- The following is part one of what may well be a theme running through this blog. I don’t believe there’s anything wrong with being crazy or homeless, though from the title of this section, I could see why one would get the impression that I do. "Crazies" are a vital part of the community. They help hold up the other end of the bell curve. As for the homeless, they don’t deserve pity per se, but they do deserve the right to use public restrooms. Having a stable and consistent home is rare in the animal kingdom, so we should be in awe that any of us have managed to get one. Seriously, how many of us could actually build their own livable shelter? Damn few. We’re all lucky to have a roof over our heads.
I had an appointment one Saturday morning maybe back in October at the acupuncture clinic off of Broadway. When I parked my car, there were these two obviously drunk homeless men sitting against the wall consoling one another as only drunken men can at 9:00 a.m. When I came back out to my car, one was still there though he was lying in a fetal position on the sidewalk unmoving. I walked by, as did about two other people, each of us giving the man plenty of room. I unlocked my car and watched another person pass. Then the guilt set in. What if he was dead? What if he was sick? Maybe I should find a police officer and tell him. Maybe I should see if he’s just sleeping. But if he is dead, I’d have to do something about it. And I don’t really want to touch him. And you can’t just kick a person, even if he is dead. What if he isn’t dead and I kick him or poke him with a stick or something? That’d be rude. But I couldn’t just drive away either.
The guilt and curiosity were killing me. So I got out of my car, walked passed him again, and went into the Walgreens. I walked up and down the food isle and decided on whole wheat bread, a package of turkey meat (I couldn’t bring myself to buy ham – what if he were Jewish or something?), and cheese sticks (in case he was a vegetarian), and a bottle of water. I paid for the items and walked back outside holding the groceries, which I was prepared to take home if – God forbid – the guy was actually dead.
I came up to him and first waited to see if he was breathing. I couldn’t tell, so I kicked his foot gently. He moved a little bit but didn’t wake up. So I kicked his foot again and said, “Hey, wake up. I got something for you.” At this he woke up. I handed him the bag and said, “Drink the water first. I think you could use it. I hope wheat’s ok.” He gave me this rather weird look, took the bag, and then pulled out the meat and the bread and seemed confused. I think he said “thanks,” but I can’t remember for sure. I was just happy he wasn’t dead. I didn’t want to have to make a police report.
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