Ever since our president implored American citizens to become “volunteers” in our struggle against terrorism, I’ve been trying to do the right thing. But has anyone tried to volunteer their services in New York lately? Altruism in this city is so competitive it requires cunning and connections more than it does a good heart.

I work as a professional storyteller. After Sept. 11th, I volunteered at my local public school to tell stories to kids which might help them heal and address their fears. Without raising her nail file, the secretary told me she was already swamped with offers from performers and the best she could do was squeeze me in between the magician and the snake guy in January. Deflated, I headed for Roosevelt Hospital with my outstretched arm, ready to donate blood. They turned me away. Too many arms were ahead of me.

"Okay" I said, “if I can’t contribute something to the Sept.11th aftermath, at least let me give back something to the city at large.” I stopped by my local soup kitchen and offered to serve meals at Christmas. I got wait listed.

Frustrated, I headed for a friend’s apartment for some comfort. She was aglow. She had just spent the entire day at Ground Zero serving coffee to workers. “Ground Zero?!’ I shouted. No one except Mariah Carey and Vladimir Putin get to be at Ground Zero. How did you manage it?” “I pulled strings” she said, nonchalantly, and offered me a danish.

What does a gal (who is neither a celebrity nor connected) have to do around here to help out, I wondered? Must I really apply the same cut throat competitive strategies to giving as I do in my workaday life to acquiring? Is this rush to volunteerism truly about selflessness or our need for attention in a place which rarely doles it out?

I pondered these and other New York questions as I left my friend’s building and headed for my car. It had been towed. To Red Hook. Turns out, it was for an unpaid ticket I incurred five years ago for a car I no longer drive--a ticket which I thought I had successfully fought! It would cost me $300 and I would have to pay in cash.

"Why are you doing this to me?!" I asked the traffic violations lady over the phone.

"We need the revenue," she said.

At least she was honest.

Suddenly, it all made sense to me. This was the only way I could donate anything to the city. In small bills, at an impoundment lot in Brooklyn. I put my cash in an envelope marked World Trade Center Fund and delivered it in person to the Sheriff, before driving off in my newly scratched car.

I know I should have been enraged, but I wasn’t. I was relieved. I had finally done my part for New York, quietly, without fanfare or boasting rights. But even more reassuring, the city was its old abusive self again. I knew it was finally on the road to recovery.