On not being poor

The Toronto Star attempts to define poverty.

I can't define poverty. I know what it is, I grok it, I'm a language professional, but I still can't put together a definition that encompasses every nuance of the negative feedback loop that is poverty

So I'm going to talk about not being poor. A lot of this is going to dance on the border of being well-employed, which is why I'm not poor, but I didn't expect to be well-employed - it was a series of flukes, a cascade of freakish good luck that probably should make me believe in god were I not a congenital atheist - so I'm all too aware of how things would be different if I were poor.

Let's start with the potential TTC strike. I don't have a car, I'm dependent on the TTC. But I do have a carpool in case of a strike. And it's because I didn't grow up poor that I have a carpool. The driver is a friend whom I originally met as exchange students in high school, which I would not have been able to afford to do if I had grown up poor. If the carpool doesn't go as planned and I arrive later than expected or have to leave earlier than expected, that's okay because I'm well-employed. My boss will understand that it's an exceptional circumstance. If I didn't have a carpool I might be able to work from home, because I am well-employed in a sit-at-the-computer job. Or I could take a day off from my sick leave or my vacation leave, which I have because I am well-employed. And even if for some reason I didn't get paid for coming in, I could absorb the loss of a few days' pay because I am not poor. But if I ended up having to come in to work anyway, I could walk - it's a 90 minute walk, tops. Because I am not poor, I can afford to live this close to work. Walking would be more exercise than I normally do in a day, but I should be able to handle it. Because I am not poor, I was able to buy a pair of good running shoes that will hold up to a long walk despite the fact that my tendon injury never completely healed. And if I didn't have my friend's carpool and did have to come to work and couldn't handle the walk, I could probably get in on another carpool. Because I am not poor, I could afford to pay a carpooler for their gas or parking or just throw money at them. Plus it might be easier for me to get in on a stranger carpool because I'm harmless-looking.

Let's talk about how I'm harmless-looking. Politically-incorrect as it may be to say, being harmless-looking does make everyday life easier. People working in stores tend to trust me rather than accuse me of stealing. Strangers sometimes feel inclined to protect me. People assume at first glance that I'm honest and sane. Basically, I look harmless because I have good glasses and a nice smile. Having attractive glasses instead of fugly glasses makes me look intelligent and competent, like I'm a respectable person with a job instead of someone who has just been released from prison. This makes people treat me better. Having glasses with the correct prescription enables me to make proper eye contact (I have a lazy eye naturally) and makes it physically possible for me to open my eyes properly instead of squinting assymetrically. When I make eye contact with my eyes open properly and symmetrically, I look far more innocent and trustworthy than I do when squinty and shifty-eyed. And this is all in addition to the fact that they help me, you know, SEE! Because I am not poor and because I am well-employed, I can afford regular eye checkups and attractive glasses with good lenses. And because I am not poor and because I am well-employed and because my parents are not poor so I've had proper dental work all my life, I also have a nice smile. Just as proper glasses give me a full range of emoting in my eyes, a nice smile gives me a full range of emoting with my mouth. I don't have to hide my teeth by keeping my mouth closed (and thereby in a frowning position because that's how my mouth goes.) Best case, my smile charms and disarms. If not, it still labels me as harmless and well-intentioned. So if I have to take a strange carpool, when I meet the driver I can shake their hand, make eye contact, make my eyes light up, give them a big gorgeous smile, and they'll have no reason to feel like I'm a threat to their carpool - especially since I now have hardly any cystic acne (and therefore no oozing sores on my face) thanks to my latest birth control pills.

Let's talk about my birth control pills. Because I am not poor, I can afford birth control pills. Because I am well-employed, I can have the regular doctor's appointments necessary to make this happen, and if my doctor wasn't cooperative I could fit in the time and effort needed to find a suitable doctor or clinic. In addition to regulating my acne and thus preventing me from walking around with oozing sores on my face, my birth control pills also regulate my periods. This means that my periods are manageable instead of leaving me alternating between curling up in a ball and sitting on the toilet (although because I'm well-employed I could still work under those conditions, and could use my sick days if I couldn't work under those conditions, and because I'm not poor I could afford to take unpaid time off if I didn't have sick days.) Ironically, manageable periods also mean I don't need to buy as many feminine hygiene products, although I could afford to buy shitloads of the very best feminine hygiene products without a moment's thought because I am not poor. My birth control pills also make my period come like clockwork. Naturally, it's very irregular and only comes every 6-8 weeks. Unregulated, I could be 2-3 months pregnant and not even notice. With birth control pills, if I were pregnant I would notice by the Wednesday of my scheduled period week. And, ironically again, because I am not poor and because I am well-employed, I could take whatever time and resources are necessary to terminate my pregnancy, which would also be easier if detected earlier. Plus, with birth control pills I can have sex! Which, in addition to being geil in every sense of the word, also made it possible for me to land mi cielito. Again, it's probably politically incorrect to say so, but I wouldn't have landed him if sex were out of the question. We would probably have still ended up friends, but he would have found some other girl to have sex with, and she would have been his #1 and I would have been relegated to mere acquaintance status. And then I wouldn't have gotten...there's so much, I don't even know where to start. The man deserves a Nobel Prize for my panic attack coping mechanism alone!

Let's talk about my panic attacks. As you probably know, I have a severe phobia of bugs and get a panic attack whenever I encounter one. Because I am not poor, I was able to move into a lovely, new, clean building with understanding and attentive management. And, living in this lovely building, I have only had one panic attack in the past year and that didn't take place at home. Not having panic attacks keeps my blood pressure down, which makes it possible for me to stay on birth control pills. Not having panic attacks means I can go through life behaving in a way that appears normally, instead of peering fearfully at corners and jumping at pieces of lint, again making me appear harmless and trustworthy rather than shifty and odd. Panic attacks take up a lot of energy, so with this energy free I can think of new and innovative ways to combat anorexia and save both the environment and manufacturing jobs and discourage ipod theft. With this energy free I can translate better and faster, making me a more invaluable employee and perhaps more likely to stay well-employed and not poor. With this energy free, I'm a less needy friend and therefore better able to maintain the kinds of friendships that result in people just handing me carpools or dropping everything to help me get through a panic attack. And with this energy free, and with all these dozens of small freedoms afforded to me by not being poor, I have the luxury of dismissing any personal inconvenience caused by something like a TTC strike and instead looking at the bigger picture, easily absorbing the blow with this cushion I'm sitting on, so that other workers will also be able to enjoy the positive feedback loop of not being poor, and will be able to become as much of a better person as it has made me.