Gary's Wife
The first homeless person I helped out in the city of Boston was a man named Gary. I was leaving Qdoba at one in the morning, walking away with a free burrito that StSS gave me. He was shivering - it was November - and in the dead of night he held up his "Anything helps" sign, wearing no gloves or coat. I offered him my burrito, sat down next to him, and we became friends.
I'm pretty sure he's to blame for my career change choice. After befriending him, I got the idea for the starfish, anyway - though to be honest, there are so many people I don't always see him. But I know little things about him. He's a painter, and he has a wife. He's college educated, very smart (though at times a little arrogant consequently). He has a wife, whose name I've heard a dozen times but I can never remember. He loves this girl to death, and frequently spends his money on Qdoba brownies, which for whatever reason are her favorite food in all the world. Like, for realz, it's our brownies or none at all. I'm also pretty sure that this is the reason he begs outside of our establishment.
At any rate, I hadn't seen him in a while, or his wife for that matter, and today he told me his wife was dying due to complications from lack of food. He said that doctors are giving her, if she's lucky, six months. This was a rare occasion where he actually had the nerve to come inside (some people there hate beggars like him because he's bad for business). He wanted to buy some of our brownies, but I had to be the one to tell him we didn't have any more. As he left, and started to walk away from the counter, I saw the rest of him - you know, neck down and all - and both he and his wife were much thinner than I remembered.
I didn't have a lot of time to process it because I was so busy, but now I'm starting to wish that I made some more brownies. Of course, with the drunken college crowds as angry as they are on a Saturday night, there was no way my boss would've let anyone off the line, so I guess the will wouldn't have been enough anyway. But it still killed me that I couldn't give a dying woman her favorite food.
I don't know this woman very well. I don't even know her name. But her loss is still heavy on me. I can't imagine how Gary feels. Which got me thinking: what if every homeless person in Boston has at least one person who cares about them like this? Their suffering isn't just hurting them.
I did not make the wrong choice. I need to take this job, at least for a little while. I don't want people to hurt like Gary and his wife do - and while I can't save them all, I can save a hell of a lot more of them when I'm actually doing it for a living.
-Didroy
I'm pretty sure he's to blame for my career change choice. After befriending him, I got the idea for the starfish, anyway - though to be honest, there are so many people I don't always see him. But I know little things about him. He's a painter, and he has a wife. He's college educated, very smart (though at times a little arrogant consequently). He has a wife, whose name I've heard a dozen times but I can never remember. He loves this girl to death, and frequently spends his money on Qdoba brownies, which for whatever reason are her favorite food in all the world. Like, for realz, it's our brownies or none at all. I'm also pretty sure that this is the reason he begs outside of our establishment.
At any rate, I hadn't seen him in a while, or his wife for that matter, and today he told me his wife was dying due to complications from lack of food. He said that doctors are giving her, if she's lucky, six months. This was a rare occasion where he actually had the nerve to come inside (some people there hate beggars like him because he's bad for business). He wanted to buy some of our brownies, but I had to be the one to tell him we didn't have any more. As he left, and started to walk away from the counter, I saw the rest of him - you know, neck down and all - and both he and his wife were much thinner than I remembered.
I didn't have a lot of time to process it because I was so busy, but now I'm starting to wish that I made some more brownies. Of course, with the drunken college crowds as angry as they are on a Saturday night, there was no way my boss would've let anyone off the line, so I guess the will wouldn't have been enough anyway. But it still killed me that I couldn't give a dying woman her favorite food.
I don't know this woman very well. I don't even know her name. But her loss is still heavy on me. I can't imagine how Gary feels. Which got me thinking: what if every homeless person in Boston has at least one person who cares about them like this? Their suffering isn't just hurting them.
I did not make the wrong choice. I need to take this job, at least for a little while. I don't want people to hurt like Gary and his wife do - and while I can't save them all, I can save a hell of a lot more of them when I'm actually doing it for a living.
-Didroy