Life is too easy

A Florida man was shocked and moved to tears upon seeing his bank balance. The reason will melt your heart.

When a man in Florida went to check his bank balance at the nearest ATM, he wasn’t expecting to see a four-digit number, let alone a six-digit one. According to the sources, the man’s wife was suffering from a terminal illness. When the insurance rejected their claim, the husband, Richard, was forced to mortgage their home and reach out to friends and family members for monetary help. 

One kind co-worker posted Richard’s story (with Richard’s permission, of course) on the internet, and within a day, Richard started receiving small amounts to his bank account. But there seems to be no dearth of good souls on this planet because many strangers started donating in thousands. On the fifth day, when Richard finally checked his bank balance in an ATM, he was shell-shocked by the number; he had received more money than what was required. 

According to the co-worker, Richard broke down after seeing the money saying ‘my wife will finally live’ repeatedly. According to Myra (who originally shared this heart-warming post on her Facebook page), the co-worker then took the sobbing husband to his bank to clear all the bills. The bank manager, upon learning Richard’s story, personally assisted to settle everything. Internet is hailing this as a miracle only possible because of the internet. This story goes on to prove whether offline or online, humans always have other humans’ backs.

“Is this it?” Kevin looked up at the eighteen-year-old intern standing in front of him.

“The story still needs to be proofread, and I need to add my by-line, but that’s it,” replied Ryan triumphantly.

“Is this the whole article? Is there nothing else?” Kevin deliberately repeated his question.

“There is nothing else. I mean…what else is required…” stammered Ryan, somewhat deflated by Kevin’s reaction.

Kevin glared at his intern reporter. He didn’t know if the kid was truly dumb or simply testing his patience. “Where is the lede, Ryan? Where are the sources?” Kevin exploded. “I asked you to write a newspaper article, not a random blog post, you idiot. Did you even do any research, or did you just copy someone else’s work?”

His editor-in-chief’s assumptions hurt Ryan. He didn’t need to copy someone’s story; he was a capable reporter. So, he answered defiantly, “I did my research. I even contacted the original source.”

“You contacted…you contacted the source as in contacted the Facebook user who shared this story?” Kevin asked, with disbelief in his voice.

“Yeah…” answered Ryan. “I did everything required to create a great article.”

Kevin stared at Ryan with contempt and said, “so, tell me this Mr. Know-it-all. What’s a lede?”

“Lead!”

“Yeah, a lede. How do you write a perfect lede?”

Ryan looked at Kevin blankly for a few seconds. “A lead is the first paragraph that should hook readers…”

Kevin cut Ryan off before he could finish his answer and said in a deathly quiet tone, “get out of my office before I throw something and break your head.”

Ryan scurried out of his editor’s office and sank back into his chair. His shoulders deflated when he realized it was his tenth rejection. He then cursed Layla, the sole reason for his misery.

***

Ryan was enjoying his first year at the Ridge community college until he met the bright, funny, charming, and not to mention extremely beautiful girl named Layla. She was every guy’s crush on campus, and no one was immune to her charms. Not even Ryan. Many guys from Ryan’s college, including some seniors, tried to woo Layla with no positive results. That’s when Ryan decided he needed a different strategy. Like joining the college magazine where Layla was an editor and charming her passively. So, he took part in every literary event, submitted to every literary contest, and wrote prolifically for the weekly newspaper until Layla commented something along the lines of Ryan having great talent. That’s when Ryan knew he had to make his move. So, one fine evening, Ryan waited outside the library for Layla.

“Hey, Layla.”

“Oh, hi Ryan. Are you waiting for someone?”

“No. Not particularly. Hey listen, are you free this Saturday?”

“Yeah… why?”

“I was asking…I was wondering if we could go out for a cup of coffee?” Ryan blurted out in a single breath.

“Slow down, Ryan…slow down, will ya?” Laila replied with a small laugh. “Are you asking me out on a date or is this a friendly get-together?”

“On a date…” Ryan replied nervously.

