Preschool auction. Party, good time, and dreaded fundraiser. I don’t want to spend more money on this delightful school. I want to contribute and give and support. Without writing a check.
I’m cheap that way.
I mean caring.
Anyway, I wanted to donate an item to the auction. Writing? Sure, I could. But if my time sells for too little, I’ll be mad that I’m writing virtually for free. Copyediting? Now we’re talking. Everyone needs that, though they think they don’t. But again, what if nobody bids high enough? Will I end up working for $5 an hour when I could get $100 from some soulless corporation? Hell no.
If I’m going to offer something that will pay me a measly wage, it’s gonna be something I’d already do. Free. I’m gonna make a profit at this auction, yo.
And so I offered the following:
Five Hours of Worrying about the Topic(s) of Your Choice
“Something on your mind but you just can’t find the time to give it your full attention? An issue you know should be keeping you up at night but you’re just too tired? I will worry about it for you. I’ll think, mull, muse over it for five hours total. I’ll research new reasons you should worry about your issue, find implications you’d never dreamed about, and lose sleep over it for you.
Don’t give it another thought. I’ll do that for you!
I am an expert at spending time I don’t have worrying about things I can’t change. My specialty is turning molehills into mountains. My references include anyone who has ever met me.”
And you know what? Three bidders. The runner-up asked if I’d consider giving them the same deal: they’d pay the school the winning price to get the 5 hours they didn’t win.
So now I’m spending 10 hours (total, not consecutive) worrying about other people’s concerns. So they can relax. So I can give my own stuff a rest for a while. And so someone can finally pay me (sort of) to do what no University in the land can train another neurotic to do. Be me.