poor poor pitiful me

My dear wife frequents a Facebook page devoted to our small suburban Philadelphia community. This page is sort of a community “town square,” where members can ask their neighbors for recommendations on home repairs or someone to cut their grass. They can look for their contemporary's experiences in local restaurants. The page has also been used to voice opinions about happenings in the neighborhood. The operation – and eventual demise – of a local co-op market was a hot-button topic for a while. I even fueled the fire when I weighed in with my “Monday Morning Quarterback” assessment of the entire situation. 

My wife has used the Facebook page to solicit packing material and boxes to supplement her burgeoning eBay business. On any given day, our front porch can be piled high with discarded cartons, Styrofoam peanuts and various other shipping paraphernalia... along with an abundance of assorted (and unusable) shit that should have been rerouted for collection on the donator's designated trash pick-up day. But, not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth, Mrs. P happily accepts it all and just adds the useless pieces to our weekly trash. 

Sometimes, the page resembles an online yard sale. Household items are for sale from time to time or, in some cases, offered as donations. Items such as furniture or toys have been available for sale at a nominal – or sometimes exorbitant – fee. Other times, these items are just announced as “first come-first served” to be grabbed from the owner's front porch or “for curb-side pickup,” which has become a more popular practice. 

Recently, a new type of post has appeared. Not content with waiting for someone to offer goods and/or services for free, some folks have taken to brazenly asking for stuff, under the guise of being needy. Yep, they're just skipping the middle man to become their own self-sufficient charitable organization with a single beneficiary. Some requests, I suppose, are genuine – like the ones who find themselves suddenly unemployed and are having difficulty making ends meet until they can find a new source of income. These people have humbly asked for baby toys or a car seat or similar items to comfort a child who couldn't possibly understand that Mommy or Daddy are facing a temporary financial upheaval. Those are the cases that are heart-wrenching, if they are indeed sincere. (I don't trust anyone!) Others ask for wood scraps or leftover building material or surplus fabric for a possible craft project. I guess these requests are legitimate, although I have not checked out the price of pipe cleaners recently.... or ever. 

Yesterday, however, Mrs. Pincus brought this post to my attention. It started off innocently enough....

“Hello. I am in need of a new stroller for my daughter. Someone donated one to us about two years ago and has lasted for a very long time and gone through a whole lot with us. I do not have money to pay for a stroller so I am asking anyone who may have one who would be willing to donate to us. We are going to Disney World at the end of June...” 

SCREEEEEEEEEECH! What? You're WHAT? Are you fucking kidding me? You are going to Disney World and you're begging for a stroller? Disney World! Walt Disney World! In Florida? The most expensive domestic vacation there is? Where a single day admission price is over a hundred dollars? That Disney World? I just want to clarify your level of neediness. 

Where was I? Oh yeah... the plea continues... 

“...and I really need one to take with us. I am looking for one that possibly has compartments at the top by the handle, has a cup holder/place for snack infront od [sic] baby...” 

Hold on just a second there, sister! You lost me at “Disney World,” but now, your tale of woe has taken on the characteristics of a “refining your categories” Amazon search. 

Continuing... 

“...folds semi easily and has a semi large storage at the bottom. I apologize I fell in love with this old stroller that's now falling apart. Looking for one that is very similar. Thanks so much in advance. I apologize for sounding so needy. I'm just really in need. I do have 2 other strollers I can not use and will be posting to give away for free. Thanks.” 

No shame. No shame at all. I hope this person read and re-read this post before clicking the “post” button. I can only surmise that someone who would have the nerve.... the cajones... the chutzpah.... the balls to feel fully within their rights to post this, must be doing so alongside Will Byers from underneath Hawkins, Indiana or from somewhere on the outskirts of Bizzaro World. 

Here's the post.

