The Price of Money, Part Two

CONTINUED FROM The Price of Money, Part One.

“Yeah! Come on! I know lots of stuff. I can help you with your credit or bank accounts or budgeting or any other questions you might have about financial things.” I was grasping to find something that might appeal to them. “Whatever you need financially, I can help!” I promised. 

“Can you give us money?” piped up the fuchsia-haired girl sarcastically, jumping up in mock excitement before slumping back into her chair almost as quickly and resuming her position at the monitor to check her MySpace messages as though she hadn’t even moved at all. 

I gave up. 

“Alright,” I said to the scruffy looking kid nearest me who seemed to be paying the most attention, if for no other reason than the close proximity of my mouth to his ears, “just give me five minutes. If you don’t like what I have to say, I’ll stop.” 

“I guess I can spare five minutes,” the teen conceded, a little too cheerfully. I got the sinking feeling he was enthusiastically looking forward to my imminent failure to deliver on my promise, but I was equally eager to prove how wrong he was, by exhibiting my street smarts and relating to him, thereby sneaking in the important information he needed before he realized he was learning something. 

How wrong I was.

His name was Alan and after we exchanged names, he sat down across from me, and I proceed to give him my spiel explaining to him why I thought he should listen to me. I told him that I had spent my teenage and early adult years addicted to drugs and alcohol and “couch surfing” (and so presumably, I knew something about his situation). After I’d finished with my inspirational tale of recovery and renewal, he reminded me that I had only two minutes left to convince him I had something to offer and then asked me, “What is it you’re supposed to be teaching me again?” 

Aha! Here was my chance to impart the sense of importance I had reserved for the occasion. 

“I’m here to teach you financial survival skills,” I announced proudly. I sat back in my chair, waiting for what would surely be the resulting effect. He was going to lean forward in his seat with his elbows on the table and his little head propped in his hands with wide-eyed anticipation and eagerness to learn. I just knew it. 

Instead, what he said was, “What the hell do you know about financial survival skills?!”

I looked at him dumbfounded, myriad responses rushing through my mind, though none of them could seem to make their way out of my mouth. 

Of course I knew about financial survival skills.