Others may not care for his existence but he does. Alone for a while unconcerned by the naked eye. He declines to beg in the streets. Wallowing up in self pity. Hoping a stranger feels generous. A few coins not much to get through the day. He has learned to live on the streets. Some days are easier than others. Hot summers and cold winters plague his body. His home in his abode. A sleeping bag and some tattered clothes muffled into a small shopping cart. He has designated his corner near his favourite diner. He has matured in his will to persist. Running wild seeking help. Walking up to people asking them mercilessly for some compensation. A sad story rehearsed to draw out empathetic tunes of rhythmic donations. He was a wild card scaring potential givers. With some practice and routine he formulated his rhetoric with emotional insight. Finding their humanity and exploiting it for himself.
He needed the money for his survival. Yet such routine grew tedious and exhausting. He was the guy who annoyed people for money. His fame backfired. Pity became fury. Unrelenting individuals looked angrily at him for stealing their hard-earned money. Generosity was better spent on charities. Blogs promising to help needy children abroad. He was the stain of the corner. He hid his face in his bag leaving his coin jar a few feet from his head. He couldn’t change his image but he could conceal it. Generous folk would donate if they didn’t know who it was. The faceless encounter prompted his jar to fill instantly. It was his demonic face that scarred. His existence was mirrored by his appearance. A beggar hoping for some cash. His passivity was rewarded.
Still, the few coins enabled him to make it through the day but not beyond. He endured but winter was coming soon and his clothes would not protect him. The little bits aided him but it was insufficient. He needed a big whale. The storeowner across the street joyfully placed his jar on the counter of her store. Each day she would incline customers to pay it forward. Some coins in the bucket. Each day it worked. Eased by the storeowners sweet words and intent. She was his advocate. He had never felt such generosity. She filled his jar and brought it back to him. Away from the stench of the backwater creations, lightened the joy of giving. Exiting the diner they’d snarl at him unaware that they were paying for his winter clothes. So caught up in their frustration and expectations, they mock him at the same time saving his life.
A devious tactic by the storeowner but a necessary one to protect the struggling outsider. He couldn’t do it alone and she made it her mission to assist him. He had never been helped in the most loveable of ways. Random people did their due diligence with meagre coins for him to make it to the next day but this was a brief encounter. One that was more about the giving than the receiver. The joyful feeling of giving is a selfish ploy. To give to feel good about oneself without any concept of the affect on the receiver. To give without a second thought and without a second word. Throwing leftovers for rats to chew on. Coins are insignificant. A pain for people to carry. Giving them away is letting go of that which is waste. The coins are beneficial but the intent matters. Receiving the coins bought him lunch but it also felt automatic. There was a split moment of attention and off on the giver’s way. He was part of the giver’s routine. Just a portion of his paradise.
The giver remembers his face. “Oh I gave you yesterday”. Recalling his face and failing to reckon with his status. Fasting for most of the day, starving but yet to the giver he is on a schedule of recipients. He is a face but without a name. A lowlife with no future except to rely on the generosity of others. In time, they grow upset or bored of assisting. He is a project that is not worth providing for. He takes our money and does nothing with it. Sparing a few coins and he cannot lift himself out of the pits of the alleyways. A lost cause not worth the investment. His face reminds them of his failures. Of their few coins going to waste. The amount that doesn’t even muster a few dollars is calculated as a foregone expense. He is an outsider, a wrongheaded stock that will never blossom. With no trajectory giving is not only wasteful but repugnant.
The storeowner’s mercy begs the question of her maternal sympathy. She sees his struggle and offers a hand beyond the simple give and take. She does provide coins but a location. She shifts the circumstances away from the troubling street to the air conditioned indoors. He sits outside but taking his jar indoors alters the giver’s perspective. He is duped. He thinks he is giving to a good cause because a nice lady is advocating. It is no longer the face of the beggar but the face of a nice lady. It is no longer the dirty outdoors but the clean indoors. The swapped relation invigorates giving again. The customers see an opportunity to help the community. Untrustworthy of the homeless folk, they’d rather put their trust in the nice lady’s hands. Even though she could be swindling them, her radiant face and soothing request is persuasive. Coins stockpile in little by little. Garnering more money in a few hours than he made in a day.
Safety inside enveloped a positive outlook on helping the needy. His jar audaciously growing. Each evening she’d pour the jar into his. Instead of force-feeding him, she permitted him to make his decisions with the money she gathered. The goal was invoked some responsibility on his part. His choices would be his life. Would he spend his money on snacks or a healthy meal? On clothes or alcohol? She did not know what he needed but that he needed. The dirty outside failed to receive nearly half of what the storeowner prospered. Her customers were in the habit of leaving tips and extra coins for the needy. Carrying coins around is not routine but receiving coins for billings only furthered the simple placement of the extra annoying coins in the jar. The diner was happy place. Satisfied with their meal customers eagerly paid it forward. Leaving their coins for the staff and the needy.
Living on the corner was not a lifelong goal. He needed some sort of handout. The coins were helpful but it was insufficient to provide adequate shelter. He was used to the street but it was also dangerous. He finally mustered the courage. The storeowner poured the coins in and he chimed in asking if she could hire him. She told him she would give him a chance but baby steps. She brought him to her place to shower and get ready. The diner’s peaceful atmosphere would be ruined by his appearance. He wasn’t well-liked stereotyped as the annoying beggar. On his first day as a waiter, some customers recognised him and showed indifference. A sceptical vibe sprang through. Still not associating with him. He greeted customers cynically and customers rudely called him and treated him as a beggar. He was beneath them. They were eating and he was their mercy.
Instead of hiding him in the kitchen, the storeowner left him out in the open. He was ridiculed but as he continued his work elegantly and joyfully, customers began to change their attitudes. He became part of the joyful atmosphere. Even if memories of his beggar life were not erased, his growth mirrored his own sense of attachment to the diner. He was no longer alone on the streets but a part of a larger community. The storeowner sought his loneliness and salvaged his troubling situation. He was a member of the diner team. He was indoors in the pure innocence of joy.
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