Three pop-tents, each occupied by a middle-aged homeless woman, were bunched together in the woods just south of the nearby town. Due to an agreement made by the trio, one of them usually guarded their meager possessions while the others scavenged for trash-to-recycle—a source of money to buy food and essentials. Able to pack up their canvass homes and vacant a location lickety-split, they lived hand-to-mouth.
While all three were a bit quirky, one, named Wibby, did something especially curious. After creating a niceness coupon, she had the voucher of sorts printed on a stack of business-cards, making them easy to hand out.
A mile or so from the trio’s campsite, 14-year-old Linette was cleaning up after supper. With her mother hospitalized for the third time that year, the teen was used to helping her dad keep up their small house. Despite knowing her mother was coming home in two days after a successful stretch of treatment, the teen was downhearted.
Seeing his helpful daughter with a long face and slouched shoulders concerned her father. “Anything happen today that has you out of sorts, Linette?”
After plopping into a kitchen chair, Linette covered face with a dish towel and began to cry.
Awkward around shows of emotion, the father gripped her neck as he hesitantly spoke. “I should know if something has happened.”
Linette gulped, then softly shared what was upsetting her. “I overheard you talk on the phone about foreclosure. . . . I also heard you ask when we had to move.”
“What matters is that Mom is coming home in remission the day after tomorrow,” emphasized the dad.
“But why do we have to move?” wondered Linette.
The father slogged to and sat on the chair across from his daughter. “Making medical payments for Mom’s treatment over the past year has meant not being able to make house payments to the bank.”
Linette wanted to make sure she understood. “Didn’t the bank know you had to help Mom get better?”
The father’s voice was faint. “Yes.”
“Don’t we have insurance?” asked Linette.
After pausing to think, the father came up with an explanation he hoped would do. “Yes, but they didn’t start chipping in until we were pretty much broke.”
Linette summed up what she heard. “I’m just a kid, but paying insurance people to pay medical people doesn’t make sense.”
Believing he had let his family be swindled, the father hung his head. “The insurance we have sounds dumb, because it is dumb. . . .Worse yet, I’m dumb for getting it.”
“Poor sick people should be given a way to pay medical people,” declared Linette with a sniffle.
“The medical people are in cahoots with the insurance people,” explained the father while standing.
Linette was puzzled. “I don’t understand.”
The father took responsibility. “Blaming the insurance and medical people is a waste of time. The fix we’re in is my fault. I’m the breadwinner who stuck with a low-pay bad-benefits dead-end job. I should have tried harder to do better,” he answered before drooping his head.
Linette turned palms upward. “But the world needs good cleaners, like you.”
“Letting myself remain among the working-poor is one thing; letting our family continue to struggle to get by is another,” bemoaned the father.
“Cleaners keep people from getting sick. That’s important!” insisted Linette.
The dad stayed somber. “People, like me, who are easy to replace, scrape by. That’s just the way it is. . . You’re smart, Linette. One day you’ll have a good job with good insurance. It’s important for you to remember you’re capable of doing much better than me,” he pointed out.
“It seems some people keep struggling no matter what,” pointed out Linette as she rose.
“You’re not one of them. You’ll find a job with decent pay and benefits,” assured the father.
“But there’ll always be a need for people who clean—people you call the working-poor,” noted Linette, sure something very wrong should be made right.
“Welcome to the real world, Linette,” said her father while heading for their living room.
“So, adults only pretend to be fair in the real world,” claimed Linette with a frown as she followed her dad.
“Grown-ups have their hands full, Linette. Pretending makes it all bearable. You’ll catch on when you get older. . . . Anyway, make sure you don’t say anything to Mom about losing the house. I don’t want her to hear the bad news until I can tell her I have a decent apartment lined up,” instructed the father before turning on the TV.
The following day, Linette had a quick breakfast, then headed for the hospital to visit her mom. Dressed in jeans, a rose blouse and brown loafers, she was the first to arrive at a neighborhood bus stop. After sitting on one end of the stop’s bench, she pulled a paperback from pants pocket and began to read.
Also planning to take the 75-cent ride up town, Wibby soon strolled into view wearing purple tattered sneakers, a wrinkled, stained blue sweatshirt and a worn green ball cap with the word OOPS over the visor in white lettering. After sitting on the other end of the bench while removing sunglasses and backpack, she turned Linette’s way with a cordial grin.
Noticing the woman’s friendliness out of the corner of her eye, Linette replied in kind, then resumed reading.
“My name is Wibby. I’m a member of the Outpost Oops Planetary Society. That’s what the OOPS on my hat stands for,” shared Wibby, hoping to have piqued Linett’s interest.
