I'm reading Zola's "Germinal". There, he describes emaciated, hopeless poor people (France, late 1800s, industrial age and economic depression) and fat bourgeois who have cake with hot chocolate for breakfast and do nothing but digest. There's a scene where a starving mother comes to ask for charity with her two children, hoping to receive money. The bourgeois family gives them clothing and some cake instead, thinking that the poor drink away the money as soon as they get it. The author's solidarity is very obviously with the poor, he ridicules the bourgeois; meanwhile, I know a lot of people nowadays have the same attitude when they give charity.
This Thursday, after work, I ran to pick a birthday present for Mama. At about 8 p.m., I emerged from Lord & Taylor reeking with a dizzying mixture of carolina herreras, bvlgaris, forgot what else, but empty-handed. I was walking down 5th Ave. in much worry when suddenly, a chubby, short, neat woman with a chubby child turned up from around a corner and approached me. She started with an "Excuse me, Miss, I don't mean to bother," then her lip quivered, then her eyes filled with luminous drops. I didn't let her finish her story, said No, and walked away. "You Stinking Bitch," she yelled after me.
I used to give charity. Every morning or evening, I'd pour a considerable amount of change and bills into someone's cup. Then I wondered, why is one man on the train more lucky and gets my money while another one does not? And then, I see the same people asking year after year and whatever I give them does not seem to better their situation in any way. If I'd know that I'd be helping to solve someone's problem, I'd help without a thought about it; but whatever I can give clearly makes no difference. So, in all confusion, I stopped giving charity. And then there was last Thursday's incident. I am bothered, but not because I am a stinking bitch (I have no problem with that). See, I sacrificed thousands of dollars and pounds of my flesh to get an education, and then some to get a job, and I am still sacrificing pounds and hours of sleep to do well at this job; I'm 5'6" and size 0. The money I earn goes to making my life easier and more pleasant, to presents for significant others; the vastly greater portion is saved to be sacrificed later, along with pounds of flesh, to more education and hopefully for a better job and a better life. Why must I share with a chubby, neat little woman and let her do nothing but pop more neat, chubby babies who go about with a gaping mouth? On the other hand, I still want to help.
Can you help me clear up my confusion?