The Privileged Homeless Class
"Some change please--but only from after 2007 and make sure it's polished!"
I got to the gym at 6:30 a.m. for work. I generally don’t eat break-fast until around 12:00 p.m. or later but at around 11:00 I was feeling low, probably less from blood sugar and more from 5-hours of sleep, and had the apple I brought from home. On my way out of the gym, I had a Line Health bar, basically a candy bar with all the same crap and protein added, because it was available and free. It was 12:45 p.m. I was tired, hungry and now pre-diabetic as I was processing corn syrup.
I just wanted to go home, eat and walk my dog. I was so tired I was afraid I may eat my dog and take my smoothie for a walk to the park, but I had to stop at CVS to facilitate one of my drug deals [SEE “MY STINT AS A DRUG DEALER”]. Outside the CVS, there was a guy standing there. He looked clean enough and had a small duffel bag at his feet. “Can I have some money, I’m homeless.” I said, “Hello, Homeless. Perhaps if your parents instead named you, ‘Moneybags” your life would have been different.” I gave him a blow-off line like, “Not right now,” but actually did consider adding to his donation plate on my exit.
After I picked up what I came for and cut it with baking powder, I checked my wallet to see if I had any small bills to give “Homeless.” In the past, I’ve been helped by strangers, especially with a successful Kickstarter campaign a yoga studio owner and friend started for me after I broke my leg badly, had two surgeries and couldn’t work. God said to me then, “I’ll give you this money, but you need to help others in the future.” I said, “Keep your fucking money,” but then realized if I didn’t take it I might find myself homeless begging for change outside of a CVS and said, “Fine.” Turns out I had no cash on me for “Homeless.”
Outside, I didn’t want to have to deal with “Homeless” again and thought of a strategy to blow him off without being a dick. In my head I heard my second grade school teacher, Mrs. Canino, say, “Eyes forward” from when I was looking out of line because training to goose-step like a Nazi wasn’t my bag. I passed him with a brief acknowledgement and then snapped “eyes forward.” He didn’t accost me and I was relieved.
When I got to my bike which was tied to a street sign pole, I paused. It was as if God had spoken directly to me, but instead of saying, “Get on the boat and I’ll drown everyone else—oh wait, you’re not a zebra—never mind,” he said, “You can turn your back on that dude at the door but you can’t turn your back on me. Get it, because I’m everywhere!” In a previous life, God had tried his hand at stand-up comedy but was boo’d off the stage and, coincidentally, the comedy club was mysteriously struck by an asteroid the next day.
My mind started its gab. “You’re tired. You don’t owe that drug addict anything.” My mind is even a bigger dick than God. I then thought how lame people are with helping others out because it’s “not inconvenient.”
NEWSFLASH: no favor done in the history of mankind was ever “convenient.”
No stranger ever came up to you and said, “Is there any way you can help me eat this gourmet pie?” or “I know we don’t know each other but I’m trying to complete my Ultra Blowjob-a-thon and need to give one more blowjob to make it to a hundred today. Is there anyway you can provide the penis for this?” Favors innately require you doing something you wouldn’t do if you had your druthers. Most people have lost their druthers somewhere along the way and find themselves regretfully doing favors for others.
My mind did his best to get me out of there. “You already unlocked your bicycle lock. We’re practically halfway home!” If for no other reason than to spite my mind, I relocked my bicycle to the pole and turned around and walked towards “Homeless.”
“I don’t have any cash but is there anything you need from the CVS?”
An honest answer might have been, “A clean syringe” but this man made a much loftier order. “Get me two Snapples, one peach flavored and the other regular.” While I appreciate someone being particular in knowing what they want and asking for it, I thought it way too specific to be courteous. It came across as if I had offered to buy him a sandwich and he responded, “I’ll have a corned beef sandwich—lean. Get it on toasted rye bread with the crusts cut off. Lightly buttered—not margarine, mind you. I don’t eat that fake crap!” I had been degraded from my role as benevolent benefactor to that of a waiter. “Do you want fries with that?” My mind came up with a few wise-ass responses but I again shut it down and just said, “Okay.”
I scoured the beverage section and didn’t see any Snapple. I then went to the front desk where one guy was helping a customer and another worker was on her phone. I said to her, “Excuse me. Can you tell me if you carry Snapple?” She said, “Yeah, it’s in the beverage section,” and went right back to her phone. Apparently she forgot how I helped her to cross the finish line in the Blowjob-a-thon.
“I was just there and didn’t see it but I guess I’ll go look again.” Apparently, the beverage section continued around a bend and, lo and behold, they had Snapple! Their Snapple supply was low and, lo and behold, they didn’t have any peach flavor or even regular. I considered picking up the lemon/lime flavor but played the scene out in my mind where “Homeless” scolds me outside of the CVS, “I said peach and regular! What part of that was unclear for you, motherfucker?!” and decided, “I’m done.”
I went outside and said, “They didn’t have those flavors.” He said, “Then get me a Coke from that pizza place across the street.” My mind stepped up and offered to take it from there. I gave him permission but was keeping a watchful eye if he got out of hand.
“Look, I generally believe when you give someone money you should shut your mouth about what they do with it. But I’m not going to do that here. You asked for something very specific and they didn’t have it and now I’m out.” I stopped my mind from adding, “I would think if you were really homeless, you might ask for something more general, like a ‘drink’—or even a ‘Snapple,’ not fucking peach-flavored!” I said, “I’m done shopping for you.”
“The coke is right there,” he said.
“You asked for something very specific. I went to look for it. They didn’t have it. I’m out.” And I left.
My experience has shown me that most people on the streets begging for money have drug issues and are not seeking to feed their growling bellies but their screaming veins. That being said, who am I to judge anyone? I think we are all a stone throw away from being homeless or addicted to something in order to escape from a painful reality that we don’t want to face.
If we really want to commit to being of service, whether it is in the name of God, compassion, love or some other lofty label, we have to remember that most favors require effort, that set on default, you will instead just plop your ass into the couch and binge on Netflix.
“Under the stars, we are all brothers and sisters.”
—Bruce Lee
I remind myself that, no matter our current state of disarray or array, we are all brothers and sisters. Granted, some of our brothers and sisters are retarded, ne’er-do-wells. What a shame it would be if the one person who could really just use a boost today, whether that comes in the form of a dollar, encouragement, a kind word, a smile or just an acknowledgment, lost that opportunity because you write off anyone who would ask for help as a bum.
Very interesting and thought provoking🙌