“Just coffee? I am surprised you didn’t ask me for dinner!” Layla replied, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Huh!” Ryan looked at Layla, slack-jawed. He was trying to make sense of the unexpected development. Here he was gathering up the courage to ask Layla for coffee and the girl of his dreams was suggesting a dinner date. Ryan couldn’t believe his luck.

“Ryan…Ryan,” Layla shook his shoulder gently. “If you are not up for it, we can go out for just coffee.”

“Of course, we can go on a dinner date,” Ryan replied immediately, coming out of his shock. “I just didn’t want to hurry you, that’s all.”

“Oh, there is no hurry, Ryan. I was kind of expecting this.” Layla replied with a shy smile.

Ryan was stunned. Again.

“I don’t know why you are shocked, Ryan. I made it clear many times that I kind of liked you, right? Say what! Why end at dinner? We can even take things further if you fulfill my one wish,” Layla replied suggestively.

Ryan stood rooted to the ground on hearing Layla’s suggestion. He tried to say something flirty, but no sound came out of his mouth. However, he didn’t want to lose this rare chance by looking like an idiot. “You know I would do anything for you, right?” Ryan said in a husky voice. “Just ask me, and I will do it.”

Laila took a minute before replying. “You know The Truth in the next street?”

“Yeah, the independent news outlet. What does an online newspaper have to do with us?”

“Oh, nothing,” Layla replied nonchalantly. “I kind of always wanted to date a reporter. There is an internship opening at The Truth for three months. Will you join it for me, please?”

Ryan stared at Layla with obvious confusion. “You are asking me to work as an intern reporter in return for coming on a date with me?”

“It’s not an if-only proposition, you silly. I will come to the date with or without it. It’s just my fantasy to date a legit reporter. It would make me so happy to see your name printed in a real newspaper.”

“…”

“It’s ok, Ryan. It was just a silly dream. We can go out on our date this Saturday…”

“I’ll take that internship. We can go out for a date the day my article gets published,” Ryan said before Layla could even finish her sentence. He still couldn’t understand the correlation between a date and working as an intern, but he wasn’t about to lose a chance to spend a night with every guy’s crush for any reason. This is the first thing she has asked, and he wanted to impress her. I mean, how difficult could it be?

***

It was difficult. Very difficult. It had been over a month, and Ryan had lost all hopes of getting even a single article published. He wasn’t even sure whether he would get a recommendation letter at the end of his internship. He was sure the editor-in-chief, the managing editor, and even the staff were waiting for him to leave them alone. Ryan cursed Layla again under his breath. He should have gone out on that date before joining instead of trying to show off. That she-devil knew what she was doing, and he had fallen into her trap like an eager puppy. He could just quit the internship and forget the date; it was a tempting proposition. But who was he kidding? It was not about the date anymore; it had become a question of his pride. There was no way Ryan was quitting until he proved his editor wrong.

While Ryan was busy planning on different ways he could prove his editor wrong, a woman approached Ryan’s table.

“My eager beaver got rejected again, huh?”

Ryan could recognize that sickly sweet voice, even in his sleep. If there was any competition today for new medieval torturing equipment, his managing editor’s sweet voice dripping with sarcasm would come out on top. Layla simply started his misery, but Seema Mathur snowballed it.

“What, no reply? Is my baby still sulking?” Seema asked with a smirk.

“Why should I sulk, Seema? The negative comments were less than the last time. That means I am improving, right?” Ryan said with fake braveness.

Seema looked at the intern, trying to gauge him. She knew Ryan was devastated inside, but she had to give props for his fake bravado. Not everyone can handle multiple rejections with dignity.

“O’Malley café. 6 pm sharp. Bring a paper and pen.” Seema said curtly and left Ryan’s side.

***

Ryan was waiting. Patiently. It was already 6:10 p.m., and Ryan realized maybe his senior played a prank on him. He was getting ready to leave when Seema miraculously materialized in front of him.

“Leaving me so soon.”

Ryan was startled. “Geez, where did you come from?”

“Through the door, Ryan. Like everyone else,” Seema said with a pleasant smile.

