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WHAT YA GOT THEN?

If somebody had to ask me what Student Loan Sharks was about, I honestly would have to sit them down and explain it in several different ways. The name Student Loan Sharks came to me when I was racking up my student loans at Wilkes University.

Wilkes University is located in the armpit of the United States. By it's proximity it is about 2 1/2 hours from New York City, the town so nice, they named it twice. And about two hours from Philadelphia, where people too stupid to live in New York reside.

If you haven't guessed, Wilkes-Barre is smack dab in the general area where the mob disposes its 'whaking' leftovers and stops long enough while moving cargo from one truck to another in the Pocono's. The mob, while glamorous and gritty on the screen, isn't exactly anywhere near as poised on the street. You have to remember, these are a bunch of not-so-smart guys that are being bossed around by guys who are just a little bit smarter and a little bit tougher. The presence of (un)organized crime in the area is much easier to spot than here on the West Coast.

Anyway.

Wilkes-Barre, PA has more bars per capita than anywhere else in the northeast, as the legend goes, some are fronts for the mob and others have a long lineage of being connected; buying knock off booze, cigarettes, protection, numbers, prostitution, et al. I was on my way home via working an eight hour shift at Corporate Express, from student teaching at Blank High School. I was parlaying my current loans and the interest in my head to a degree that I started thinking I was better off either borrowing money from the mob or barter. How hard is it to whack someone or just to outsource it? A job's a job, right? I'd driven from California to Pennsylvania twice and once from Pennsylvania to California. I could carry some cargo, of sorts, and be none the wiser about it during the Holidays. Legal? Well, now you're speaking in generalities.

As I passed Public Square, where the missing teeth outnumbered the ones still fighting for life in those rotting gum lines, I happened on a fine chap blocking a door to a small corner bar that was nowhere near a corner. Inside broken glass and deep grunts and wails were present. Whether there was fornicating or fighting I did not know, nor did I care. I thought about Fanny Mae was worse than the mob. Imagine the mob's loan shark sending you near daily reminders in the mail, just a reminder they know where you live, informing you very soon that they are coming to break your legs, or at least cripple your credit rating.

I thought of a story, urban legend most likely, of a guy (person, whatever) who advertised in the back of Rolling Stone to have people send him a dollar. He raked in tens of thousands of dollars. I thought of the reach of the internet and how to basically attempt the same concept, but offering something in return.

How to scrape by, but appear well-to-do, as a 20-something about town.

How to give gifts on a budget of little to nothing.

How to receive from friends and co-workers without appearing miserly and a free-loader.

How to prolong and keep the student loan sharks at bay.

How to maximize your compensation from your employer.

But a wondrous thing happened that kicked me in the crotch.