2002-11-23|8:50 p.m.
So, before I arrived to work, I was sitting at the intersection before I get there. The same homeless man, that stands on the concrete island holding his sign hoping for the people waiting at the light to roll down their windows and hand him some cash, was standing there as he does almost everyday. Never have I ever seen someone give him money. But, I am sure that they do. I always think of it, but am never close enough to actually do it.
But, on that day, I decide that my convience wouldn�t be hurt all that much, if I actually walked on over to there and handed him the money.
So, I did it.
It was only a few more minutes before I had to clock-in. I parked and ran over there, of course waiting for all the pedestrian lights. No breaking the laws!
�I have always wanted to do this,� I said and handed over a 10 dollar bill. He just takes it without looking at it and shoves it in his pocket. I am glad.
�Well, thank you miss.�
�No problem. How are you today?� I say.
�I�m doing fine.� I smile at this.
�Me too.�
�I have to get to work, but I wanted to see if I could get your picture. I have something I am going to write about homelessness.� I feel bad asking.
�Sure, no problem,� he says almost as if he is excited to. �Is it an article?�
�I don�t know, maybe.� I say, thinking about maybe writing an editorial for my school paper. I take the picture.
�Can I get a picture of your sign?�
�Oh yeah, sure.� I take it.
�Ok, I better get back.� I hold out my hand and he shakes it.
�My name is Fred. What is yours?�
�M.�
�I will pray for you tonight, M.� I smile.
I run back to work.
At work, D asks me what I did today.
Sleep, read, eat sort of everyday things are what I tell him. Then I pause and tell him about meeting Fred.
D says something that I expect, because I think most people think this, �Yeah, I want to give stuff to those guys too, but I think most of them are pretty much con-artists.�
Or, people say, �Yeah, but they are just going to go buy booze.�
So, I paused for a minute. I first think, how am I getting conned? I am only giving money away, no expectations. It isn�t a contract. I don�t actually need a particular level of poverty from him in order to hand over money and feel at ease about it. And if he is faking being homeless, then it�s a good show. And why not give him money then, I gave the Michael Jackson look alike a buck when I was in San Francisco.
Then, I say this to him:
�Well, I get conned by a lot of people: my government, the oil companies, the utility companies, and big business in general. At least this time, I might have been conned by someone I actually like. Besides, he had interesting tattoos. How many white dudes in suits have tattoos like that.�
I had just watched Michael Moore�s, �The Big One,� that morning and learned that my government gave Pillsbury (you know that cute little doughboy) yours and my tax dollars, all 11 million of it, in 1996 in just one subsidy. And you know for what? So, that they could better advertise in Asia. Good thing too, because while we exploit all their workers and fund all their despotic militant governments, maybe they can bask in the warmth of the doughboy. Press his little fat, overfed bread belly. Heehee.
And then, I think D chuckled a bit and went back to work. He is 35. He probably thinks I am a little na�ve.
And, yeah, maybe I am. Maybe I am. But, I don�t think so.
Ten dollars is a lot of money. I wanted to see if I could do it. Take whatever I had in my wallet and hand it over. No worry of how it will affect my life or his. I took a dive.
And it is the next day now. I am still ticking, and with all my hope I think Fred is still ticking. And even better, it is making me think about how we view and treat the homeless.
We love the �investigative� news reports about how they �con� people into giving them money. How they put on the fa�ade of desperation to get us to fork out those little green bills. And how some of them have loads of cash they hoard away in mattresses. Yeah, I�ve seen all that crap.
And we love to dwell on their alcoholism. Actually, we love to worry about how most people in poverty spend their money. Welfare people who buy soda and candy, that bothers us. Homeless people who buy King Cobras, that bothers us. We think of all kinds of reasons NOT to give money. Because if someone, who lost their job when their factory closed down to move to Mexico to pay Mexicans 30 cents as opposed to the $8.00 it paid them, recently went on welfare and bought themselves a candy bar, IT WOULD BE A TRAVESTY. And that homeless guy, if it freaking sucks to be homeless (yeah, I can�t imagine) and he just wants to get drunk again, IT WOULD BE A TRAVESTY. But, what if they weren�t doing that at all? Fuck �em anyway, huh?
But the saddest thing is those bastards all having a good time laughing at their country clubs sipping merlot and playing golf. They are laughing because we are a bunch of suckers. We spend all our energy being afraid and angry about the poor and we barely notice that big business just got another year of subsidies that are triple to the amount that is given in welfare. TRIPLE. Sorry, I just had to say it again for my own sake. Feel like buying a candy bar and downing some 40�s? Yeah, I do too.
So, you don�t have to give that guy ten dollars. You don�t even have to give him a cent. Maybe, go and work at a soup kitchen or hand out bagged lunches. It was fun, I�ve done both thanks to the people who dragged my butt out there to do it. And it feels wonderful. You meet new people who see a different world than you. And for a moment, you are given a handout. The gift of meeting someone new.