Rain makes it’s way down the window
pane of the city bus. It pitter-patters in abstract patterns creating a melted,
tie-dye distortion of the images beyond the glass. New York City traffic has
never been bearable on even the best of days, but today in the steady rain, I’d
be better off walking to the subway station. The risk of being hit by cars
seems to be significantly diminished as everything has gone to a near
standstill. At the next stop, I pry my umbrella from underneath the seat after
donning my cold, dampened trench coat, and proceed to disembark from the
wheezing, metal beast and step onto the sidewalk. As I make my way down the
street, those who rush past me splash water onto my trousers, but I continue to
stomp on in my soaked wool socks. No time for petty things now, I’ll be late
for my business meeting. The grey and gloomy tint to everything around keeps me
thinking about how much my life currently sucks: Cubicle job, awful hours
(albeit decent pay), and a lingering, incessant awareness of how stuck I am
here in this towering metropolis filled with people who came here because they
were lost, like me; looking for success in the one place where it seemed
guaranteed. The vicious cycle of the city has taken me captive, and I’ll be
eagerly awaiting for the day that it ends. I’m about two blocks from the
station when I’m stopped by the harsh sound of jingling pocket change. Beyond
the white noise of people talking and clamoring on the sidewalk, I hear the
calling of a man about 30 feet away. He’s obviously homeless, as you tend to
see here. You pass them with only a glance, if even that, so often that after
awhile they all look the same: Grey beard, tattered jacket, working boots,
maybe a knit hat, or a circa-1996 baseball cap with the fingerless cycling
gloves for that extra touch.
As I approach him he asks if I’d like
to spare any change. Usually, my time obsessive nature would never allow even a
second’s delay on the way to work, time is money. However, I could use a boost
of my karma today of all days, it hadn’t been going so well at all so helping
out this poor guy ought to earn me some brownie points from the universe and
whatnot. He thanks me and sends me a nice “God Bless.” As I’m about to continue
toward the station, he stops me. Well great, as if I hadn’t wasted enough time
already; he probably wants more change. I reach for my wallet to toss change
into his coffee cup once again, not intending to stay. Before I get out my change he makes a comment
about my footwear, asking something about whether or not my socks get wet while while I walk in the rain. Well, I
mean yes, they do, but I’m more concerned about the leather of my good italian
shoes. He chuckles and suggests that maybe I should wear some more “proper”
footwear for days like this. Well, pardon me for not tramping around in old
work boots that cover my ankles. I mean, I gave this guy change and he makes
fun of my shoes in return? Homelessness is no excuse for classlessness in my
book. As I’m about to give him a piece of my mind, he holds out a balled up
pair of socks to me, surprisingly white and pristine for a pair thats been in a
homeless guy’s pocket. I ask what he’s doing and he tells me that he’s offering
me a new pair of socks. I ask why and the man says that I look like I’m having
a bad day, and my socks must feel awfully uncomfortable in the soaking wet
rain. To my amusement, he tells me not to worry, the socks are brand new and he
stole them from a convenience store just the other day. I reminded him that he
might need them but he matter-of-factly stated that he only really needs the
pair he has, he can wash them in a restroom sink somewhere if need be. The
extra pair was just a luxury he took on a whim.
A 2nd pair of socks being a luxury?
I didn’t know whether to laugh or feel
like a selfish idiot. God knows how many socks I’ve owned in my lifetime.
Hundreds? Thousands? Hell, I wouldn't be surprised. I’ve bought a pair of socks
for every drop of rain that fallen on the city, most likely. He urges me to
take the socks and I do, the train being in the back of my mind, and he
chuckles one last time saying that I have no reason to frown today for two
reasons: 1. I just got a free pair of socks, 2. I’m not him.
Well, isn’t that fantastic, instead
of getting rewarded by the gods of karma for my good deed, I end up getting
guilt tripped by the one random homeless guy I’ve stopped on the street
for. Should've taken the bus.
