Today I got off the commuting bus and then, a block away, saw that my local/city bus was already pulling up at the stop. So I started to run.

As I ran, I saw the last person in line step onto the bus, then step backwards off of it again. It was a man. He was holding several bags.

I ran closer. It was a homeless man. He wore a brown coat, as many homeless people do. His arms were outstretched. In his right hand, he held a very full plaid shopping bag. He also held a small brown gift-bag-like bags from Starbucks. And one in his left hand, too. Both packed full of something.

The Starbucks bags were dripping something that looked like milk.

The man was explaining something, loudly, to the bus driver. I couldn’t understand him, though. His voice was very garbly. The bus driver didn’t seem to listen.

I stepped carefully around the milk-dripping homeless guy and got on the bus. As I took my seat, I saw a young woman talking to the homeless guy. Handing him something. Sort of scolding him, maybe, in a good-natured way.

The bus pulled away, and I rode to work.

Homeless Man vis-a-vis Starbucks, Part Deux

A few months ago I had to meet a lawyer at a Starbucks downtown. Outside this particular Starbucks, a homeless man sat and leered at everyone. He leered at me as I neared the entrance.

“Can you spare…” he said.

“No cash,” I said. It was true. I never have cash.

“How about something to eat?” he said. His tone was less than pleasant.

“What, a pastry?” I said. I don’t know why I said that. I guess because he didn’t seem like the pastry-eating type, and the surprised question just spilled out of my mouth before I could stop it.

“Yeah,” he said.

Inside the Starbucks, as I waited in line, I looked at all the pastries and thought of two questions:
1. What kind of pastry did the homeless man want?
2. Did he really expect me to buy him a pastry?

No, I’m not being honest. There were way more questions than that:
3. I didn’t actually agree to buy him one, did I?
4. Why do I feel obligated, here?
5. Why should I buy something for someone who doesn’t even ask nicely?
6. Is that the kind of philanthropist I am — the kind who needs people to ask nicely or otherwise make a show of appreciation?
7. Is there anything wrong with being that kind of philanthropist?
8. He didn’t even seem like he really wanted food, did he?
9. Didn’t he look hungover, in fact?

Then, a single thought: “Screw that guy.”

Honestly, I was kind of scared of him. He intimidated me, the way he leered and growled. He was bigger than me, not elderly, and hungover-looking.

I didn’t buy him anything. I left the Starbucks kind of defiantly — kind of daring him to say shit to me.

He didn’t.

Homeless Person vs Starbucks

During the same visit to the same Starbucks, amidst the events related above:

I was waiting for my latte. All around me, lawyers and their clients and court clerks lounged. A homeless woman ambled in. She walked in small circles near the pastry display, looking at everything from the corners of her eyes.

“Ma’am,” said the Sbux employee handing me my latte, “you know you’re not supposed to be in here.” She was young, this employee. She seemed to regret having to tell the homeless woman that, and she said it as respectfully as anyone could have.

The homeless woman looked at her and practically spat these words: “I have money this time. I’m a customer!”

But her voice was so smoke-worn, it was barely intelligible. She walked around grumbling, then darted to the end of the long, long customer line.

The Sbux employee made a face of confusion and maybe some fear. She glanced over her shoulder at the other employees. I clarified for her, “She said she has money.”

“Oh,” said the Sbux employee. “Well… excuse me, then.”

We traded smiles, but rueful ones.

I wonder what kind of pastry the homeless woman bought.