No money, no pride

I can't explain exactly what goes through my head when I suddenly become retarded...but there is no turning back once I am in that state.

I have not eaten yet today. I have not eaten for a simple reason (or what seems simple to me): I do not have a lot of money on my work ID. I work somewhere where you cannot use actual money to purchase food, no. You, instead, load money onto a card and then swipe that card to purchase Nutter Butters and soup (say). I often can't remember how much money is stored on my card at any given time. Unlike a wallet, you cannot just peer into your card to discover the balance. In addition, you cannot add any given amount of money to the card. You must deposit money in multiples of 5. So for instance, if you have $3, that money might as well be garbage--because you cannot cram it onto your card. You need a 5 or a 10 or 20 9if you Mr. Moneybags and have 20s to just throw around). There will be no yogurt, no nuts or chips to stave off hunger. There will be none of these things until you have at least $5.

Today I had some unknown quantity on my card and $3 in my pocket. There is, of course, more money in my checking account--but that requires me to leave the building and walk some blocks. And that's just IMPOSSIBLE.

The logical thing would be to go check the balance on my card, right? But for some unknown reason (we will blame it on the retard gene) I don't do that. Instead I wait. As if time itself will unfold the mystery that is the balance on my card. It rolls around to 3 PM and I am still without food (unless you count the peanut butter cookie my co-worker shared with me--I don't count it, personally). So I make my way 1st, up to the 30th floor where they have a machine that reads your card. I have, miracle of miracles, $6.41 on my card. That's enough for a veritable meal, by god!

I hop the express elevator down to the cafeteria for some eats thinking, "Why did I wait so long? I had $6.41! I am rich! I am a millionaire! I own you cafeteria. You are mine for the taking."

Now, the miniature cafeteria where those who did purchase their lunch twixt 11 and 2 must go, has a little deal come 3:00 PM. They offer their salads for half price because they don't want them to go to waste. I'm gonna sound like a real 90 year-old grandma still stuck in the Depression here, but I LOVE this deal. I can get a delicious salmon salad for like three bucks. NO joke. And that is a bargain that NO ONE can sniff at.

I select my salad. I even throw on some Nutter Butters 'cause that peanut butter cookie really put me in the mood. And I step up for my turn at the register.

I should mention here that the little cafeteria was packed. What was driving all these suits to grab something to eat or drink at what was now 3:30 PM, I have no idea. But there were drab iBanker types from wall to wall down there.

So I step up, and for some unknowable reason, the salad is NOT 1/2 off. It is full price. It is a whopping $7. So, of course, I say "Um, take off the Nutter Butters, would you? I don't want them." Now I'm no math major. And maybe you aren't either. As I add things up here in the comfort of my tiny cubicle I can see that eliminating the Nutter Butters from my purchase would not reduce in any way the actual $7 cost of my salmon salad. That may be a difficult economic figure to wrap your head around (clearly it was for me at 3:30 PM)--but the salad was still $7 and I STILL only had $6.41 on my card.

Now of course, the line of business and econ majors behind me all noticed my mathematical blunder right away. Gloria, the register lady, even looked up at me in a sad kind of way as the register started making these angry bleeping noises at my card. And slowly, very slowly, it all dawned on me--I don't have enough money.

I think a normal person would have made her apologies and put the salad back, chosen something else that would fit within her budget. I am not a normal person. And this is not that story.

Instead, I sort of shuffled backwards, still holding the salad, staring vaccantly at the register. I took a glance over at the line of people forming behind me. It was kind of like that moment in an action movie where a fist fight has been going on and then suddenly a gunshot goes off. Everyone looks up to see that little Suzy is holding the gun and pointing it sort of willy nilly at everyone around. She's backing away slowly. Everyone is frightened. Women grab their husbands. Suzy's dad keeps mouthing "No, Suzy. No, honey. Give me the gun." And Suzy, poor Suzy, she just keeps clutching that gun, backing up, tears streaming down her face. It was exactly like that--but with a salmon salad.

And then, in a turn to salvage the situation, I sort of throw the salad at the counter where the register lady is (I don't mean placed it down roughly, I mean THROW). I mumble something like "I must go get some more money," while patting my thighs. This may make no sense, the patting of my thighs. But that's the universal sign for "Where did I put my wallet," OR "Where did I put my keys." In this situation it was my way of letting EVERYONE know that I had TONS of money...right around the corner....I just needed to go get it...

And then I ran.

Nope, I didn't walk quickly. I ran out of the little cafeteria. I didn't go back up to my desk and get out my ATM card, go back down, draw out some money, put that money on my card, then re-purchase that salad. I didn't even take the $3 in my wallet out to the nearest bodega or Deli and buy a little something to tide me over. No. It seemed, and this seemed SO logical to me at the time, that an effort had been made. Lunch had been attempted. It didn't happen. There was not a successful result, per se. But an attempt had been made. And now I must return to sitting and staring at my computer screen.

Yep. That's how it went.