Thankfully despite all of that
nonsense, I make it to my meeting on time. Soaking wet, but on time. The
meeting is dull and uninteresting as my life tends to be; I can't even remember
what’s being discussed: Bonds? Stocks? My attention is set on that man I met on
the sidewalk, I have his socks in my bag and I can remember the street he was
sitting on. Beyond all better judgement, I go to the store and pick up a little
something and find my way to that area of the sidewalk on Broadway. Who even
knows if he’s still there? These people tend to move around like termites in a
floorboard. But luckily, I spy those workbooks on crossed legs on the sidewalk.
I walk up to him and he greets me immediately, smile and all. He strikes up a
conversation with me asking if I made the meeting; I have nowhere to be at the
moment so I oblige. We chat for a good 20 minutes, or maybe 40, before he
stands and says he needs to get to the shelter for dinner. He wishes me a good
evening and props up his tiny luggage case. Before he can even take a step I
apologize, I don’t know what for exactly; most likely for coming off as a rude,
selfish, business clown who takes everything for granted. I tell him that I
appreciate his kindness, and I hand him the parcel I grabbed from the store: 8
Pairs of warm, wool socks. He gives his trademark chuckle and waves his hand in
denial.
I’m in shock. Why would he deny
something he obviously needs? It’s clear to me that the man only now has 1 pair
of socks, and the rain has been going on for 2 or so days now. He claims that
he really meant it when he said the one pair was fine. He says that if it makes
me feel better, the extra pairs would take up space in his bag. He tells me
that he doesn't mind his appearance, his possessions (or lack thereof), and his
life for that matter. As unglamorous as it is, it’s usually stress free, he
gets his meal from the shelter if he gets in line early enough, and he can
usually find enough scraps of paper to jot down poetry or notes in his spare
time. If not, he has all the time in the world to think, reflect, and
contemplate the beauty around him. He asks me if I’ve ever been to central
park. There’s a huge rock on the east side, according to his description,
that’s on the water and perfect for looking past the bush and at the city. Come
to think of it, the park has always been out of my way, it’s not on the way to
work, therefore there’s no reason to visit despite the years I've been here. He
suggests that I make a visit once the rain lets up, and he gives me a final
“Good evening” before he departs for dinner. Standing there with a pack of
socks in my hand and another pair in my pocket, I watch the man I’ve become
acquainted with disappear down the sidewalk. After that episode, I head to my
apartment. I sit at the dinner table, sipping some old coffee and staring at
the pack of socks. I can’t help but wonder where or if I’d see that man, but if
I do I’d make him take the dumb things. I can’t look at them without being
riddled with guilt and concern and overall self-criticism. Today, I met a man with a pure zest and and passion
for life in its purest form. The simple act of survival every day this far is
considered a success for him. He has some god-given ability to remain content
with being at the bottom of the social ladder, a place where money and dignity
are nonexistent. To him, finding some scraps of paper to write on and getting
at least one hot meal is considered a good day. Well don’t I feel blessed; I
get grumpy when I have to wait in line for too long for my brunch time coffee.
All I can do is feel ashamed of what my life has consisted of so far: Regard
for myself and zero for others. I can’t
even remember the last time i purchased a birthday present for someone let
alone a stupid card! All this time I’ve been here, I’ve wanted to move up, be
the boss, make something of myself; but
people can be successful if they aren’t respected or appreciative of the little
things in life, suppose.Well that’s
surely something to think about. My
angst doesn’t last much longer as my phone rings. It’s a coworker asking if I
could come in for a conference on Saturday. I decline to his dismay, suddenly
having something more important to do that day.
The freezing rain stopped Friday morning, and
by Saturday the sun broke free from it’s shield of grey. The day’s weather had
taken a pleasant turn since that rainy day a while back. Despite the fact that
I’ve abandoned commuting by bus, I still haven’t seen the man since. But it
seems as though my good deed has been rewarded. I learned a lot from that homeless
guy, and now I tend to enjoy the little things more, and just life as a whole.
If he can be happy where he is in life, then I may as well have a giant smile
plastered on my face all the time. So
instead of saturday afternoon conferences, I tend to spend my time like I am
now; Sitting by the water on a rock in
eastern central park, notepad in one hand, pen in the other, wearing a pair of
durable and rugged work boots with a pair of pristine, white socks.
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