Local Lawyer Arrested For Failure to Pay Cab Fare: Details at 11

Last night, I needed to go to Target to buy handsoap, granola bars, mascara, face wash, and toilet paper. It was the last night of a glorious five-day hiatus from work, due to some strategic planning of time off around the Veteran's Day holiday. I had checked my bank account that morning, knowing that I had a little over $100 left to last me until payday on Thursday. "I'm a master at making money last," I thought. "I can eat soup, drink water, and use the money for transport only. I bet I'll have $50 left on Thursday when my next check deposits."

Sure of myself, I hopped into Yellow Cab number #182 and rode $5.85 down the road (half a mile) to the Fair Lakes Shopping Center. I handed the driver my debit card (I never carry cash when I'm out alone, because protected Bank of America plastic is safer when stolen.) He handed the card back to me and said gently, "It says it's been declined."

"Impossible!" I thought. "I just checked my balance today. I know the money's in there." I quickly rummaged through my purse to find my emergency credit card, which was meant exactly for a situation such as this-- an emergency.

A cold, clammy feeling came over me as my hand groped from top to bottom of the blue lining inside my bag. Where was my card holder? I hurriedly dumped the contents of my purse onto the seat next to me. Papers, checks, a Starbucks gift card, lip gloss, a hairbrush.... no wallet!

"I can't pay you," I said, barely audible. My wallet seems to have disappeared."

"Well, we're here, so just get out and get what you need," he replied, slightly irritated.

"Sir, I don't think I can," I said. I had pulled up my bank account on my phone within seconds, thanks to my Bank of America app. It appeared that muy student loan payment (which was set for automatic debit on the 14th) did not go through until yesterday. And what's worse... the payment had graduated this month, making it $200 more than it has been for the past year.

So there I was, sitting in a cab, penniless, plastic-less, and plan-less, with the words, "I'm going to jail for $6." flashing like a burning neon sign in my brain.

"Can you just take me home? I have a cup of change there, and I think I can pay you in quarters." I was totally serious about this. On the way home, I told him everything, with intermittent bouts of "I'm sorry you're wasting your time on me" thrown in.

When we arrived in the apartment complex parking lot, he opened the door for me and asked, "Can I give you $20?"

"No, it's okay. I owe you money. And I get paid on Thursday. I'll manage until then."

"You have no money," he said. "I have some."

He insisted, shoving the shriveled bill into my hand. I was so stunned and amazed that I wanted to hug him. "What's your number or how can I get ahold of you to pay this back?"

"Don't wory about it," he said. "Everyone has bad days."

I thanked him twice more and walked through the door, stunned silent. I couldn't believe that a complete and total stranger, nonetheless a cab driver--the type of person with whom I notoriously have bad luck-- had committed this random act of kindness for me.

After ransacking my house to no avail to find the missing wallet, I went to bed determined to do two things this morning: (1) find my wallet and (2) ask my boss for a raise.

Currently, I make less than any of the other similarly situated EEO Specialists in my office (except for one, who will not be eligible for a promotion until January). We all have the exact same position description. I earn a lower salary than any starting federal government attorney, and I have been working for this office for over three years. I do not receive student loan repayment funds, and all of my Bar and CLE expenses are paid for out-of-pocket. How I came to be in my exact predicament is a long, somewhat sordid story for another day.

However, I have been to both my first and second line supervisors multiple times to ask them for the promotion, explaining to them that not only do I qualify for a raise on my education and licensure alone, I do the same work as the Specialists who recieve more pay than me, with the same position description. The responses I've gotten at various points in time have been:

"Not for another few months."

(when asked a few months later) "Your position doesn't go that high."

"You don't need your promotion yet, because you've 'been bad.'" (Yet no perfomance appraisal at all exists as proof of my bad-ness and I only received objectives earlier this year.)

My personal favorite reponse, from the office director, "Have you considered Section 8 housing?" **Not saying I wouldn't but I don't qualify for it based on income, and she knows this. I took this question to be more offensive rhetoric than anything.

Today, I was met with the same sort of opposition. No reason was given as to why I don't qualify for a promotion-- because I do-- but I was handed an internet address for some apartments in DC, said to be cheaper than the one in which I currently live.

They were the same price, and they had no in-unit washer/dryer hook-ups, which is somewhat of a requirement for someone who has no car, no hands to carry laundry, and no extra money for a coin-laundry if I'm paying the same amount in rent.

