English 101

Second Paper: Surprise Reversal
The second paper, which I have helped a certain student with was a "surprise reversal" paper, in which a common misconception is refuted. It starts out by stating the misconception. The majority of it is to come from personal experience, and is meant to convey knowledge gained thereby, which will (hopefully) come as a surprise to a lot of readers.
I ran into Ben the ambulance driver Wednesday afternoon. He said that there are programs which college professors can run which will detect if a student's paper appears anywhere on the worldwide web. If more than two words match a document somewhere, it will be flagged as plageurism. Ben said that it would even include this blog.
It seems to me that such a program would take hours to run, even using today's giga-fast processors. We doubted that an English 101 professor would take the time to run several papers through such a filter. If she was very suspicious of certain ones, then she might possibly check them. The Bangladeshi guy left very little room for suspicion, in my opinion, by using topics very specific to his little corner of Mobile.
I am going to post the finished paper which the Bangladeshi guy wrote, because I think he did a pretty good job on it. He really seems to know a lot about the subject of homelessness, probably because he sees a lot of them during the course of his workday.
Volunteering To Help The Needy: by The Bangladeshi Guy
Many people think that volunteering to feed and clothe the homeless would be a wonderful, heartwarming experience, which would make them feel good about themselves; like they were “making a difference” in helping someone “less fortunate” than them get “back on their feet.” They see the physical condition of certain homeless people, who skulk through the streets with dirty, unkempt bodies in dirty, ragged clothing, and think that it would be nice to help restore dignity and self esteem to them by donating their time and resources. This is a misconception in almost every instance, and they have probably never volunteered to help the homeless.


Volunteers often leave feeling unappreciated, disrespected, and disillusioned after witnessing a dark side of humanity. They have “the wool pulled over their eyes” by the flock that they are trying to feed, and don’t always realize it.

True, there are good and decent people who have suffered hardships who need a little bit of help to get through a rough time. I call these “Class A” homeless people. They have a support network of friends and family, and perhaps a church, where they can receive help from people who know them and value their character. They haven’t directly destroyed their lives through irresponsible behavior, and usually aren’t homeless for very long. They are not likely to be standing in line for a free meal in a park.


The “Class B” homeless are another story.


They are in their particular situations due to drug dependency, alcoholism and other destructive habits, which have caused them to “lose everything.” These are the “bottom of the barrel” homeless people. They have let their drug of choice become more important than their friends and family, and have alienated themselves from them through their incorrigibility. This class of individual will spend their every penny on his addiction in lieu of buying necessities. They will sleep on the ground, or on a piece of cardboard, and it won’t bother them, as long as they stay drunk and/or high. Some of them have incomes; yet, choose to be homeless so that money which would otherwise go for room and board can instead be used to feed their habits.


They sleep free of worry, though, because the generous folks from the churches come around regularly to bail them out and supply the things that they have neglected to acquire themselves. Hallelujah!!


When these people line up for a free meal which is graciously being served by a church group or other individuals, it is common to see a fight break out, as pushing and shoving escalates to violence.


Very often the food is criticized. If a group can only afford to serve rice and beans, for instance, there will be those who will yell something derogatory to the servers. These servers often have their young children with them, trying to teach them about being charitable. They probably aren’t accustomed to, nor want their kids to be subjected to, the foul language from the mouths of the drunken masses, some who are feeling depressed and angry because they are “coming down” off of drugs.
I saw a man throw his bowl of soup on the ground, surprising many of us servers, because he didn’t think that it had enough chicken in it. I have heard loud voices demanding that we speed things up, citing “I’m starving!,” as their argument. There are those who will say “give me more” after being served, despite the fact that it may be close to running out and the line behind them may be long.


I have also seen tensions rise, after one racial group tried to push their way past another, citing the disadvantages that they burden under as a member of their race as a reason for being entitled to be fed first.

Some believe that they have been wronged in life by outside forces, beyond their control, and that they are owed compensation. The resultant attitude is brought to bear upon the volunteers, as food is virtually demanded of us.


The result is that many who come to show love and kindness to “The Needy,” leave shocked by the whole experience, and with a whole new opinion of “the homeless.”


Many people think that, without our help, these people would starve. This is another misconception.


