Faint in the store.  They may think you went into diabetic shock and a Hershey’s bar may appear out of nowhere. As if sent by a god- it wasn’t. If it had been sent by a god, there would have been almonds in it.

The background story and the reason why I am writing this?

Just another reason why I believe that things must change, while I believe we should invest in human capital via national service (this case may have more to do with socialized health care, but this is more a cry for attention than stumping ground) and why I love fainting at Wal Mart as opposed to other more stingy - dare I say, sheisty?- places (I’m lookin at YOU House of Blues!).

After graduating from the AmeriCorps program I moved to New Orleans to join in June of 2007, I could not not find a full-time job. Meaning, the jobs I were looking at were great jobs [for my experience and education (or lack, thereof)] with full-time hours and benefits. Working in schools in some capacity seemed to be the option I had. However, since I was going back to school myself, I needed a job with super flexible hours.

Old reliable took me in with open arms. I swear, if I’m not working for AmeriCorps, I’m usually working for Starbucks, after a certain amount of time there, they offer health benefits to part-time employees. PLUS I love the way that hot milk dries on my skin. And the way that people act at 4am before they’ve ‘had their coffee’ -ha, as though its an excuse not to tip. I digress.

I had to donate plasma to supplement my income. I would still be donating if they’d let me. The kind people at the Metairie bloodbank maintain I don’t have enough iron in my blood anymore. They should know, they took it having drained my blood of its worth and then pumped it back into me empty of its rich magic… or ‘iron’ as they call it, twice a week for 6 months.

I like to imagine that now, my plasmanators are being injected into Nobel Peace Prize Winners, into inspiring artists that, for some reason, have lost blood and other assorted geniuses like Bono or Dwight Schroot.

On the day of the incident I was informed that they would no longer take my plasma. That this was the last time. I had lost too much weight (yo I’m donating so I can eat, ya’ll. Help me, help you!) so I couldn’t come back again and that in fact they shouldn’t let me do it this time. But I charmed them with my gappy smile and claims of: “If you don’t let me I won’t make groceries” in a syruppy sweet and somewhat pleading voice. They let me, begrudgingly and sought passive aggressive revenge for my guilt trip by exposing me to an unnecessary ‘double poke’. Holler if you know what I mean. If you don’t… well. Quit bragging.

I drove to Wal-Mart to cash my check and then by groceries with the money. While in line to cash out with the makings of ramen-ghetti (I invented this and will include recipe in upcoming volunteer cookbook), I fainted. It was funny because I knew how bad it looked. I knew that my eyes widened and said what I couldn’t because in the instant before I fainted I lost the ability to speak or even grunt, which is how I usually communicate when I haven’t eaten. My eyes said: “sh*t, I’m about to faint, I’m uninsured”. Then Bam! hit the floor.

Who knows how long. Not really sure.

I do know what revived me.

One employee said “call an ambulance!” and I shot up, still unable to communicate vocally and just shook my head NO NO NO NO NO. The employees brought me water and candybars, convinced I had gone into diabetic shock or had a seizure. I didn’t have the heart to tell them no, or the voice, so I ate the candybars and guzzled the water.

They kept trying to convince me to let them call a doctor, then I finally had to say: “I can’t afford it, I don’t have health insurance”. They understood completely. And let me go.

Why write this? To point out what is wrong with this story and what is right.

Wrong: I fear ambulances more than I fear a possible medical emergency; there are more people uninsured than insured (this is evident in that the employees knew-likely through empathy- what calling an ambulance would mean to me)

Right: Chocolate. Chocolate. Free chocolate

How can national service address this?

Well, a health corps may help to enroll disengaged community members in programs which would allow them some medical care at a discounted or sliding scale rate if not free. A health corps may teach people in schools how to help someone whose fainted, it goes against everything I believe in to say this, but I don’t think its always going to help to force feed someone candy. It only works with me because its chocolate.

And basically, its what my body knows.

Maybe the expansion of national service or recognizing people who have served as of value would result in more scholarships or opportunities for benefits… who knows? I kind of believe national service can address all of the social changes necessary. It seems really abstract to say this I know. And some would say that I’m treating it like a band-aid (I have been told this).

But everyone has faith in something.

Hopefully.

I place mine in myself. And you. And all Americans. I place mine in the national service movement. And that is enough for me. Is that okay?

If its not okay to have this kind of faith and to believe in this possibility that things can change and that I.You.We.theMass can be apart of it, then there is no reason to get up off the floor when I collapse in public because I cannot afford to eat, because I have sold all that I can sell legally to come by the money to eat and make rent, because education is hard to come by without debilitating debt, but so are jobs without an education. Because the changes are not being made. The needs not being met.

Leave me my faith and my free candy. Its all I can get without giving a tax cut sometimes.

Now go to Wal-Mart and buy a candy bar and some water on my behalf. Then download “Better Way” by Ben Harper. It will blow your mind.

Peace easy, cheesey and chocolate for free-zy, from New Orleans,

Mallory Josol

This entry was posted on Wednesday, July 2nd, 2008 at 1:08 pm and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.