“I’m Linette,” answered the teen, sensing Wibby wanted to chat.
Next to arrive at the stop was a young unfamiliar man with sleeves rolled above bulging biceps.
Finding the fellow’s tense manner unsettling, Linette stiffened as she watched the fellow pace back and forth.
Also finding the man’s presence disconcerting, Wibby turned toward Linette and whispered. “He looks upset.”
Remaining riled, the fellow held a scowl as he kept in motion. “I haven’t used the bus before. How long before it shows up!” he blared while briefly glancing at the gals.
“There’s no set show-up time,” softly answered Wibby.
“Probably soon,” added Linette.
“Either one of you own a car?” grumbled the fellow as he continued to pace.
Linette and Wibby shook their heads no.
Quickening his stride, the fellow growled what was irking him. “They’re made to break down soon after they’re paid for. Along with losing a way to get around, you get ripped off by repair fees!”
“Please take a niceness coupon. It could help you be treated fairly,” offered Wibby while pulling one of her cards from a rear pocket.
“A what kinda coupon?” scoffed the fellow with a snarl.
“One of these,” Wibby cheerfully announced while standing, then extending the hand holding the card.
After briskly moving to Wibby, the fellow whisked the card from her, then stepped back to read it. Soon deciding he was the victim of a prank, he angrily flung the coupon to the ground. “Good thing you’re not a guy!” he spitefully warned before again marching up and down the sidewalk.
Feeling flustered rather than putdown, Wibby put hands in front pockets as she sat.
Not wanting to add to the mounting tension, Linette remained silent. He was mean, she thought, sure that Wibby had been well-meaning. Wanting to do something about the demeaning display she’d witnessed, Linette found the nerve to leave her seat and retrieve the discarded coupon. “I’m sorry,” she apologized while returning the card to Wibby.
“Thank you,” said Wibby, placing the coupon back in her pocket as the trolley-shaped bus pulled up.
Once the annoyed fellow hurried to a front row seat, Linette followed Wibby to the rear of the bus, then took a seat two rows in front of the woman she’d just met.
After a mile or so of traveling, Wibby left her seat and headed for Lynette. “Can I sit with you?” she asked the teen.
“OK,” answered Linette.
Wibby was inquisitive. “Where are you headed?”
“I’m visiting my mother at the hospital. She’s been fighting cancer for the past year. The good news is she’s coming home tomorrow in remission,” answered Linette.
“That’s wonderful,” said Wibby.
“Yeah, but Dad’s gonna have to tell her we’re losing our house because of medical bills. . . . Our insurance didn’t help us keep the bank from taking our house,” bemoaned Linette.
Wibby expressed concern. “That’s not fair!”
“I’m figuring out people only pretend to be fair,” lamented Linette.
“You should bring a coupon to the head of the bank!” advised Wibby as she reached into her pants pocket. “Here,” she offered, handing Linette the one-sentence statement.
After taking and carefully reading the coupon, Linette was impressed. “It makes a lot of sense, but. . .”
“So, you’ll give it a try,” interrupted Wibby as the bus came to a stop.
“We’re at the hospital,” noted Linette as she stood and headed for the door with Wibby in tow.
“You’ll give it a try, right?” again requested Wibby as both moved to the nearby sidewalk.
“How?” asked Linette.
Wibby flapped arms against sides. “Do you know the bank your parents use?”
“I’ve been there with Mom; it’s a short walk from here,” answered Linette.
About the same height as the teen, Wibby slumped while making eye contact. “Delivering the coupon first hand to the head honcho at the bank is a great way to kick off asking that your family be treated fairly.”
A reluctant Linette had a giant concern: “No big shot banker is gonna take a kid shaking in her shoes seriously.”
“You have a super coupon and, if you permit, a spirited sidekick who’ll speak up as needed,” claimed Wibby.
After pausing to again read the coupon she’d been given, Linette found the courage to head for the bank. “I wanna help my parents,” she declared.
“We just need to stay focused on what it says on the coupon,” assured Wibby as they walked side by side.
Entering the bank prompted Linette to take a deep breath as she came to a standstill. “I’m worried we might somehow make things worse,” she fretted.
“That’s just the jitters talking. Remember to deliver the coupon right away,” instructed Wibby as she lead the way to the nearest teller—a pleasant fellow with his name, Marty, on the wooden plaque next to his window.
“How can I help you,” asked Marty, wearing a suit, tie and smile.
Wibby spoke up. “Hi, Marty. We need a little time with the boss—the person who has the power to overturn a decision that’s devastating a family.”
