Tim Chambers

I've been a bartender for 6 years. I cover the bar and take drink-orders from the wait-staff. Last week, one of the waitresses, Leslie, set an order-slip on the bar. It said: "Table 11 -- Angel Shot" My eyes grew wide. I'm pretty sure you know why, but I'll explain it anyway: Ordering an "Angel Shot" is bar-code for "I'm in trouble -- help me!" It's a way for a vulnerable woman to surreptitiously call for help. All bartenders know this.

The drinks had been flowing for three hours by the time we started telling stories; otherwise, I doubt all this would have happened. My lab-colleagues and I had just submitted our yearly grant-request to the National Science Foundation. We were all on edge: if Uncle Sam rejected our request, our lab would be bankrupt and we'd all be out of work. So to boost our spirits, our lab's leader, Leo, invited us all out to the local bar and grill -- his treat.

I'm a rabbi, so you can imagine the kinds of conversation I have when I counsel my congregants. Family troubles. Marital strife. And sometimes, theology. The other day, one of my congregants―a young, sensitive woman with hair almost black and eyes just as dark―came in to see me. She was in the midst of a crisis of faith. "If only God would speak to me, or give me some kind of sign…," she was saying.

Matt and I returned to our hometown after our first semester in college. We arranged to meet at a bar to catch up and trade stories. “How's UVA?” Matt asked, sipping his glass of Shiraz. “Pretty good,” I replied. “I think I'll major in physics.” I took a swallow of my beer. “How about you?” “Yale's everything I hoped for—and more,” Matt answered, “but I still haven't settled on a major yet. Philosophy maybe, or comparative lit…”

My name's Missy, and I’m a 32B. When I turned 30, I felt it was time to boost my health, so I decided to take up jogging again.  I’d been on the track team in high school and looked forward to savoring the boost of “runner’s high” and the pride of achievement as my physique grew stronger.

I'm a lucky guy. I've been fortunate all my life, ever since my birth in the heart of Manhattan's Upper West Side, a storied locale steeped in success and privilege.  Opportunity was my birthright, as illustrated by my attendance at Phillips Exeter Academy; there, I nurtured the awareness of just how fortunate I was to swim in such an elite milieu.  Every day there felt like a testament to the luck which had graced my life.

Sarah gambled.  She played video poker and the ponies at the track.  She knew the odds of blackjack if she split a pair of face cards.  She’d played the office football pool--until she was fired for taking one too many three-hour lunches at the casino.  She gambled when she had money and, on credit, when she was broke--before she’d maxed out her credit cards and the debt collectors started dogging her steps.  She gambled when she was happy and she gambled when she was miserable--which was…

October 29th The announcement hit the internet like a bomb.