PSA: MY GOOD DEED FOR THE DAY

 If you are not like me, meaning a small press author facing bankruptcy, then this post will hold zero interest for you. Feel free to skip this one. However, if you are indeed like me, this is going to be essential reading.

I've had a horrible run of shit luck for the past, I don't know, decade. It keeps getting worse and worse until this year finally broke me. I went crazy several times, and I made a slew of horrible and uncharacteristically bad decisions. Some of them were pretty public. Others I kind of kept to myself, more because it might hurt someone else instead of me. If it hurts just me, I put it out there. It's my self-therapy.

One of the worst things ever happened to me in January this year: for the first time since I was 18, I found myself without a job. Having worked so long in technology companies, I decided to look for a similar job. The problem is, I'm 42, and no tech company wants a middle-aged guy working for them. Heed this warning, youngsters: when working square jobs, your expiration date is your 40th birthday. I've been trying to get a new job for a long time, and all I got were warehouse job offers. I am not just middle-aged, I am also disabled. I get around with a cane most times. I explicitly state in my resume that I can't stand for 8 minutes, much less 8 hours. But HR always skips that part because they see I can operate a forklift. (Which I can, but I never got my license. So yeah, if you need me to illegally operate your forklift, count me in. Pay me under the table if need be. Taxman don't need to know shit.)

Needless to say, my money ran out. I lived on the kindness of friends and family. I am ever so grateful for those who lent me money in this difficult time. This disaster led me to do the thing I swore I'd never do: I cashed in my 401(k). I was able to pay back everyone, and I had some money to throw around for a bit. Maybe I shouldn't have gotten into drugs and sex workers quite so much, but it's been a tough fucking year. Give me a break, all right? But I still have a good sum of money pigeonholed as a last line of defense as well as a decent chunk of savings.

Unfortunately I also had a stack of bills thick enough to gag an elephant on. I decided to file for bankruptcy. I just got around to putting in an appearance with my lawyers today. I have no real estate. No assets of any worth. I don't even own the bed I sleep in at night. The only thing I had that I feared my creditors might take away is my car, a 2012 Honda Civic (bought when it was still the year 2011). Yet at the same time, there is so much damage to that car, and I rode that thing into the ground over the course of almost a decade. I figured if they had one look at it, they would just forget the whole thing.

IF YOU GOT LOST IN THE EXPOSITION, THIS PART IS THE PART YOU REALLY, REALLY NEED TO PAY ATTENTION TO IF YOU ARE A SMALL PRESS AUTHOR FACING BANKRUPTCY.

The attorney asked me if there were any other assets, or if I had copyrights on anything that would get me royalties. I said that I was an author of several books, but I wasn't making much money at it. Who among us really does? But I felt it necessary to mention that because when people hear you're an author, they think you make Stephen King money.

She asked me how much my royalties are, so I told her. She thought about it for a moment, and then she said, "Yeah, I don't think they would be interested in those books as assets."

Wait a minute. Losing the rights to my books was on the table in the first place?! Well, yes. And yes, I am focusing on the brighter side of her statement to me, and not the negative connotation that I'm kind of a loser. Hm. Maybe I should make this out in big caps for those who are skimming.

IF YOU ARE A SMALL PRESS AUTHOR FACING BANKRUPTCY, IT IS A VERY REAL POSSIBILITY THAT YOUR CREDITORS WILL WANT TO TAKE THE RIGHTS TO YOUR BOOKS AWAY FROM YOU.

Granted, it probably won't happen. But if you make better royalties than me? I'd step very fucking lightly, my friend.

Here's another thought, though. If my creditors really did want to take my books away from me, what the fuck would they do with them? There is a small perverse side of me that kind of wants to see what the holy shitstain fuck they would do with a title like Poor Bastards and Rich Fucks. Or how about Tales of Questionable Taste? You know, the one with the space giant fucking the sun on the cover? If only Dong of Frankenstein was still in print!

Well, I'm pretty sure I'll walk out of this with my books still belonging to me. But I never even imagined that the possibility of me losing them was even a part of bankruptcy. Armed with this knowledge, I am doing my good deed for the day. I know a lot of you who read my posts are fellow authors, and I know some of you are probably doing better than me financially. May these words of wisdom find you well.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #214: SOMEONE ELSE'S DAILY GOOD DEED

In past GF's I've talked about doing a daily good deed. I firmly believe that you should do one every day. But there's a group of people who do the same good deed every morning. The monotony would probably get to me, but these people are really good about it.


Every day I'm at the train station, waiting for my train to take me to the city, I hear them. A mother drives a car full of girls by the north side of the tracks, the side headed for Chicago, not Elburn, and they shout out the windows. They tell us all: "Have a good day! Have a good day! Have a good day!" They do this down the whole station so every commuter can hear them.


Is this something they decided to do for themselves? Or did their mother decide to teach them the value of helping others? I don't know. I lean toward the former. They sound so sincere when they do it. Every morning it's like the first time. It seems new to them every time.


I'm a fucking Grinch, but the sheer genuine feeling they give off makes even me smile. I'm my most miserable at that moment, and the fact that not just one person, but a group of people, decided to offer a daily good deed is pretty heartwarming. One of the homeless guys on the river makes me feel the same way. Whenever he's there he's got a lot of encouraging things to say to everyone. Some of it is preachy God shit, but his intentions are pure. I kind of like that he's there with a kind word. Maybe it's just for the money he gets out of it, but it's nice that he offers it for free. The dough is optional.


