The One Dollar Salvation Ticket.

The One Dollar Salvation Ticket.

     Shit, there’s a motherfucker at the entrance with a donation bucket. Now what does that clown want. I’m usually a generous type but all of my dough got burned up in the divorce and with all of the useless crap that I have bought over the years, like the deli meat slicer during my thin sliced meat phase, the slap chopper, the Ole Brooklyn Lantern and the “super absorbent” Sham-Wow cleaning cloth, etc…

     Now I’m generally the friendly type but dammit man; can’t a guy just go to Wal-Mart for cat food, steaks and low sodium heart healthy nuts without getting fleeced by some guy with a cause. My minds made up and I’m not going to cave on this one, he’ll just have to shake down someone else.

     Oh but shit, he’s got a big banner up advertising the “Children’s Miracle Network.”  I’m screwed on this one and it is going to cost me a week in hell because I’m just going to lie to the dude and tell him I’ll catch him on the way out. This guy has all of the bases covered with this so called “Children’s Miracle Network”: the holy trinity of causes. I mean, who can argue with that. Children…well who doesn’t tear up every time they see a down and out kid. And what about miracle? Surely everyone is into miracles, that is, what kind of monster wouldn’t be into miracles. Then, last but not least, network. Network, meaning, that there are more of these motherfuckers out there.

     Ok, I did it. I told the guy, straight up, I’d catch him on the way out. Now let’s see, I’ll make my way to the cat food then to the steaks then to the heart healthy nuts. And since I’ve already established myself as two-bit bold faced liar, I’ll swing by the frozen section and have a sample of those chicken taquitoes. I’ll make small talk with the lady and remark how good they are then discard the toothpick and bail out of there without any intention of buying any.

     So far so good, I managed to find everything I wanted without any hassle and was even able to score some Hillshire Farms Little Smokies along with the taquitoes. Just get through this checkout and am almost home free. The transaction is going without a hitch and just one more obstacle before I have to serve my one week in hell.

     I’ll pay the checker and wait until I receive my change before making my move. I bid farewell to the checker, grab my bags and head out. As I am working my way to the exit, I adjust my gait and blend myself into the crowd and try to get next to someone who seems as easy a mark as I am. And since I’ve already opened the floodgate of sin, I’ll use this unwitting person as a human shield of sorts.

     Alright, here we go. Were exiting the door and I maneuver my unaware accomplice in the direction of the man with the bucket. I see them make eye contact and I change my trajectory and pick up speed much like an airliner pushing out of a hail storm. Good, now keep going until you’re far enough in the parking lot before you look back. Now I look back and see my accomplice dumping a handful of change into the bucket. The man with the bucket looks happy and grateful.

     Now, safe in my car, I reluctantly look into my own eyes through the rearview mirror. I just shake my head realizing that I should have just given him a dollar. But a deal is a deal no matter what kind of deal it is. “Alright Satan, you dirty bastard, you got me for a week.”