How to Make a Friend for Life

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A how-to from an Eastern perspective.
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l8bloom
l8bloom
252 Followers

The typical how-to is an instruction manual of sorts, and its underlying assumption is that the reader wants something, and the author's goal is to relate, step by step, how the reader can get it. Our culture values the idea that when you want something, you go after it, or at the very least, you ask for what you want.

That is one way of thinking -- sometimes referred to as a Western perspective. Another paradigm, though, is to think not about the outcomes but about the circumstances. In this school of thought, you set up or enter into the context, and watch whatever naturally results. What you need will come to you. Things aren't always as they seem.

I met Mike when I was twenty-five. I was a financial aid counselor -- young, just a year out of grad school -- and he was a broke medical student. It was an unexpected way to begin a friendship. Here is how it all began.

At Big University of Loma Linda (a.k.a. BULL), you had to have an appointment to see financial aid counselors, every day except Friday. I don't know what horse's ass thought this policy up, but there it was. Fridays were always mobbed in that too-small, grungy office. The orange and tan canvas painting in the lobby held too much dust. The floors never seemed to be clean. The students hated it and the counselors hated it more, for we had to face it every damn day. The staff took no end of abuse from college-age kids who were broke, desperate, and angry. We did our best, but there never seemed to be enough people, time, physical space, or money to go around.

One Friday afternoon I sat in my office, exhausted. As the primary counselor on call that day, I had worked with so many students my head was swimming. It was late in the day. The clock ticked hopefully from 4:30 toward 5:00. Even though rush hour would be no picnic, at least I could go home and close my eyes.

Then the phone rang. "You got a student," said the front desk. I straightened my back and went out to the lobby. It was surprisingly quiet, but for the one customer who had prompted the call. I gave him a smile and took the slip from the receptionist. "Medical student," she said. Her tone rang a low bell of warning.

"Hi, Mike," I said brightly, looking at the scrawl. Shaking hands with him was like sticking my hand into a MLB pitcher's glove. "Come on back." He tried not to outpace me as I led the way down the dim cabinet-lined hall. I introduced myself as we walked and, when we got into my office, invited him to have a seat at the side of the desk.

"I see you've written 'student loan' here," I said. "Can you say more?"

He nodded glumly. "The bank says they mailed the check over a month ago," he replied. "I've called every week but it still isn't here."

He proceeded to tell me how his landlord was looking the other way on the rent past due, at least for now. And a friend of his who owned a grocery store was letting him run a tab. Mike had been shopping after hours at the store so he could eat.

Obviously this was an appalling situation. I asked a few questions about dates, the name of the bank, and called up his file on the dumb terminal. According to Oscar, everything was in order, or should be.

"Mike, I'm going to check a few things," I told him. "If you'll please wait here for a few minutes, I'll be right back." He nodded again, still looking unhappy. He didn't look hopeful that I would have any effectiveness at all.

Across the hall I studied the student loan check log. The undergrad told me she had already looked. "I believe you, Karlene," I said. "I just want to be thorough." Back for several pages, three months in time, I scanned the log for any mention of this particular student. The bank was listed more than once, so I knew they were mailing as they said, and we had been receiving checks from them. Didn't look like the problem was there.

I backtracked, into the grody hallway, and searched out the student's file. Application, federal paperwork, ok. Taxes, parents' taxes, fine. And then -- stuffed in between the 8 ½ x 11 papers -- there was the check.

I just about barfed. It would have been less disgusting to find a dead rat in there. My eyes glazed over a bit as I read "pay to the order of ... the sum of twenty thousand dollars and 00/cents." My head tipped back and I squinched my eyes shut. Oh, this place, this insanely incompetent place! Here it comes, I thought; he's going to kill me.

I took a deep breath and stepped into the doorway of my office. The blond giant looked up. "Mike," I hesitated, "ah, let me start by saying I'm really sorry." He didn't interrupt, just stared.

"You see," I continued in a strangled voice, "what's supposed to happen is that, when we receive bank checks, the student worker logs them in. Then they're delivered to the bursar's office, which has the authority to dispense the funds to the students."

"And?" he asked. My stomach clenched up. I knew full well that the bursar's office had closed ten minutes ago. Wouldn't this guy just love another weekend scraping by, knowing a $20K check was locked up a few blocks away.

"The check is in the file," I said quietly. "It looks like a student worker made a mistake and just filed it." It has probably been sitting there for several weeks, I didn't say out loud.

"Well can I have it?" he said. Again I grimaced. "I don't know," I admitted. "I'll ask my bosses."

Scott and the Ice Queen were enjoying late-Friday chit-chat. They looked up at my knock and I explained what had just happened. I told them everything this kid had just told me: the rent, the groceries, much less the textbooks and lab stuff. Medical school isn't cheap. A glance over my shoulder showed Mike sticking his head out my office door. I'll never forget the look on his face: expectant, vulnerable, and suddenly quite young.

To my astonishment, Ice was benevolent; I had won the case. "OK, give it to him." Shock! I ran back down the hall, slipping a little in my $9 pumps, and excitedly thrust the check into my client's hands.

* * *

Mike and I still chat on the phone from time to time, or swat an email around here or there. Our friendship has lasted for nearly two decades now and I expect it always will.

One might initially think that better circumstances, where there is enough money and the premises are clean and people aren't stressed and tired, would be more conducive to making friends. This wasn't the case here; in fact, most would call the situation ugly.

But in times of pain and disgust, it's entirely normal for humans to help one another. Circumstances dictated the natural outcome. And the people who help you get through the toughest times are the ones you tend to remember.

How to make a friend for life:

1. Work in a place of excrement.

2. Plant a rose.

This story was written for the How To Contest of spring, 2007. Due to coloring so far outside the lines, I expect it to tank spectacularly, if it is even accepted for the competition. Help me out by voting rarely, if at all. This is my best bid for Last Place. Thanks! :)

l8bloom
l8bloom
252 Followers
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