“I’ll see if the branch manager, Ms. Kell, is available. Who shall I say wants to see her,” asked the teller.
“I’m Linette Trong; my parents are customers,” nervously answered Linette as she pulled the coupon from her pocket.
“OK, I’ll be right back,” noted the teller before heading for an office 20 or so feet to his right.
Once alone with Wibby, Linette took another full breath, then repeated her concern. “I hope things can’t get worse.”
“Don’t worry! After you hand over the coupon, I’ll speak up,” assured Wibby.
“Follow me,” called out the returning teller, pointing to a fancy oak gate for the duo to pass through.
After Linette and Wibby received a pleasant greeting from Ms. Kell—a slender woman wearing a tailored pants suit, they soon found themselves facing a large desk, behind which sat Ms. Kell.
“How can I help you?” asked Ms. Kell, leaning forward with chin lifted and hands folded.
After receiving an encouraging glance and nod from Wibby, Linette handed Ms. Kell the coupon.
Ms. Kell gave the coupon a quick once over, then did something disappointing to her visitors: She smirked while quickly returning the card to Linette.
Undeterred, Wibby sat, prompting Linette to also sit.
Ms. Kell, meanwhile, continued to take charge. “I’m very familiar with your family’s circumstance, Linette. I’ve met with your father on two occasions, during which I’ve thoroughly reviewed the bank’s position. Moreover, the bank has patiently extended the typical time it tolerates default. . . . Simply explained, banks aren’t charities. If we aren’t paid back, we can’t continue to provide loans,” she emphasized.
Wibby, who was intent on being helpful, didn’t bother to remove her backpack. “We’re not asking for charity; we’re asking for fairness. . . . We’re giving you the opportunity to more thoroughly consider how hardship has changed what’s affordable for Linette’s family.”
“Again, the bank isn’t a charity!” insisted Ms. Kell with a smug smile.
“Like Wibby said, we’re not asking for charity. We’re asking for fairness,” said Linette.
Wibby anchored hands on thighs as she spoke firmly. “We’re not asking for a handout. As Linette just superbly explained, offering and accepting charity is a way for people to snooker themselves into ignoring the need for fairness!”
Ms. Kell leaned back and folded arms. “It’s my job to make sure the bank is treated fairly?”
After sliding to the edge of her seat, Wibby asked the manager a personal question. “What about you? Wouldn’t doing what it takes to see yourself put forth the effort and possible sacrifice sometimes needed to bring about true fairness be a terrific gift to give yourself?”
Rather than answer what she’d been asked, Ms. Kell abruptly stood. “I’m sorry the bank can’t do more. I know this is a trying time for your family, Linette.”
“Will you at least take back and think over Linette’s coupon?” requested Wibby.
“Doing so would only encourage uncalled for hope,” claimed Ms. Kell as she walked to, then opened her office door. “It was nice meeting the two of you,” she fibbed as Linette and Wibby stood.
Sticking with her habit of arriving at the bank a half hour before other workers, Ms. Kell left her driveway at eight o’clock the next morning. Her short drive was, however, about to end quite unexpectedly. Once the bank was in sight, the manger gasped as she glared at an unsightly weathered yellow and red tent on the bank’s front lawn. Erected on a patch of grass about 10 feet from Ms. Kell’s parking space, the canvas shelter was easily viewed by passersby on foot and in vehicles. Riveted on what she saw to be an unacceptable eyesore, the manager parked with jaw protruded and eyes narrowed, then watched someone familiar exit the tent. The camper was Wibby.
Ready with a smile, Wibby started toward Ms. Kell. “Hello,” she called out.
Ms. Kell’s tone made her displeasure clear. “What’s going on?” she gruffly asked with hands on hips.
“If you look behind you, I believe your question will be somewhat answered,” noted Wibby.
While twisting, Ms. Kell found herself yet more perturbed. A van was pulling into the parking lot. Soon exiting the vehicle were a reporter with a small tape recorder and a photographer holding a camera. They were from the local newspaper.
Speaking loud enough for the news people to hear, Wibby did some explaining. “After giving the newspaper folks the rundown on the Trong’s circumstance, I invited them to meet us here. You see, I’m doing what I can to keep a family from having their home unfairly taken from them. Simply put, I’m trying to honor the niceness coupon.”
Though outraged by what she saw to be an ambush, Ms. Kell remained calm. “If you’re not gone in 10 minutes, I’ll be forced to call the police,” she bluffed, sure she didn’t want to draw undue attention to the situation.
