Writing Assignment 6-- Draft 1

I consider myself the Modern, Asian Robin Hood.
As the economic crisis continued to progress, I voluntarily pulled myself out of the Stanford Medical School program. I decided that my new path in mind would be far more satisfying and original than just another over-achieving, Chinese doctor.
My first aspect to consider would be clothing. Would I go about this in a hoodlum-like manner-- wearing excessively spacious jeans and ribbed tank-top? Or should I be truly ironic and wear a feathered cap and skirt? Deciding that both the projects-born and transvestite styles would not suit my clean-cut Oriental features-- I chose what was right in front of me, and what later turned out to be the most wise choice. A regular suit and tie. No one could ever suspect a man of my demeanor and grace of any felony if I was to be wearing a coat and tie, especially if I carried my good-will Hartman briefcase.
Money was never a problem for me growing up, I consider myself a very high-society kind of kid. But as I sat listening to lectures surrounded by oceans of preppy California heart-breakers who considered medical school just the doily on the rest of their tea-cup lives, a feeling of claustrophobia took over me, as did a legitimate fear that I would one day start this sort of generation.
The drop-out process was quick and painless, except for the begging from the dean-- a speech composed of two arguments. One obvious, that they could not afford to lose their top student. And a second reason, not so obvious, I was devastating their minority action committees.
My first steal was the most exhilarating. All it consisted of was a block of cheddar cheese, Pillsbury pre-made cookies, and kosher dill pickles. These eclectic, inexpensive tastes are something I had become accustomed to in undergrad. That first time, I laboriously scratched the bar codes off of everything with an old Hilton Garden Inn room key that I continued to carry from some conference. Then, one by one, ducking between stacks of pita chips and mountains of bouncy balls as to avoid the camera, I stuck each item into my briefcase with the precision of a neurosurgeon. I grabbed a Thai Noodle Bowl, for lack of a better product to put through the automatic scanner, and quickly rang myself up and scuttled out of the automatic doors-- (praying the automatic scanner didn’t blare its sirens.)
I awkwardly walk-jogged to my Kia and slid into the safety of the front seat. I immediately started the engine and sped off to the nearest homeless shelter. I distributed what little I had and promised that I would return every night.
For months I would continue this process, each time getting more and more. Taking risks as high as rotisserie chicken, and even shrimp tempura rolls. The initial small tinge of guilt, and fear, soon wore off. I repeated the phrase, “Steal from the rich, and give to the poor,” in my head with every criminal venture, to rationalize it as a highly moral and recognizable act.
As a mere citizen, I felt I was doing my part for the effects of the recession. Though perhaps I was not boosting the economy, I was helping to provide for the more immediate results, which were the hunger and homelessness which the unemployment and depression caused. The money which I had saved for medical school was what kept me living in my apartment, jobless. I soon began to dedicate almost all of my time to doing this. Recently, I have been able to hit five to six supermarkets per day. My silver Kia was slowly transformed from the car of a prestigious, stereotypical Stanford med student to the car of a criminal, of a man fighting the system, of a man in it for the eternal greater good.
My identification as the Modern, Asian Robin Hood as not caught on at the local shelters yet. If I have learned anything from my education, it is that fame and titles come long after death. But until then, it is words such as angel, bringer of hope, and the Chinese guy with all the food that keep me going in this continuing battle.