Post-Thanksgiving Drive

I dropped my mom to the airport at five in the morning today. On the way, a world nearly invisible during daylight hours emerged. Near the intersection of Preston Street and Martin Luther King Boulevard I saw a woman walking in the middle of the street, I think there was a median there but either way it seemed riskier than choosing one side of the street to walk on. Particularly given that it was still dark outside. I wondered what she was doing at this hour and figured she might be on her way to work, and presumed work for her meant a low-paying job. Just as I was merging onto I-295, I saw three more people walking where they shouldn’t be, along the side of the highway. They were walking on the other side of the orange cones blocked off for construction, so they were somewhat safe from being run over, but nevertheless it was a heartrending sight. Where were they going? Were they on their way to the Greyhound bus station, or had I already passed that? Were they also on their way to work? The three were not walking together, they appeared disassociated with one another. When I returned from the airport and parked my car, I saw a person rummaging through an overflowing dumpster. I think the person was a woman, although I couldn’t see her face clearly and she was wearing a puffy coat. She was looking into a cereal box and picking out the crumbs.

I thought, should I offer her money? Is it rude to offer money to a person who isn’t begging? What’s the point of giving her five dollars anyway, it’s a quick bandage that will make me feel like I did something but that really means nothing. I would rather give her food, but how exactly could I make that happen? I’m not going to run to 7-11 when I should be sleeping. I continued thinking and feeling my subtle emotions, policy solutions, quick fixes as I crossed the street to my apartment and hit eight on the elevator. What am I talking about? I certainly have food in my fridge to offer, it occurred to me. As I quickly put together a bag with three slices of rye bread, a little bit of raspberry jam, a plastic knife. I cut an orange into wedges and Ziploc-bagged it, put some leftover green-bean casserole into the microwave, and put a fork into the bag. I filled up a water bottle – that hadn’t yet been washed, but oh well – and put the water, green-bean casserole, and the orange into the bag. I hope she hasn’t left yet, I thought to myself.

I got back outside and couldn’t see her at first but as I approached the dumpster I saw her (him?) examining a clear plastic take-out box that only appeared to have some sauce on it. I tried to offer her the bag. Here, I brought you some food. As I approached, she shrugged away from me and into the corner, I couldn’t see her face and my approaching her was compromising her invisibility. I took out the green-bean casserole. See, it’s green-bean casserole, I offered gently. She shrugged further into the corner created by the dumpster and the wall of the building behind it. What to do, take the food back? I put the bag down near her feet and went back into my apartment. The voice of a homeless woman shouting at the character Mark from the musical Rent is ringing through my head: Who the fuck do you think you are?/.../My life’s not for you to make a name for yourself on!/.../Just trying to use me to kill his guilt.

A few hours later, when I was on my way to work, I walked past the dumpster to see if the bag was gone. It was still there, untouched, so I took it with me to work.

I am thankful to have been witness to the events of this morning. I walk to work by choice whereas the people I saw walking in pedestrian-unfriendly auto-oriented environments were probably walking because they probably can’t afford many (or any) other options. The woman I saw rummaging through trash for sustenance was probably homeless and probably had little in her life beyond the vaguest sense of privacy, anonymity, and dignity and I’d tried to rip that away from her in an attempt to do a good deed. I’m glad she didn’t let me do that. I am grateful for my awareness yet frustrated that my understanding and awareness barely skim the surface. I hope that my attempt at good deeds aren’t merely me trying to kill some underlying guilt over my own privilege, or me trying to improve my karma.

There is no quick fix. It seems like the people I saw this morning are facing greater adversity in their lives than I am in mine. I’m making all these assumptions about what they are going through, and maybe I’m way off. Who am I to try and chip away at social ills with green-bean casserole? I am thankful for having had this wake-up call. I am also thankful for my awareness, for a full fridge and an ability to share, and for my perseverance to keep chipping away.