A couple of weeks ago, Lindsy and I were walking down 15th St in the Mission. We had just finished dinner, and had only recently come to the realization that our dream of thrift shop treasure hunting would not be realized on a Sunday night in San Francisco.
I dropped a cigarette on the sidewalk; I looked down at it, but did not pick it up. I thought of the possibility that someone might find it, and even if it was only for a moment, they’d actually feel so much happier from something that simple. Maybe they’d even think that their absent god actually showed up to work that day.
The thought comforted me.
The next morning, I was walking down 8th St, on my way to work. I had just bought a chai latte and as I waited for the “white man walk” sign to announce my freedom to cross the street, my loose change escaped from my pocket. I watched as the dollar bill floated across Howard St, and then over a continuous stream of traffic. It would’ve been pointless, not to mention dangerous, for me to chase after it.
So, once again I imagined that I had just made someone’s day. Perhaps it would be someone who, after hours of searching for the kind of change people could spare, was now nearly depleted of any last remaining hope, and then, for that moment, they actually felt lucky for a change.
I continued down the street until I arrived at my usual smoking spot, and began my routine of writing to Rio until it was time to go into the office. As I was writing to him about the change I had so easily given away in celebration of my own, I knew I was “asking for it”: without fail, writing such stories has always resulted in new ones.
This day was no exception, and a woman approached me shortly after I finished writing him.
She had a sob story that almost mirrored one I had heard about a year ago.
Her kid was really sick, and she needed to go to the hospital. First she asked if I’d take her.
I was confused for a moment; I had given up my car nearly two years ago, so i didn’t even understand what that meant.
“Oh, no, I’m sorry. I don’t drive.”
She needed a cab, and was begging for help. In a way, her story was a bit more credible than the similar ones I had heard before. She had a piece of paper, numbers, hospitals. She said she needed $3.50.
I started to look for $3.50. I was overflowing with gratitude, luck, empathy, and love.. I wanted to give back what i had been given, but all i could see were 20′s in my wallet. I thought about how tacky it would be to carefully separate money like that in front of her, and, I didn’t really care. Regardless of the validity of her story, or whatever cause the money went to, I wasn’t paying for that. I just wanted to know for sure that someone got the message.
I gave her a $20, which resulted in a look of both shock and gratitude. She hurriedly thanked me, and rushed away in the same frantic fashion as her arrival.