I have never been one to laugh at the misfortunes of others (to their face), but I saw something this morning that I just had to share.
On my morning commute to work, my trek usually takes me through beautiful downtown East St Louis, IL. Now, I’m aware that by saying that, people who aren’t from the area and have only heard about it in horror stories are cringing to themselves and thinking “why would you ever drive through there?” Well, part of the reason that I drive through East St is to avoid the highway traffic. The other part of the reason is that I can see everything that is going on. Yes, I see the dilapidated houses. Yes, I see the children who should be in school but instead are sitting on porches doing nothing. And, yes, I see the very large, very crazy woman on her ten speed bicycle riding down the road wearing a winter coat along with her spandex shorts either singing along to the music that is only playing in her head or screaming at the voices that only she can hear. The reason I feel safe to travel this route is plain and simple: It’s daylight. I’m not saying that all parts on East St are bad but I’m also not going to paint a pretty picture of a once proud town that has devolved into a pit of decay and unfortunate stereotypes. It is what it is and I drive through it. Every day. Twice.
After years of traveling along this same route, my path has slowly morphed into one that avoids the homeless beggar. He’s usually posted at one of either two spots and, depending on the weather, can be counted on to be seen at either one spot or the other every day. I have learned these spots and figured out a path that takes me around him. Now, I’m not opposed to helping someone out in need, but I see this guy almost every day and it’s not as if people are ignoring him. In fact, I have a pretty good feeling that some days he probably goes to wherever he goes to sleep at night with more cash in his pocket than I do. Either way, I think I have only given him a total of one dollar over the years and that was only because I just may have stopped off at Shannon’s after work to grab a beer or eight. On the rare occasion that I am forced to pass him, he usually looks the other way as he knows that my car window will not be rolled down and, if it is, I will try at all costs to avoid eye contact so that my Catholic school bred guilt will not be triggered enough to reach into my pocket for any spare change that may be filling it that day.
Today, however, I saw him.
It had been awhile since our paths had crossed, but it has also been a very harsh summer and I’m guessing that he was hopefully indoors somewhere avoiding the 100 plus degree temperatures outside. Plus, every time I see him he’s wearing a coat, pants, and a turban-type wrap on his head that, while extremely chic, is not exactly summer apparel. On a side note, I understand that homeless people don’t have much and that they tend to hang on very closely to what they do own i.e. wearing all of the clothes they own all at once, but he always has a box containing the rest of his belongings nearby. Couldn’t he simply place the coat in the box on the warmer days of the year instead of wearing it, sweating up a storm, and thereby furthering his plight? Just my two cents.
Anyway, when I saw him today, it was not in his normal spot. In fact, not only was he not in his normal spot, but he was also not alone. Now, I can’t say that I’m acutely aware of what’s going on around me on my way to work as anyone I know who has driven either beside, behind, or in front of me and has tried to get my attention can tell you. I am usually in deep thought about the state of the world or about what my fantasy sports team is doing at that time of year, but I do watch what is happening on the road ahead of me and today it did not look good.
Almost as if they were waiting for me, I saw my homeless beggar man and his equally homeless cohort in their homeless person uniform of non-seasonal pants, stocking hats, and hooded coats standing in the middle of the street. Normally I wouldn’t be concerned as my guy is usually in the street, but he’s usually at an intersection to where, yes, he runs the risk of getting hit, but only if people were trying. Plus, for being homeless and more than likely undernourished, my homeless guy has amazing cat-like reflexes and seems to never get hit even by the people that I’m pretty sure are aiming for him. Today, however, they stood directly in the middle of road and they were looking at what I was convinced was me.
Immediately, I began thinking if I had ever wronged the man to where he may be looking for me. Sure, I was a cheap bastard and have ignored him as if he was the ugly girl that had a crush on me in college and I decided to sleep with only once because I told myself that I was doing her a favor when in all actuality I was extremely wasted and horny and thought that maybe because she was so ugly that she’d be forced to try harder and do the things that attractive girls don’t have to do and she actually did and now I was too ashamed to look her in the eye because that whole dog collar and plunger thing got just a little too weird, but I don’t think that I had ever been overtly cruel to him. At least I hoped not because they were in the middle of the street, looking in my direction, and it was my turn to go.
Luckily, by the time I had stepped on the gas and my boat of a 1993 Buick Lesabre departed the dock, the one that I was most familiar with had finished his trek across the street and was safely on the other side. His friend, however, was not so lucky.
Now, I am not a graceful person. Never have been, and unless Christopher Walken dies and wills his legs to me, I more than likely never will be. What I am, however, is usually pretty sober at 8:00 in the morning. The same cannot be said for my guy’s buddy and that brings me to the crux of this little story.
Let me be clear about one thing - I did not rush him, nor was I even really across the intersection to the stretch of road that this guy occupied. In fact, just to put the matter to rest I was not anywhere remotely close to this man that would cause him to do what he did next. Either way, our presumably drunken friend (I am only guessing this based on the fact that his posture was loosey-goosey, his gait was even worse, oh, and he was carrying a bottle of a dark colored liquid that I didn’t even recognize. I’m going to follow stereotypes here and call in booze. I guess it could’ve been urine, but why would he be carrying around a bottle of urine, whether it is his or someone else’s? Actually, let’s not even broach that topic) decided that he was going to follow my normal guy along the same path and over the curb onto the grassy knoll in front of them.
Unfortunately for my homeless compadre, either the alcohol or the weight of all of those clothes he was wearing took hold of him and he was unable to make it up the curb safely. Now, if I were a nice person, I could say he fell, leave it at that, and end my story, but hopefully by now you know better than that. The funny part is not that he fell, but instead how he fell. I’m going to assume that the majority of you are sitting at some sort of desk right now where you have writing utensils available to you. I’d like you to pick up one of those utensils, stand it straight up and down with the heavier end at the top, and let it drop. Did the writing utensil bend? Did it bounce off of the surface? Did it get up afterwards and assume its upright position? No? Neither did the guy.
As soon as his foot hit the curb, this poor guy stiffened up like a teenage boy at his first grade school dance and dropped flat on his face. There were no hands to brace him and no pillows to break his fall. His feet hit the curb and he dropped like a tree in the woods. He had started to fall before I even got there and the fall was completed just as I was passing them. When I saw him hit I immediately became concerned (yes, I have some degree of compassion), slowed down, and was about to pull over when I saw what makes this story even funnier.
Looking in my rearview mirror at the carnage behind me, I saw my guy. The homeless man wearing the pants, winter coat, and stocking cap, the man I avoided like the plague every day of my commuting existence, the man who was visibly as drunk as the man that had just eaten more grass in one sitting than a dog that’s sick to its stomach; my homeless beggar was standing there with one hand on his stomach and the other one pointing at his still motionless friend laughing so hard that he almost fell over himself. Immediately, my concern for our fallen subject was erased and my thoughts turned to ideas of maybe, just maybe, I would make sure to keep a few extra bucks with me from now on just in case I saw my guy again. After all, he’s got my sick of sense of humor and that, my friends, needs to be rewarded.
Thanks for reading.
