Day 54 The State of Western Union

So today I drive a half a dozen towns down the coast so I can privately send a small amount of money to my soul mate.  With his earning power currently at 17 cents per hour, he can hardly afford a high retail granola bar let alone a hair cut. Even the e-mails we get to send add up at a nickle a piece.  Imagine working an hour in a 100 degree kitchen scrubbing giant burnt on pans for what amounts to the privilege of sending 3 emails.  It is a long way from Wall Street baby....To add insult to injury he hasn't been able to work for almost 2 weeks because a cart hit him in the shin and as it bled profusely through his pants and all over the floor he was told he could not be spared to go get it looked after.  Later that day he was still not given permission to seek medical help and given a couple of band aids. The next morning he could barely walk on it.  It was hot, swollen and had greenish pus oozing from it. Later his "boss" allowed him to go where ever it is they go for medical attention.  The wound was examined and he was removed from work duty as they were afraid he may have come in contact with a staff infection - they sent a culture out just in case it was the deadly resistant, non treatable sort that is often cause for immediate amputation of the affected limb.
All this for 17 cents an hour.
So we wait for the lab test to come back.
Anyway, back to my trip to Western Union.  I live in a teeny town where everyone knows everyone. So, I am thinking that if I go to the local Safeway and have Mr. Oh So Helpful Customer Service Manager handle my Western Union transfer - it will  only take seconds for the entire town to know that I sent $$$ to the Federal Bureau of Prisons and to a certain someone that has a number following their name.  Thus, a  journey an hour down the road to a store I have never been in and a town I rarely frequent.  Nonetheless, it is still obvious that I am sending funds to a prisoner and it is also obvious that I am new to all this.  it is obvious because there is a certain code that I am missing.  The girl helping me is a big, heavyset blond, make up brightly applied, nails long and fashioned into curved talons. She calls me away from the help desk area where others are waiting their turn to a more discrete corner of the long counter.  With her voice lowered she looks at me knowingly and says, "honey, you need this special code to do this...I looked it up for you so you can just plug it in the next time."  I know I have nothing to be embarrassed of but my face turns cranberry red and I look around nervously to see if anyone has heard or if there is anyone there that I recognize.  I stammer something about helping a family friend and she says, " anyone can make a mistake."  I have a feeling she may have sent a few of these herself.
Still, I leave feeling sick to my stomach, though grateful he can buy a few little things at commissary and make a few more phone calls.