I guess I’m not the only one who’s ever had just single digits on their bank account. Why do I know this? Because at times, life gets hard and struggling is the only option left. I was drowning in plain sight, waiting for the month I couldn’t pay rent.
When I was this low, I was just thirty-two and working double shifts as a waitress. And then came one of those posh fundraising diners. I remember skipping lunch that day, and that’s why I was so dizzy the entire night, barely managing to balance the champagne all those wealthy people had in abundance.
As I was navigating through the crowd of guests, Russel, a wealthy man around thirty years older than me, noticed me. Unlike the rest of the guests, he noticed I didn’t feel right, so he asked me if I needed to take a break. Without waiting for me to say anything, he moved quietly to pull a chair behind one of those gigantic columns of the dining room where nobody could spot us and told me to sit down. We talked for twenty minutes, about all kinds of ordinary stuff. Among the rest, he mentioned his late wife and how he hadn’t had a proper homemade meal since her passing some three years ago.
