"How was your weekend, sir?" Better than yours, I'd wager.
When a homeless gentleman selling "The Big Issue" asked me about my weekend on Monday, I didn't know quite the right thing to say.
Last Friday I engaged in a horrific drinking binge, during which time I spent more money than that man probably earns in a week of magazine peddling. As a result, most of the weekend was spent feeling like crap. I think I mumbled "I've had better" and he said that he knew the feeling.
Well, of course he does. I'd rather have a (Self inflicted) bad day of educated middle class than a good day of horrible poverty. It's a bit difficult to find a balance between complaining about my good fortune and rubbing his face in it. That said, he was visibly brighter and more enthusiastic than I was. I bought a copy and we said our goodbyes. I think I even said "Have a good day" when I was pretty sure that he wouldn't.
I have a great deal of admiration for the people who sell "The Big Issue" on the street. They stand outdoors all day trying to make a living, in a city where you're either being rained on or burned alive by the sun. They're more polite than I would be if I had to put up with passers by who try their darndest not to make eye contact. See, if you make eye contact with one of these fellows and don't buy what they're selling you feel guilty. Better just to engage the tunnel vision and proceed directly to Gloria Jean's.
I've done that before, it's easier that way. The more you know about the way people live on the street, the harder it is to neatly explain the problem in a conscience saving way.
On the other hand, merely feeling guilty and telling everybody how much you care does not achieve anything more. Compassion is a weakness when it immobilises you with grief. When this happens, you're no use to anybody because you can't act on the thing you supposedly care about.
Buying a copy of "The Big Issue" every fortnight isn't going to save even the dude that you regularly buy it from, but it at least gives you an opportunity to talk to him. You might be the only person that day who has taken an interest in him as a human being. Sleeping rough for the foreseeable future must be a miserable experience that can't be made any better when people treat you like scum.
Last Friday I engaged in a horrific drinking binge, during which time I spent more money than that man probably earns in a week of magazine peddling. As a result, most of the weekend was spent feeling like crap. I think I mumbled "I've had better" and he said that he knew the feeling.
Well, of course he does. I'd rather have a (Self inflicted) bad day of educated middle class than a good day of horrible poverty. It's a bit difficult to find a balance between complaining about my good fortune and rubbing his face in it. That said, he was visibly brighter and more enthusiastic than I was. I bought a copy and we said our goodbyes. I think I even said "Have a good day" when I was pretty sure that he wouldn't.
I have a great deal of admiration for the people who sell "The Big Issue" on the street. They stand outdoors all day trying to make a living, in a city where you're either being rained on or burned alive by the sun. They're more polite than I would be if I had to put up with passers by who try their darndest not to make eye contact. See, if you make eye contact with one of these fellows and don't buy what they're selling you feel guilty. Better just to engage the tunnel vision and proceed directly to Gloria Jean's.
I've done that before, it's easier that way. The more you know about the way people live on the street, the harder it is to neatly explain the problem in a conscience saving way.
On the other hand, merely feeling guilty and telling everybody how much you care does not achieve anything more. Compassion is a weakness when it immobilises you with grief. When this happens, you're no use to anybody because you can't act on the thing you supposedly care about.
Buying a copy of "The Big Issue" every fortnight isn't going to save even the dude that you regularly buy it from, but it at least gives you an opportunity to talk to him. You might be the only person that day who has taken an interest in him as a human being. Sleeping rough for the foreseeable future must be a miserable experience that can't be made any better when people treat you like scum.
posted by Mr Schrempp @ 8:32 pm
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