Personally, I think that I'm just being blown off time and again. I know what my rights are... but I've been struggling with whether to excerise them for some while now.

I just hope something new comes through for me on the job front, so I can put an end to that struggle.

The Marriage Question

Recently, I celebrated a birthday-- the one that comes after 28 and before 30. It was harder for me than I expected it to be... Long story short, I feel old. As I approach the age that starts with a 3 and ends with "Oh, Crap, am I really that old?," I've started to think about how I might need to take a long hard look at reprioritizing what I want out of life.

I've always wanted a family, complete with husband, kids, and pet... and I realize that I'm young and I have a great many years to make this dream a reality, but the problem is finding someone with the qualities I want who also wants me.

I would like to find a man who is a Christian, who wants kids (or a kid) fairly soon, and who is willing to accept me for who I am... this last part is always the hardest bit. Not because I think I'm inadequate in some way, but because most guys without disabilities don't see me as serious dating/possible marriage material. I think sometimes people see the crutches (or the chair, depending on the situation) and are afraid to ask the things they really want to know.

Trust me, I'd rather someone (anyone from my potential husband to my potential hairdresser) ask what they wanted to ask, rather than foregoing the courage to approach me at all. It saves both of us a lot of worry about what the other is really thinking, and if we're that open and honest up front, we're going to have a great friendship at the very least.

Honestly, sometimes I feel as though if a man in the church was on a "wife hunt," so to speak, I would be the last place he'd look. Before anyone gets angry at me for saying this, I'm not trying to discredit myself or any of the wonderful Christian guys out there.... but... when we reach a certain age, people start to wonder when we're going to get married, so we look for someone with common goals who seems to fit nicely into our life.

While I am a self-sufficient, smart, career woman who can get myself to work daily and cook my own meals, I am definitely not the no-frills option when it comes to wife-dom. I require a little maintenance-- and not the self-imposed, materialistic kind. I don't drive. It takes me awhile to make a bed, and on the days when I wake up with arthritis pain, I have to add a few extra minutes to even some of the most mundane daily tasks. But really those things don't even compare to the amount of love and happiness that I could build in a home with someone, so it's unfair to consider only those things.

The church is often one of the first places I would think about looking for a mate. When I first moved to DC, I was struck by the number of people who were amazed that I could actually take care of myself, let alone the fact that I wanted to find a husband. The people who took the time to know me realized that I was no different than any other young woman my age. Our goals were the same; the execution of them just might turn out to be a little different.

Often though, I saw and heard about others in the church being set up on dates or introduced to people who others thought might be a good fit for them. I was never one of those people. What I could never figure out was whether I wasn't being approached in this manner because people were scared of approaching me or because I wasn't making myself approachable.

I'm a girl who's used to making the first move in some ways. Once I have an inkling that a guy might be interested in me, I try my best to open up the lines of communication wide enough so that he feels comfortable assuaging all of his curiosities where my disability is concerned. Sometimes this can be a tiring process, because we have to have so many conversations that start with "Can I ask you a personal question? Please don't be offended." In reality, there is very little that a well-meaning person could say to offend me...and after 29 years of being asked questions, I know the difference between a well-meant question and a question meant to offend.

Some people might say that the easiest way to avoid this problem is to look for someone with a disability... someone who really "gets" me from the get-go. I'd love to.... but so far, the men I've dated who have disabilities have tended to be more superficial than the ones who don't. I've just been dating the wrong ones, you might say, and you're probably right. I'm not looking for much: I just want to be pursued, appreciated, and loved for who I am-- just like everyone else.

But at what point do I just "let go and let God?" It either is going to happen or it isn't, and I know this. I have wanted a family more than anything else on this Earth for as long as I can remember. Just ask my mother. "Playing house" was my favorite activity from the time I was 3 until I was twelve. I think now, though, it is the time to start preparing myself for a life which may include just me and the dog, minus the husband and kids. Not to say that that is a horrible existence in any way at all, it's just not really what I want, if I'm honest with myself.

But if I continue to focus on what I want, I'm going to miss out on truly enjoying all of the wonderful things, people, and opportunities God has given and is going to give me. This Earth is only temporary anyway. It's not my home. I need to find a way where I (as my single self) can be content--content enough to make the best out of my life serving others. Even if it doesn't turn out to be the life that I planned, it's the life that God purposed for me, so I need to work hard to live it to its fullest potential.