Last night my girlfriend and I stopped in a bodega to get some food before heading home. There was a homeless man standing by the door on the way in. He was older and gray in a blue hooded sweatshirt. His face was slack and a little expressionless and, with all due respect to this man, he was looking a little worse for the wear.
We picked out some snacks. Going to the register, I noticed her pick out a Cliff bar. I had never seen her get Cliff bars before. On the way out, she took the Cliff Bar and a banana and tried to hand it to the homeless man. He wouldn’t take it. “I want some money,” he said. My girlfriend just kind of shrugged and kept the banana and Cliff bar.
I went for my afternoon coffee today at Pret like I always do. A guy on the street in jeans and t-shirt asked me for money as I passed him. “You want some food?” I offered. I walked with him into Pret. “Pick out a sandwich.” He paused. “Can I get, like, three dollars?” I shook my head no. Now this guy already had an almost finished sandwich in his hand, so, I get why he might not have wanted more food, but that’s what I was offering. He turned and left.
I give homeless people money from time to time but I usually prefer to buy them something. And yes it’s because I assume they’ll use money for drugs or alcohol. It’s judgmental and I have no proof. There’s definitely a savior complex involved in trying to buy someone food. But it worked out for me once.
Years ago when I was working on 38th Street by the Empire State building I would walk down Fifth Avenue for lunch. I passed a guy outside of a White Castle who was asking for food. I stopped. “You really want something?” “Yeah,” he said. So, I went in, waited in line and bought him a slider (nothing for myself, I’m not a White Castle fan). I came out and handed him the bag and he was shocked. “You actually bought me one?” “Yeah, man, you asked.” He gave me a hug. It was cool.
Like I said, savior complex.
I don’t know anything about theses people or their lives. There are a few homeless people that I see over and over in my neighborhood. There was a pair of junkies that I would see walking all over Park Slope and sometimes nodding off in Starbucks. Lately I’ve only seen one of them and I hope everything is okay.
When I lived in Williamsburg, Ralphie (Rafael Santiago, I believe, it was part of his intro) used to sell papers on the L train. I bought one from him once and from then on he cursed me under his breath whenever I let him pass without giving him anything.
There’s this really odd guy on the N train. He’s got a Barry Sobel, Mike D vibe and his clothes are XXL despite the fact that he’s probably 165 lbs. He always asks for what sounds like “maybe fifty cents a dollar.”
I really don’t want to sound like a privileged asshole, writing about these from my safe apartment with a door that locks. But I suppose I do.
When I was a kid and I came to New York I wanted to give money to every homeless person. My mom always remembered that. “Why isn’t anyone helping?” I thought.
I don’t know if I came to my senses or if I got callous.
