Friday, January 19, 2007
The Philanthropist
I got to the computer lab about ten minutes before class. It was an abysmal morning, rain coming down with unfortunate gusto, making me wish I’d printed my homework out the night before. I’d meant to, but then she had called, saying that her mother had called to tell her that, despite her careful savings all summer, she was broke, and could I just come over for awhile, at least until her roommate came home, because she wanted someone to talk to. So I went over and saw here instead of printing out my homework. And then I’d lain there in bed for an hour afterward, thinking about what a happy couple we’d be if and when I had the spine enough to ask her out. My homework had been entirely forgotten.
It wasn’t until my assignment was up on the screen that I noticed the ID card of a Miss Mary Jo Carlson sitting on top of the computer. She must have left it here after a late-night typing session. I was hungry, having not yet eaten today, and considered letting Miss Mary Jo Carlson treat me to breakfast before taking her card to security, just to teach her a little lesson in responsibility. I decided against it; I was already going to have trouble making it to class on time, and by the time class was over it would be time for lunch, anyway. I wasn’t comfortable with charging my lunch to her card; lunch is expensive these days, much more so than breakfast, and I don’t think I could live with myself after taking advantage of someone like that. No, it would be better to just take her card to security and be done with it. Of course, security was in the other direction, and I certainly didn’t have time to take it down there now. I could do it after class, but what if Miss Mary Jo Carson had only stepped out for a minute and would be back any moment? She certainly wouldn’t appreciate having her card stolen—because that’s what it would amount to, stealing—and taken to security. That give both of us an unnecessary walk. Maybe I could look her up on Facebook and find out where she lives, and give her card back in person. I could just imagine it. She’d certainly be thrilled to have it back. Maybe she’d invite me in. Oh, but maybe she’d have a boyfriend, and he’d be there. That would be awkward.
My watch beeped for the hour. That meant I was late. And I still hadn’t printed out my homework. I hit the print button, scooped the pages out of the printer and ran out the door. I hadn’t forgotten Miss Mary Jo Carlson, but this philanthropist didn’t have time to save her.