Let's break down the situation at hand and analyze it. After the shamelessness of making stipulations about particular storage areas and the ease of folding, this person apologizes for sounding needy, but justifies their neediness by adding an off-handed “I'm just really in need.” But then goes on to say that he or she is currently in possession of two additional strollers that could be given away. Two, I suppose, that just do not make the cut of the stringent list of features a proper stroller must include. I'm actually a little bit surprised that a list of acceptable colors was not provided. The sense of entitlement here is astounding.

Well, this particular poster was not treated kindly by the people that frequent this Facebook group. A number of participants left comments berating the poster's audacity. The comments became worse and more graphic than the last. But, that's the purpose of Facebook, isn't it? It was created to bring people together, to interact with each other and to share thoughts and ideas. 

And to point on who's an asshole. 

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

just like that soul singer in the session band

After toiling for years in school and working with dedication in unpaid internships, my son E. landed his dream job. He is an on-air host and producer at a local Philadelphia radio station. And he has become something of a "minor local celebrity" (his words, not mine). Accompanying him to a concert has become an experience that is much different from the shows we attended together when he was in high school. We can't take three steps inside any local concert venue without someone saying "Hello" to him or offering a friendly back-slap and a smile. He knows the band members, the technical crew, the club owners, PR guys, even the people selling T-shirts. It's ridiculous. And it's very cool.

Recently, my immediate family went to a gathering at my in-laws' house. Invited guests included a mixture of friends, family, friends of family and a few stray acquaintances. After filling a plate from the buffet table, my son and I found a quiet area of the living room to talk. My wife (who was mingling among the other guests, something I choose not to do) and I had picked up my son en route between an afternoon Phillies game and her parents' house. My son and I were discussing the sorry state of the 2013 Phillies when a couple we did not know approached us. They stood side-by-side and smiled, obviously waiting for one of us to pause long enough so they could interrupt our conversation. My son glanced in their direction.

The woman began. "Are you E.?"

E.: "Yes."

Woman: "I'm Abby. I'm a friend of your aunt's*. You work at W*** (the local radio station, which, in order to protect my son's privacy, shall remain nameless), right?"

E.: "I do."

Woman: "We're big fans and we listen to you a lot."

E.: "Thanks." He smiled.

And then — claws out and fangs bared — she dove in for the kill.

Woman (turning slightly and gesturing to the gray-haired man to her left): "My husband is a singer-songwriter and he was wondering......"

SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH!!!!

My son didn't know where to hide. He hears this introduction often. So often, in fact, that he could have said it himself, word for word. "Blah blah blah - singer - blah blah blah - I have a CD - blah blah blah - play my songs on the radio." As this guy took a close seat and elaborated on his own musical talents and songwriting prowess, I silently watched my son's eyelids lower and all expression disappear from his face. He innocently came to his grandparents' house to say "Hello" and maybe have a snack. He didn't come to be pitched to.

I will say that my boy handled the situation like a seasoned professional. He politely, but firmly, explained that radio is a structured medium and that programming is a complicated, multi-level process. He cheerfully offered suggestions for performing and making a name in the local music scene. The man insisted that my son take his CD, a copy of which he conveniently brought with him, and give it a listen. Reluctantly, my son took it, chuckled, and told him he would. Then, he informed the man that he gets hundreds of unsolicited CDs each week. He said he'd do his best to give it a listen, but added the caveat: "Please be patient." The man and woman thanked him and, with their mission accomplished, left.

My son was furious.

The next day — the very next goddamn day — the guy emailed E. and asked if he listened to the CD.

My son was furious. Again.

I can tell all of you aspiring musicians, singers and songwriters: This is not the way to go about furthering your career. I can't say for sure, but this guy probably ruined his chances of my son (or anyone else at the station) ever hearing a single note of any of his songs. Initially, my son was very diplomatic as he faced a very uncomfortable situation. But even diplomacy has its limits.

* * * UPDATE * * *

The guy sent a text message to my son this afternoon. Guess whose CD will never get listened to now?

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

*An interesting aspect to this story (that makes the situation even more infuriating) is E.'s aunt, to whom Abby refers, is not a fan of E.'s radio station and her husband has made many a disparaging (read: insulting) remark about the station, as well.