Ryan sat down with a huff and muttered under his breath. No wonder he had missed Seema. She looked entirely different from the office. She was wearing a hoodie and jeans and had a loose ponytail. Her look made sense considering the place they were in, but Ryan still couldn’t believe the pleasant-faced woman in front of him was the same woman from the office.

“If you are done staring, let’s get to the class. Rule one of journalism: Time’s precious. Don’t waste it, because every second counts.”

Ryan groaned. His uptight managing editor was back. “You haven’t been here for two minutes and you are giving lessons already. And by the way, you are ten minutes late. Don’t you think you should follow the rule before preaching it?”

“I was just ten minutes late, Ryan,” Seema said with a sweet smile.

“Five minutes or ten minutes. It doesn’t matter. You are the one who said every second counts. Everyone’s time is important, right? I was almost ready to leave, thinking you wouldn’t come.”

“Good, glad you understood. Lesson two. A deadline is a deadline. It doesn’t matter whether you missed it just by ten minutes late or a whole day.”

Ryan groaned as the realization dawned upon him. A few days back, he had used the “it was just five minutes late” excuse when he missed a deadline. “So, you came deliberately late, huh?”

Seema simply shrugged and pointed towards the window table.

“Don’t tell me you were sitting there the whole time.”

“I came here before you. You didn’t notice me because you were distracted. Rule three of being a good journalist: Keep your eyes and ears open. Notice your surroundings. Never trust anything, especially a random Facebook post,” Seema said with a smirk.

“Does every employee at The Truth hate me?”

“Hate you? Nobody hates you, Ryan,” Seema said with a genuine shock in her voice.

Ryan was confused. If nobody hated him, then why were they deriding him for sourcing his story from social media? “If you guys didn’t hate me, then why did Kevin reject my article? It’s not like I am the first one; many reporters source their stories from social media.”

Seema sighed. The Truth was an independent newspaper with high morals. Employees rarely stuck around; they either wanted high pay or wanted to do a juicy story. The paper depended on reporters who were fed up with the mainstream media or journalism students looking for internships. But Ryan was different. Even if he didn’t realize it yet, he had the talent to become a great reporter. But he didn’t even understand the difference between re-posting and reporting. It’s going to be a long night.

***

Ryan woke up with a terrible headache. They were in the café until it was closing time. Learning three years of journalism in one night would have that effect on anyone. He had learned so much in one night. Halfway through, he started recording their conversation because his handwriting was not fast enough. In the end, Seema offered him a deal. If Ryan did the research like a real reporter for his Facebook article, Seema said she would personally publish the article under his name and write a glowing recommendation letter. He had 3 days to prove his story.

First step: getting the exact location of the story. (It was easy. All he had to do was look up the video on Myra’s page and find the geo tagging information.)

Step two: Finding a source. (This was also easy because all he had to do was contact Myra and convince her for an official interview.)

Step three: Contact the bank manager for an official statement to prove that the story was credible.

Life is so easy.

***

Nah. It never is. Within three days, Ryan was ready to bang his head against a stone. When Seema hinted that the story had a possibility of turning out false, he had argued. He wasn’t a naïve person who believed everything on the internet. But no one would post an outright fabricated story, right? It had to at least have some kernel of truth in it, considering there was even a video.

Nope. People lied proudly. The ATM footage was from Mexico, not Florida. The man in the video fainted because of sickness not out of shock. Ryan contacted the source, Myra, saying he was a short filmmaker looking for more details about Richard. The reply he got was not encouraging. Nevertheless, he convinced her after assuring her he would pay her for her time. After some questions, Ms. Myra admitted that there was no real Richard. She had just written about a story she had read a while back in some random post. She had linked stock footage so that her story had some credibility.

“So, you weren’t present at the location, but you wrote the story as if you were present,” Ryan replied with a shock.

“Of course, I did. That’s what everyone does on the internet,” came the instant reply.

“Why?”

“For the likes. Why would anyone do anything on the internet if not for likes?”

“Weren’t you afraid someone would cross-check your story?”

“Who has the time? Also, what if they cross-checked? I am not a newspaper reporter now, am I?”

This conversation went on for five more minutes. Ryan could already hear Seema’s laugh inside his mind.

END