... the next day (despite this entry being nearly a month later)...
So, i was going to the grocery store. i have gotten into the habit of wearing headphones while grocery shopping as it makes the experience more enjoyable and less interrupted by complete strangers interacting with you. But alas, the random public fired a pre-emptive strike.
While at a stop light on route, with windows up due to the cooler evening temperatures, i look left to a perplexing event. A seemingly homeless man on a bike (bikes are currently all the rage within the homeless community of my area... and the hipsters too... oddly) stops at the front door of the KFC. He removes the elongated top off of the stretched Hershey-kiss style cigarette butt receptacle and starts fishing through it. i imagine he was looking for some "not fully smoked" butts thrown in during some customer's hasty rush to purchase one of KFC's buckets of death.
i did not observe him for long, as i find staring rude. i returned to my light waiting at one of the notoriously long red-ed chaotic triple intersections foolishly built based on early cow paths. But i kept thinking about this gentleman. That is a creative way of problem solving a desire for tobacco, if of course you do not mind the "putting you lips on someone else's filter" germ factor.
This got me thinking about the homeless and smoking. Based on people i know who smoke, the monthly cost of being a "regular" smoker is close to (if not more than) a car payment. That is no small amount of money. Yet, i have seen homeless smoking from time to time. Where do those cigarettes come from? Novel means like this KFC collection? Stolen? Possibly purchased?
Sure, many must be purchased. It is often assumed that because you are homeless you have no money at all. This is not always true. There are a great many reasons why an individual might be homeless. To lump everyone who is homeless into a singular category is a short-cut to thinking and usually just some excuse used to feel better about the reality that there are many people who are homeless in ours, the richest country in the world.
i was reminded of an anecdote told to me by a friend of a friend while we hung out at some social gathering. This friend's friend lived for some time in NYC. While living there, during his routine daily travels he regularly passed by a seemingly homeless man who stood on the corner asking for change. Finally one day, with some time to kill, he said to the man "I am going to grab some lunch, how would you like to join me... my treat?" The man said yes.
They sat together eating and talking for some time. Finally this friend's friend asked the man why he was homeless, hoping to get his story and better understand this person whom he walked by daily. "I have a home" the man said. "An apartment a few blocks from here."
"I'm an artist" the man continued. "I dedicate my life to only art and will not compromise that by working." He went on to explain that he spent part of his day asking for money and the rest of the day in the park creating art. He accrued enough money that way to afford rent... in New York City. i think of this story often to remind myself that it is a disservice to all involved when we make assumptions.
A long tangent you say? No, in fact there is an important purpose to this dictation of thought. This is one long ass red light. In the time between my last glance at the Kentucky Fried Chicken and the events to follow i went though all those ponderings. And those were long ponderings.
Suddenly out on my peripheral i notice the homeless man is on his bike in the middle of the lane to my right now, yelling at my car. To help elaborate on the yelling part remember that i had all my windows up and note that i typically listen to music way too loud. In this case it was the Dropkick Muphys live album blasting away.
This became one of those many moments when my desire to be polite and my street smarts had to do a quick negotiation in my head. They settled on turning off the music and slightly lowering the window closest to our new friend. So i lowered the window enough to show my openness to converse but not enough that he could stick any limbs into my car. Meanwhile i kept one eye on crossing traffic in case of a needed escape route.
"Boba Fett?" i hear him now say mid soliloquy (a reference to my geeky vanity license plate). "He's a BOUNTY HUNTER! Are you saying you're a bounty hunter?"
"No" i replied "just a Star Wars fan." Come on green light.
"We're not Jedi's you know" he continued "we're not Jedi's..."
"Maybe someday though" i politely said as he seemed to not be ready to end the conversation started with my car.
"NO, NO, we CAN'T be Jedi's... no we can't... not Jedi's..." he continued as i suddenly noticed the light turning green.
"i got to go" i said "take it easy." My attempt at a courgel farewell.
"...not a Jedi" he mumbled to conclude his thought."May the force be with you!" he shouted as i slowly accelerated away.
While taking the corner i noticed the guy on the green crotch-rocket behind me laughing his ass off. What great entertainment we must have been as he waited at that painfully long light. All this random interaction and i had not even made it to the grocery store yet. Had my wife or someone else been in the car this never would have happened, but when i am just on my own this kind of thing becomes the norm. i am once again reminded that no matter how much i try i am never alone. Maybe that is not such a bad thing though.
May the force be with you too, my new friend.
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