Are you having a 2.4 day?

I don't know how the subject of bad days came up in conversation, because I was having anything but a bad day. Perched on a wooden bench on a bluff overlooking the glistening rolls of Lake Erie, I sat with a delightful gentleman enjoying the same seat and view. \nAmong other professions, he told me he is a teacher at a prison in a town south of Cleveland, Ohio. He told me a story that occurred on a test day in one of his classes. He had been prepared to administer an exam when one of his students objected taking the test that day. With a worried look on his face, he explained to his teacher that he was already under a great deal of stress because this was a 2.4 day. \nBaffled, the teacher asked him to explain. The man was stressed because the prison was undergoing an audit, and each prisoner was forced to condense their belongings into 2.4 feet of cubic space. If extraneous personal items didn't fit, they would be removed from the prisoner's possession.\nI'm not sure I can even understand a fraction of the despair the prisoner felt, but as a pack rat, just the thought of throwing things away other than rotten bananas freaks me out. Until I was 16 years old I had a gray filing cabinet in my parents' basement overflowing and alphabetized with the most useless information imaginable. \nFor example, under "P" I had filed a postal brochure from several years earlier announcing a new commemorative line of stamps. I hoarded brochures that I picked up on family vacations. I even saved pieces of paper with a lone pen mark on them, thinking perhaps one day I would reflect on the piece of paper and think, "Oh! I was in second grade when I drew a pen line on this piece of computer paper." \nI have trouble throwing away items that were not of any emotional attachment whatsoever. I couldn't imagine having to gather my most important personal belongings, like family albums, letters and heirlooms, and then being told I could only keep a certain percentage of them and the rest I would never see again. \nI couldn't imagine having to give up a picture of someone I loved. Sure, it would be OK the first couple of weeks, but slowly over the years and months the image that had been burned into my brain would slowly start to heal, and the memory would slowly fade away. If it was an image of a postage stamp from 1992, this might not bother me so much. But if it were a beloved photograph, I might not feel the same. \nAs I sort through the many belongings I have gathered over my college years in preparation for an August move, I feel guilty complaining that I have too much stuff after hearing the story of those who must limit even their basic belongings. My conversation partner stated that after that day, when colleagues or friends would comment about the stress they were under, if they had too much of something or didn't have enough, he would ask them, "Yes, but are you having a 2.4 day?" and then share the story of his student. \nWhen you find yourself complaining about how crowded your room is, be thankful you are not paying a debt to society in prison and are allowed to spread your belongings past the 2.4 line. And if you decide to get rid of some of these belongings, keep them away from me. I'm a sucker for garage sales.