I'm a rich person and I don't feel one bit guilty about it. I took risks and invested in companies that made it in the tech boom. During the years, I was told several times by different guys this about my wealth, "You know, no matter how much money you have, you can't buy love." My typical response was to say, "No, but it can buy sex better than your wife gives me." That usually shuts them up. Well, it pisses them off and shuts them up. I can get away with comments like that. By the way, my name is Walter Samuelson, aka 'Big Walt' as I stand six foot six and weigh in at 275 pounds.
Yes, I have purchased sex a lot in the past. I figured that was a lot cheaper than getting married. My work kept me busy, so I hired someone for just the cooking, housekeeping, and laundry chores. If I wanted companionship, friendship, an intelligent conversation or sex, I would take an escort out to dinner and dessert. I had escorts that I enjoyed being with enough to request them again. Unfortunately, several of them decided they would like to marry my money. After one close call with fatherhood, I had a reversible vasectomy to keep away the "Sweetheart, I'm pregnant. Aren't you happy?" gold-diggers.
It took a heart attack and two stents in my arteries to get me to slow down my fast-paced stressful life. I had to find another interest. Since hobbies can be too consuming and addictive, I went with supporting charities. One experience with that endeavor changed my life.
It was early January, a time when the euphoria of Christmas gifts was replaced by the gloom of paying for Christmas gifts. A lot of people needed help around this time of year. I was driving to the Salvation Army Soup Kitchen feeling good about myself for being humble enough to give out soup and sandwiches before I went to a five-star restaurant for lunch. My mind was thinking about what I would say in my acceptance speech for a future Humanitarian of the Year although so far, I had done very little to earn it. Patting myself on my back meant my attention wasn't on the road where it should have been. A little girl suddenly ran in front of my car. There was a screech of braking tires followed by a THUD! I swear I could feel the bump send a shiver throughout my car. I called 911 before I went into the street where a woman, who I assumed was her mother, was holding her, crying, and yelling for help. The girl wasn't moving.
All I could say to the mother was, "I'm sorry. I didn't see her in time. I'm sorry." She ignored me while we waited for the ambulance. Once they examined the girl, the technicians put her on a board and transported her to the Baptist Hospital Emergency Room. Her mother went with her in the ambulance. I followed in my car. I went to the ER waiting room to suffer in guilty silence.
The cast of characters in the waiting room should have their own reality show on TV. There was an old man sitting in a wheelchair talking to some unseen person, a young man holding a bloody rag to his head dropping 'F' bombs, two bawling babies never quite getting their harmony together, and a variety of coughs and sniffles polluting the air. The people accompanying them did not look like they were that much better off than those waiting for treatment. Several of the people waiting were in sweatsuits although I doubted at their weight if they had ever done anything that made them sweat. Two women stayed on the phone having appointed themselves as the reporter of bad news to relatives, friends and anyone else on their contact list. The half dozen kids there were all on their phones or tablets playing video games or reviewing the latest on You Tube, Facebook, What's Ap, or Tik Tok.
While I was waiting, Melissa, the social worker from the Salvation Army came in. She knew me and came over. "Are you checking on the little girl, too?"
"Yes. I didn't see her in time." I started crying. She had not known before then that it was my car that hit her. Melissa gave me some sympathy before giving me information about the girl and her mother.
"Man, this family cannot catch a break." She gave me the background on what they were doing at the Salvation Army. I found out that I had a heart after all because it broke when I was told their story. The worker mentioned that she had several women in a similar circumstance: single mother, husband left, child support irregular if at all, unemployed, lost her car because she couldn't make the loan payments, couldn't pay rent so she's looking for a place to stay, and so on. Melissa soon left me as she had received permission to go back and see the mother.
It was several hours before the girl's mother came out. In that time, I went to the admission people and got the paperwork amended so that any bills her insurance wouldn't pay would be sent to me.
The mother came through the automatic double doors and saw me sitting in the waiting room. She drew back as if to say, "What's he doing here?"
Then she actually said it, "What are you doing here?"
"I wanted to tell you how sorry I am. I also wanted to ask how your daughter was and if I could be of any help."
"Well, thanks to you, she's in a medically induced coma to see how much her body can heal itself before having surgery."
"How long will Shelly be in a coma?"
"They don't know. She might never wake again." She started sobbing uncontrollably. I went to her to comfort her.
"Don't touch me! This is all your fault! Why don't you go back to your mansion or gentleman's club or whatever rock you live under?"
"Nora, I know this must be difficult for you. Please take my card. If there are any expenses related to the accident you or Shelly have, I will pay them for you. It's the least I can do."
"No. The least you can do is leave us alone. That's the most I want you to do."
"Look, I know you and your daughter are staying at the Salvation Army. I"ll be glad to pay for a room at . . . "
"Wait a minute. How the hell do you know our names or anything about us? They told me that everything about me being at the Salvation Army was confidential."
"My name is Walter Samuelson. I'm on the board of the Salvation Army and had to sign a confidentiality agreement when I was appointed. I'm allowed to receive personal information on clients. I am very keen on keeping confidentiality."
"Whoop teedo. Mr. Big Shot. Well, I'm not going to take anything from you that might ease your guilt. I want you to feel bad and don't you dare say to me, 'I know how you feel.'"
"Nora, I hope you change your mind about allowing me to help. I will leave now since you don't want me here." I started down the hallway to the exit.
"Wait, do you want to buy me lunch since I've missed the meal at the Salvation Army?"
"Anywhere you want."
"McDonald's is fine."
"We don't have to . . . " I changed my mind in mid-sentence as I saw the look on her face. "We don't have to go anywhere else. McDonald's it is."
We sat down and tried to eat. Despite both of us being hungry, our stomachs were not relaxed enough to eat much. She was silent. I was too stupid not to let her stay that way.
"Nora, I know you lost your job. I can help you financially until you get a job if you will let me. I can even get you a car. I feel so bad about what happened. Please let me help."
"N-0 T-H-A-N-K Y-O-U, I will not let another man 'do me a favor.' That's why I lost my job. My boss wanted to do me a favor in return for me 'doing him.' I hope he lost at least one of his balls from my kick. How do I know you are any different? Because you say so?"
"I guess me giving my word doesn't mean much. As far as your boss, you could sue him for . . ."
"Do they charge extra for brains on the planet you live on? I am an unemployed single parent. I can't afford to sue anyone for anything. Anyway, it would be his word against mine, and I have no proof."
