

Regardless, the other night I found myself sharing one of my greatest struggles with our part-time roommate. And then I said, "but there is nothing I can do so I trust God because he won't let the worst happen."

I don't trust God.

I pray, sometimes. I pray about my struggles and for my friends and I have my religion. But most of the time my religion is forgotten and I dwell and obsess over my struggles.

My lies are often a reminder of how I should live. And this time was just the same. Since, it has been true, mostly.