6 p.m. — I volunteered to be an usher at the gala, so I go to my post at the door. People approach, I ask for their table number, and then I lead them to their seats. It's weird, but I know who will be upfront in the expensive tables and who will be going to the cheaper seats in the back before I even ask for their table numbers. If I can tell how wealthy they are, can they tell that I live in a van? Probably not. I think I still give off a middle-class vibe, despite living in the van for three and a half years. How long will that last if I keep living the way I do? If I wanted to claw my way back to the middle class, how long would that take? Is it even possible? Would I ever want to go back to that life? I take my seat when dinner begins. The food is delicious and the performances are good. I donate $50. $50