Half begging, half protest
I have a soft spot for the downtrodden, so it’s not uncommon for me to give a few coins to the occasional beggar. “What’s his story?” I often ask myself as our eyes meet for a moment. “How did he end up here?”
Today I actually stopped and asked.
I passed this guy on my way home from work tonight. As I drove by, two things caught my eye: First, his ear-to-ear smile. And second, his hand-lettered sign: “NWO serf.” Clearly, this was no ordinary hobo.
I pulled a U-turn and drove into the Burger King parking lot. “Maybe I should grab him some dinner,” I thought. So I bought two Tendergrill sandwiches, a Coca Cola, and some water for his dog. Then I crossed four lanes of traffic to get to him.
I was very conscious of my body language as I walked toward him. I didn’t know what I might be walking into: Was he crazy? A drunk? A serial killer?! I tried to exude both confidence and friendliness as I approached him.
But there was no need for worry; his smile broadened even further when he saw me, and his dog ran toward me, to greet me.
“I saw your sign,” I said, “and I’m wondering what it’s about.” At first he rambled about the usual conspiracy stuff, but gradually he became more coherent. He used to work as a trucker, he said, “but I couldn’t keep a job because I couldn’t keep my mouth shut.” Eventually he decided that he was better off living on the street.
“What’s your name?” I asked him. “Mud,” he answered. “I’m Heather,” I said, as I extended my hand. “I’m John,” he replied. “I don’t care if you know my real name. I’m not hiding. They already know who I am.”
He was tired of seeing the injustice in the world, John said. He was tired of seeing the working folk grow poorer and the rich grow exponentially richer. He was tired of seeing the environment be damaged. So he decided to live off the grid. “What I do is half begging, half protest,” he said. And I knew exactly what he meant.
He introduced me to his dog, Pickle, who had already become my friend. Then he told me about his kids—especially his daughter, who works as a registered nurse at a children’s hospital. “They think I’m nuts,” he said of his kids. But he had few regrets: This life was his choice, and he was being true to himself.
In the few minutes that we talked, I couldn’t help but be aware of the passing cars. Some people stared. A few laughed. Others avoided eye contact at all costs. Each approach was equally unnerving and dehumanizing. But he just kept smiling.
I asked for permission to write about him. “Sure!” he answered. “No problem!” Then I took a parting shot of his trademark smile.
By the time I’d made it back to my car, he’d vanished.
I know that John will be OK. But as I write this, I’m haunted by the faces in the passing cars. Why would they laugh at a homeless person, or ignore someone in need?
Suddenly I find myself transported into John’s world, where the signs the homeless hold up are half begging, half protest.
Filed under: Ethics, Minnesota, Politics, Psychology | 8 Comments
Tags: beggar, homeless, postaday2011, Psychology
Good post, I don’t read too well so I normally avoid the long written ones but this one kept me trying, after three goes I made it to the end.
Thanks.
Thanks for sticking with me, Hallysann! I do tend to ramble on …
But just for you, I’ll do a mostly-photos post in the next day or two, OK? I’ll dedicate it to you, so you’ll know which one it is.
As always, thanks for reading …
A very sobering story, Heather, and sadly becoming more and more common. You worried about the motorists. I worry about all the highly educated people who are trusted with managing our first world economies, that they are allowing so many of their fellow citizens to fall between the cracks. It’s not about shifting the blame. These people are being paid big bucks for basically doing a lousy job. How would they feel if we halved their salaries and bought more burgers for the likes of John and Pickle?
You’re right, Xpat: It’s tragic that so many people are falling through the cracks. In the States we have a particularly nasty blend of Dickensian misanthropy (“Why don’t they just die and decrease the excess population?”) and Calvinist entitlement (“If you’re not wealthy, you must not be working hard enough/God must not like you”). And don’t even get me started on how we treat our immigrants! That’s a whole different post …
Anyway, thanks as always for reading, and for your thoughtful comments!
A very nice post. It shows some of the real aspects often put out of the mind. It’s just something you don’t want to think about, but you alwase know is there. It is nice to see you telking to people like him, showing respect. The worst thing, about this all, is the people in the cars who laughed. That just hurts everybody.
Thanks very much for your kind and thoughtful comment. It was eye-opening to see the world through his eyes and to interact with him as a *person* instead of as a *homeless* person. Though I’m still kind of haunted by the carful of girls that laughed at him.
How nice of you! I’m always afraid to talk to strangers.
Believe it or not, I’m painfully shy. It takes *a ton* of effort to make small talk sometimes. But I’ve been trying to force myself to talk to at least one stranger a day, and the payoff has been huge. Most people are way nicer than I realized — including John, the WTO Serf.
Thanks for reading!