ASSIGNMENT #1

                      THE MASTERCLASS CLASS

Last week I plopped down on my couch and proceeded to turn on the news to see what new horrible surprises occurred while I was out galavanting at Bed Bath and Beyond. Not liking to give 100% of my attention to anything, I opened up my laptop to see what horrible surprises Facebook had in store for me. Much to my delight, up popped an ad for something called Master Class. An online school of sorts with classes in cooking, film direction, science, comedy, writing and much more. These classes aren't taught by schlubs! Long story short...they are now offering a new class taught by my dream writer, David Sedaris. I shrieked with delight, like a little school girl! Kevin tossed me his credit card, along with a heartfelt, "Merry Christmas my sweet"  So now instead of waking up and turning on the news, I'm watching video lessons, writing in a journal and checking out everyone else's biographies and writing samples. I'm trying not to feel discouraged when I read about the woman who has climbed the Himalayas, or the 26-year-old who just had his first screenplay accepted, or the lady who is discouraged because she's only had one book published. I'm just looking forward to stopping the inevitable brain disintegration that I feel creeping up.  Maybe by stretching my brain muscles by learning new shit, I'll still recognize my children or remember how to tie my shoelaces in 10 years.
That being said...here is my first class assignment.  The task was to write about a stranger you come across, and realize that they are cheap. Weird topic. I had to fiction it up a tad, as I couldn't think of a time when I happened upon a random cheap stranger.  The rest of the story is basically true, I swear.

Check this out. It's pretty incredible. You can take as many classes as you want for a year. And for a limited time, I can gift some lucky person a one-year subscription absolutely free. If you're reading this, I assume you're a good person who likes me. Let me know if you're interested and I'll hook ya up!
Masterclass.com

                                                                   HERE IS MY MY STORY 


It seems like only yesterday that when I approached the entrance to my local grocery store I was greeted by decorative scarecrows and painted pumpkins. Overnight though, it appears that autumn is now officially over. Gone are the haystacks and mums, replaced by rows of potted poinsettias and fresh evergreen wreaths. 
And then I hear a familiar sound in the distance…are those bells that I hear? Is that guilt and panic that I am feeling?
Yes and yes. Christmas time is here, along with the wonderful Salvation Army and their army of dedicated and devoted volunteer Santa-clad bell ringers. So, why the feelings of panic and guilt?  Well, I’m a NY Jew who landed in upstate New York 40 years ago. I’m pretty sure that I am the only Jew within a 25 -mile radius of my home.  “That’s her! The Jewess! Such a rare sighting to see one out of their natural habitat” Is what I imagine the townsfolk whisper when I walk down the street. (We don’t have sidewalks!  How primitive! You’d think I was back in the shtetl in Minsk!)  As a “representative” for my people, I take it upon myself to be the total opposite of the stereotypes of Jewish people which sadly still exists today.
Lousy service in a restaurant? 25% tip for you young lady!  $100 for a 3 legged end table at a garage sale? That’s a reasonable price. Wrap it up!

So, when I hear the clang clang of the Salvation Army bell I panic! They don’t take credit cards, and I rarely carry cash anymore. I panic frantically while searching every pocket on me, every crevice in my purse, any place a stray quarter might have landed. If I come up empty-handed, there is. no hiding my feelings of guilt. I will not make eye contact with Santa or Mrs. Claus, while I mumble my apologies and hurry into the store.

An hour later I exit the grocery store, hoping that the bell ringer was still there to assuage my guilt MY plan was to give him the few bucks I had withdrawn from the ATM inside.
 Salvation Santa was still there, but he was not alone. I was flabbergasted to see a well dressed, middle-aged woman in a loud discussion with Santa. She was irate because she had accidentally inserted a $5 bill in the kettle, and she had only intended to put in one dollar.
 I smugly, and with great fanfare, poked 6 single dollar bills into the kettle. I got a well deserved “God Bless you and Merry Christmas ma'am” from Santa. I shot the cheapskate a look that could only say, “This is how MY people roll”  
I pray she wasn’t Jewish.