Along with the thriving practice of panhandling, whereby many beggars “make” more money than a minimum wage worker, there is the rampant abuse of the food stamp program by the Class B homeless.


572 thousand people received food stamps in Alabama alone in 2008, according to the Statistical Abstract published by the Census Bureau, at a cost of 647 million dollars to the tax payers. The Class B will commonly sell theirs at “50 cents on the dollar” to people who visit the shelters on just this errand. The aid recipient accompanies them to the supermarket and pays for their purchase using his “EBT” card. Afterward, in the parking lot, an amount of cash equal to about half the value of the food is handed to the beneficiary, who now has a zero balance for the remainder of the month, but has around a hundred dollars to party with (for a day or two).

He/she won’t worry about starving because there will be plenty of free food, thanks to volunteers.


In a sense, these kind-hearted volunteers are enabling people to destroy their health and their lives, making them ultimately even bigger burdens on the tax payers. Intent upon helping them “get back on their feet,” and “saving them” from their miserable conditions, they are actually providing them with a safety net, and allowing them to continue being irresponsible. A poster in the window of a restaurant on Dauphin Street likens giving money to the beggars to giving a loaded gun to a suicidal person.

Works Cited

U.S. Census Bureau. Statistical Abstract of the United States:

2010: 361. Print.
Wednesday
I don't believe in "days when everything goes wrong," because of the existence of blessings in disguise, so I guess Wednesday never happened.
I was so totally focused upon helping the Bangladeshi guy with his paper, that I spent right up until the middle of the afternoon on it.
I had pushed out of my mind all of the other pressing matters. They were things like, putting on clean clothes, calling my friend Ted from Boston, grabbing my bible from my sleeping spot, putting a song together for Serda's in the evening, and making some money on the street, because I was down to 12 bucks.
I helped the Bangladeshi guy finish most of his paper, then noticed that it was time to call Jeff the Potter, about going to church. I should have let him know that I was way behind on everything and couldn't squeeze the service into my schedule. I went to drink a beer. I hadn't had one all day. I called him from Ben's phone and, before I knew it, he was on his way.
I didn't feel like going to church in my dirty clothes. Things like that usually don't bother me, as I have worked hard upon paying no heed to what people think.
But, as the thought occured to me that it might be rude to accept a ride to church and then change one's mind about going in, I began to wonder if that was right. Then I wondered why I felt that way. 
Once I was inside and the service started, it would be awkward to get up and walk out.
I have no need to feel awkward, ever. I've paid enough dues (and what I haven't, Jesus has.) 
I just wanted to shuck the whole issue, and so I went and got 3 Steel Reserves and sat by the river and drank them, and thought about things.
I wasn't going to not enjoy them, for feeling guilty, and I wasn't going to sit in the service, wishing that I could sit by the river instead.
Jeff the Potter was very understanding about it afterwards.
Island Thyme
Thursday night, I was in position to go to Island Thyme for their open mic. I happened to be walking up Dauphin, thought about it, checked the time, which was right on; and so I went. That's the way I like things to happen.
I got there as a girl was playing keyboard and singing Christian songs. She came over to me after she finished, and asked me if she had seen me at The Christian Fellowship church. I told her that she probably had, because I had been there. I mentioned being there the previous night, and deciding not to go in, because I didn't feel right, and tried to explain. She wished me well and walked off with a confused look on her face. She might not be comfortable thinking. Some people aren't.


Stepped Outside But Could Still Hear Me

 Skye walked over and handed me a cigarette, making me feel welcome.

A guy whom I have seen before played a couple of songs. After he finished he said he didn't have anything else to play, but wanted to hear a song about a guy who couldn't decide what flavor he wanted.

I did two songs. I approached them seriously and didn't rely upon the "creative muse" to supply lyrics out of thin air (or my ass, depending upon the perspective.)

They went over pretty well. I think the audience was happy to see me stick to the script for a change, and not try, though fail, to invent something. You really have to be right with the universe to do that well.
I did "The Man Who Couldn't Decide What Flavor He Wanted" second. The girl formerly known as the artist in the fishnet stockings stepped outside during that rendition, but I could tell that she was still listening.
The guy who said that he wanted to hear the song, sat on the floor and played his guitar along with me (but to himself.) He's trying to learn the song, I think. That made me feel the best I had felt all week.