Dead of winter, the economy was sucking, and I was telephone fundraising for a large non-profit. The pressure was building at mid-month and we were behind schedule for our goal. I was new at the job and had not done similar work in at least 5 years. Everyday a fundraiser starts with zero and my pile of leads was dwindling. Reluctantly, I turned to the one pink stack I had yet to touch. Two words were written bold face above every name, address, and phone number. Those words were: “Lapsed Seniors.”
1-800-822-9919
I didn’t even like calling current seniors. Asking the aging for money felt like constantly forgetting my grandmother’s birthday. Guilt is the enemy of the fundraiser and the typical, supportive, retired educator easily induced annoying bouts of self-criticism. Regardless, we needed the money and I started pounding out the phone numbers. What happened next was entirely unexpected and unprecedented. For the next forty-five minutes every single person I called was dead.
I am not an asshole. I would immediately offer sincere condolences and gratitude for what I am sure was a lifetime of charity. Then I would steady myself, take a deep cleansing breath, and call another dead person. After the first seven minutes I was casually contemplating my own mortality. After the next seven I was acutely aware that our lifetimes were nothing more than insignificant blinks in the infinite eyes of Universe. What happened after the next seven? Something very strange… every time I hung up the phone I had to take a good 30 seconds and laugh my ass off. Not only was my job hopeless; life was hopeless. I laughed hard at the grand joke God had played on us all. Every minute after that was a minute closer to my own death.
I had now been at work for nearly an hour and hadn’t reached a single living resident. Thankfully, I had scheduled the next hour for youthful, healthy, regular contributors. After a brisk walk around the building, I reset myself to begin anew. I was calling for a Mister, but a kind professional woman picked up the phone. This is what she said: “I’m sorry he can’t come to the phone right now. His legs were recently amputated.” Immediately I descended into a sad pensive silence. I seriously considered allowing myself to cry. My Universe was now an absurd circus of cruel disappointment. The message was clear: death, dismemberment, and worse are only waiting for the right moment to pounce.
An observer would have seen a man lost deep in the carpeted textures of his shared cubicle. My soul was quiet and listening to an internal voice speaking simple eternal words. “Fuck it, Dave Good… Fuck it. Fuck guilt, fuck money, fuck pain, and fuck death. Fuck. It. All.” For the next few hours I lived in a world without fear. When someone answered the phone, we were the only two people in the world. Our conversations were blessed and sincere. We spoke about the greater purposes of life and the true nature of beauty. Then clearly, peacefully, and fearlessly, they relinquished the numbers of an accepted major credit card.
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