The End of the Alf Klub

Dear Diary,

Working at the Alf Klub has officially come to a close. No longer will we take the maze of Polish public transportation to the youth center on the outskirts of Poland. No longer will MoneSplye exchange a glance and a nod when we pass the famed "Field of Dreams" busstop. No longer will we be harassed by gypsys and other creatures of the night, who are blacked out at 10am on a tuesday morning. Our time as virtuous volunteers for the disadvantaged has come to an abrupt end.

The Last Day
We arrived at the Alf Klub to hundreds of little children, dressed in little white tuxes and long dresses, throwing flower petals in our wake. As we passed them, they joined together in a large group, singing our praises in a Polish folk song to the tune of "Every Rose Has It's Thorn." Our final day began as normal. We greeted the other volunteers with a solemn "Hello." Buried in anti-American sentiment, they merely thrust us a disapproving glance. Today was the day that we would cook for the children. We were told by the program director we would have to cook the children one day before our time there was up. We wanted to save the best for last. Spencer, once a sous-chef at a four-star Sri Lankan restaurant, and I, a professionally trained saucier from Indonesia, would prepare a feast. I decided to cook the American classic, "Sloppy Joes" while Spencer opted for the equally tantalizing "Caesar Salad." Both dishes turned out fantastic. Spencer, forced to work with meager ingredients (no vinegar for his vinigrette dressing? preposterous!) turned out a fantastic product. I slaved over the little electric stove for hours, sauteeing the ground beef. A dash of brown sugar there, a cup of sliced bell pepper here, a little TLC, and the rest was history. The children downed the food. It seemed to be the first real meal they had in ages as I watched the young ones clean their plates. After lunch, as the gypsy's cleaned the stove, eating any scraps that might have fallen to the floor, MoneSplye settled into the computer room for our last online gaming session with the kids. We laughed at their jokes, were stupefied when they leveled up to level 20 dwarf Paladins with ease, and shared in their merriment. The other volunteers sat silently, blown away at how we have bonded with the children in such a short time. The other volunteers had resented us, called us names. They had told us that we were loud and tall, as all Americans are. With the latter I cannot disagree, at a combined height MoneSplye stands at a staggering 13 ft. Yet their constant berating and name-calling would not go unpunished--we pooped in paper bags and placed them in their cubbies.

As the day wound to a close, the children suddenly realized they would never see us again. Who would they turn to for inspiration? Who would they confide in? Who would supply them with the immeasurable wealth of love and caring that we had supplied for them? As we left, the children gathered in numbers around us, tugging at our coattails. They begged for us not to leave. At one point, a little girl ripped off Spencer's button down shirt, flying out the door. She was merely trying to keep some memento of the thoughtfulness and happiness she experienced with MoneSplye. "Take us with you!" they cried, tears streaming down their cheeks. "Don't leave!" they garbled in broken English. The usually stoic MoneSplye began to crumble. A single tear rolled down their cheeks as they hugged the children goodbye. "I love statue of liberty," one said. "Dog the Bounty Hunter," said another. "Top Gun!" another cried. We could not take all of these children with us. As we made our way for the door, one of the students tried to thrust herself out the window in an attempted suicide. Luckily, she did not notice that there was also a screen covering the opening. A 21-gun salute greeted us as we began to exit the building, a light bagpipe playing somewhere in the background. As we walked through the halls of the youth center, we passed groups of people. Students, teachers, janitors, priests. All gathered to give us their final goodbyes. Some cried, some held strong. Nodding at our friends and enemies, we left with a clean slate. Walking out the door, we knew that life at Alf Klub would soon return to the monotonous reality it endured before MoneSplye arrival. Yet we were sure of one thing: we had made an impact not only on the local community, but upon ourselves as well.

Goodbye, Alf Klub. Your memory will live on.

Sincerely,
Ben

p.s. This commercial is hilarious. My favorite part is when the guy says, "The last two pages are recipes, most people don't even get that far"