“I’ll be gone in five minutes. . . . I wish I was smart enough to find another way to try to be helpful,” apologized Wibby.”
Ms. Kell rushed to the bank. Once inside, she locked the door behind her, then hurried to her office.
Immediately after the news photographer took a picture of her tent—a snapshot with the bank in the background, Wibby speedily folded her canvass home for easy carrying. “Thanks for coming!” she told the news team while slipping on her backpack.
“You’ll see something in tonight’s edition,” assured the reporter.
“That’s terrific! Good luck getting a statement from Ms. Kell,” replied Wibby before dashing off with her home under her arm. Looking back a minute or so later, she spotted Ms. Kell head-shake a no-thanks from behind the bank’s glass door entrance—a response that sent the reporter and photographer to their van.
That evening, Wibby was happily surprised to find the picture of her tent on the bank’s lawn had made the front page of the town’s newspaper. The headline, The Pop-Tent Helper, drew attention to an article noting the Trong family’s predicament.
Ms. Kell, who read the article online at her kitchen table, felt she’d blundered by declining to explain the bank’s position to the newspaper staff. A moment later, though, she decided any attempt to justify foreclosing on a family trying to bounce back from a lengthy, expensive illness would appear callous. “It’s a no-win situation,” she mumbled.
The next morning, Ms. Kell headed for work still upset over the unwanted publicity cast upon the bank. Then, after again seeing Wibby camped on the bank’s property, see quickly became irate. Once parked, the indignant bank manager approached her unwelcomed squatter. “Are the newspaper people coming?” she asked with fists clenched.
Wibby poked her head through the door flap of her tent. “I’m letting you choose when they arrive this time. Letting you prepare a statement describing your side of things is the fair thing to do as I see it,” she explained.
“You seem determined to force me to call the police!” claimed Ms. Kell while shoving hands in blazer pockets.
“I’m hoping we both see that as a last resort,” noted Wibby.
“I can’t let you continue to let you show up,” firmly declared Ms. Kell.
“All I know is I’m trying to honor what it says on the niceness coupon. . . . I don’t want to live in a world where people stop fighting for fairness. . . . If you’ll take and keep the coupon, I’ll giddy-up so that you think over what comes next,” suggested Wibby while pulling the coupon from a pocket.
Though initially inclined to refuse the offer, Ms. Kell again felt backed into a corner. “OK,” she begrudgingly agreed while jerking a hand forward in order to snatch the card. “You’ll be here again tomorrow morning, won’t you?” she then bristled.
Wibby shrugged while privately wishing she had thought of another way to try to help Linette’s family.
Alone in her office that afternoon, Ms. Kell found herself unable to get any work done. Making an exception of the Trong family could cost me my job. How is that fair to me? she privately mulled. A second later, though, she was at odds with herself. You’re struggling to reassure yourself of something you don’t feel good about, she countered. Badly wanting to bring an end to her inner tug of war, she then did something unexpected: She pulled out and reread the coupon she’d reluctantly accepted.
Certain Wibby intended to extend their standoff for a third day, Ms. Kell left home expecting to see her rival again camped out on the bank’s lawn. Sure enough, despite the drizzly day, Wibby was waiting in her tent with its door flap open.
Ms. Kell called out as she approached Wibby. “You win! I met with the Trong family last night. They have a new mortgage they believe to be affordable—one that ensures they’ll be keeping their home. Because Mr. Trong called the newspaper to relay the good news, you’ll be able to read all about it in this evening’s edition.”
Wibby popped into the light rain with a huge thankful smile, “I’ll be off the bank’s property in a flash,” she guaranteed, tugging on her ball cap. “You’ve done something exceptional Ms. Kell. Those who learn about your fairness will have their faith in humanity boosted. . . . What you’ve done justifies giving yourself a heaping helping of self-respect. If I wasn’t a mischievous smelly bum, I’d risk offering you a hug.”
Moved by Wibby, Ms. Kell extended arms, prompting them to embrace.
In addition to reporting Ms. Kell’s willingness to work out a deal, the newspaper ended their coverage of the matter by publishing the following copy of the coupon: The Outpost Oops Planetary Society asks you to honor this coupon by providing its user with real-deal kindness and fairness—virtues that will, in turn, provide you with real-deal self-respect and peace-of-mind.
1. What did Linette’s father mean when he told her “pretending makes it all bearable?”
2. Why did the fellow at the bus stop toss the coupon to the ground?
3. Why does or doesn’t charity get in the way of fairness?
4. Why did Ms. Kell hug Wibby?
5. Is giving out a niceness coupon, such as the one in the story, a good idea? Why or why not?