A student volunteer calls me every night from my college's fundraising office to ask for money. And every night I tell myself I'm not going to be a total dick. Then the phone rings. I immediately recognize the Pennsylvania number. And promptly answer the phone in character. Sometimes, I'm the grieving father of the freshly buried alumni. Or, the meth-addicted son of the freshly buried alumni. Just never the alumni. Because I'm a coward. And will do anything to avoid confrontation. Look, I couldn't afford to buy myself a basic college logo sweatshirt when I was a student. Can you imagine the gall to charge $50 for a sweatshirt back in 1984 -- and then ask for more money in 2009? No thank you. But they keep calling. So now I go so far as to share details of the alumni's horrific death. I figure no twenty year-old wants to hear about the high cost of long-term hospice care. I'm such a dick.