I can't stress it enough. Do a good deed every day. It doesn't have to be the same good deed every day, but do something. Coming from me it's selfish. I get a dopamine rush out of it. You probably will, too. But there's no harm in it so long as you're helping someone else. That's the important thing.


In the words of two of my favorite philosophers:

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #205: MY GOOD DEED FOR THE DAY PT. 2

Remember a while ago when I did a good deed and it felt great? You can read about it here. It feels pretty good doing good deeds. It's kind of addictive because of the dopamine release you get in your head when you see positive results. It's kind of like when you see that your Facebook post got 100 likes. Or maybe President Obama responds to your Tweet. And so on.


A couple of weeks ago I found myself in a position to do another good deed. But it started out from a horrible thing I did.


Not last Saturday, but the Saturday before I went to Skippy's for a burger. They've got a great burger, even though it's only a charburger. Anyway, I could have sworn they were open until ten on the weekends. I arrived at the drive thru and made my order. Only then did I see the sign that says they close at nine on every night except Sunday (8 pm). I looked at the clock. It was 8:59 pm.


Oh fuck. I just became *that* guy. You should never EVER show up to a restaurant at literally the last minute and order something that takes more than a minute to prepare. It takes them five minutes to make a burger. Oh goddam, I felt like such a heel. If I'd seen that sign before making the order I would have gone somewhere else. I could only imagine the cook cursing my name--if they knew my name, that is.


I paid at the window, and I felt like an utter asshole. Then I awkwardly sat in my car, waiting, feeling like shit.


Out of the corner of my eye I saw a skunk starting to pick around a car parked behind the building. Something scared it, and it backed away with its tail in the air. I thought for a moment it was going to spray, and I was in the direct line. I did not like the idea of my car smelling like skunk. I can control skunks, but I can only use simple commands. They might not listen to me if I said more than STOP. And GO AWAY. I wrote a Goodnight, Fuckers about it near the beginning of the run, but I can't find it, and I'm too lazy to dig that deep. If you have a better discipline, check it out. It's there somewhere.


The skunk came back to the car and poked around more. It pawed the wheels. It sniffed around the back. And then I saw it go under the car. Whoever owned this car obviously worked at the restaurant, due to the parking place. I was horrified at the idea that the owner would come out after their shift, not knowing there was a skunk under their car. I kept seeing them getting squirted and spending the next few days trying to get away from the stench.


The guy at the drive thru gave me my burger. I asked him, "Do you know who owns that car?"


"Uh, yeah, I know who owns it." He said it nervously, like maybe he thought someone had damaged it. Or maybe someone was going to sue the owner. I felt I had to immediately allay his fears.


"I just saw a skunk go under the car. I'd appreciate it if you'd warn whoever owns it so they don't get sprayed tonight." Imagine working at your shitty day job, and when you're finally ready to go home to some relaxation you get sprayed by a skunk. It's ugly, man. UGLY.


He reached into his pocket and pulled out a key fob. He pressed a button, and the car turned on. It took me a moment to realize that he was the owner. I said, "Oh! Uh, in that case, be careful, man."


"Hopefully the sound of the car drove it off. Thanks, man. I appreciate it. Can I get you a drink? We have Pepsi products."


I already had my drink, but I thanked him anyway.


"You really saved me, man. Thanks for warning me."


No problem. I drove off kind of giddy from doing the right thing. It felt amazing. It felt so good that I was halfway home before I realized that this thing had started with an asshole move on my part.


I vaguely believe that the universe balances out. I don't think there's a force behind that, or a god, or whatever. But I do think that for every shitty thing you do, you do a good thing, even if it's an accident.


I do a lot more good deeds than I mention, but that one felt the best. I felt like I made up for driving the cook a little crazy with my last minute burger. (The cook was, after all, the guy I saved from a spraying. He wasn't just the guy at the drive thru window.)


Do good deeds. It feels really fucking good. You'll see.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #189: MY GOOD DEED FOR THE DAY

On my way home I usually get on my train about 20-25 minutes before it's ready to leave the station. It's good because I get my pick of the seats, and I get a lot of quality reading time in. Today's train was kind of different, though.


So far I've seen a couple of horrible things on the train. I've seen a lot of apathetic things. But I have seen zero good things.


The car was half-full when it happened. Someone jostled my seat pretty badly, and I looked up to see an extraordinarily beautiful woman moving past me to get to the next car. She didn't have a care in the world if she disturbed someone else's world. Except when she tried to open the door, it wouldn't open. She tried for about a minute and looked very confused when she couldn't get through. Everyone in the car looked at her, but no one said anything.


I said, "Do you need help?" She said yes. I stood up, and I opened the door for her. She was very appreciative, and she moved on.


And then I saw it happen again with a little old lady. I offered my assistance and helped her on her way. Then came this scrawny little dude who tried to open the door with both hands. I helped him get through, as well.


By the time the train started rolling I helped about five people get through that door. Later, as we were headed for Kedzie (our first stop), I saw the big strong burly conductor try to get through that door. He heaved on that fucking thing for a couple of seconds, and then he stopped to catch his breath. I was about to offer my assistance when he rallied his strength and burst through.


And then I saw that he'd only gotten through because there was another conductor on the other side of the door helping him.


Jesus. I'm not that strong. I consider myself kind of a weakling. Metra should really fix that door.


If you're one of those people who lament the lack of good deeds in the world, I have but one thing to say to you: you can change that. Helping strangers can sometimes lead to a better world. Give it a try sometime.