giving but not being a dick about it

I'm trying not to deserve this shirt.

I was riding the MAX this morning when I saw a fellow out of the corner of my eye. Obviously, I didn't look at him directly as that's not a thing you do while riding public transit but I did take note of something that tugged at my heartstrings a bit; his pants were frayed around the floor at his feet. It's a weird thing that probably doesn't warrant the reaction it evokes from me but for some reason I have a special trigger for it; this man is not only having trouble finding pants that fit, but he doesn't have the means or maybe even the desire to try and fix them. I don't know why I find that such a somber loss of dignity. Which is actually ridiculous because the other day I jumped over the river of pee that a lounging homeless man had released while muttering to himself under an eave by the bus stop and my heartstrings weren't plucked then but you can bet my nose was crinkled. You gotta love the innate hypocrisy.

Anyhoo back to Pants Man. So I didn't know if he was homeless, all I knew what that he was on hard times and I wished he didn't have to be and that I could be in the position to help him. But that's just a fleeting white-girl-on-the-train thought so I went back to reading my book and probably thinking about my shoes or something. A few moments later I was presented with an opportunity I didn't know I would get. The man was now going through the aisles asking if anyone had 30 cents to spare so he could get something to eat. My first thought was, "wow that's an oddly specific number" followed quickly by "wow, I didn't think he would actually ask for my help" and so I found myself in the position to put my money where my mouth was, or, where my brain was? Anyway. So of course my only option was to give the man some money because what kind of an asshole would I be if I had the thoughts about the pants and the heartstrings and didn't actually follow through with it? Fortunately, I had a bunch of dollar bills leftover from a situation back in January involving a snowstorm and a milk jug (long story).

It was a pretty mild exchange. Do you have 30 cents I could have to get something to eat? Here's a couple of bucks. Thank you, is that a Stephen King book? It's actually his book on how to be a writer. Oh, cool. Awkward silence. Me hoping he would go away because even though we just had this nice exchange I'm not actually interested in talking to strangers on the train. He continues on his way and I go back to reading. Wham, done. And I get this little self-congratulatory blip and I have no idea what he feels because I've never walked in his shoes but I hope there is at least something good going on for him if just for a moment. And then we go our separate ways. And I don't know if he thinks about me. I think about him. Obviously, I mean I'm writing a story about him. Or am I writing a story about my inflated sense of accomplishment for doing basically nothing?

A friend of mine once argued that all altruism is really a selfish act. Her position was that even if your act of giving was helping someone else- it was really for the feeling of satisfaction that you get out of the exchange. And I don't think she's wrong, but I also don't think that's a reason to stop doing it. You also don't have to give and then feel like shit about it. You should feel good- you possibly just helped someone in a small way. And I have to say that for me, it is one of the best feelings that I can get. And I realize that I haven't been doing that much lately. I used be all gung-ho with the recycling and volunteering and saving the bees and shit but I've sort of lost sight of all that. I've been hunkered down in this defense-mode of being a broke college student and feeling like I have nothing to give- clutching onto my nickels and dimes like a Scrooge McDuck while simultaneously going out to happy hour with the girls. Well, regardless of my (admittedly confused) financial situation, I still have two hands and a face and a kneecap or two; I can lend these things to someone who needs a hand. It would probably be a better use of my time than some of the stupid shit I do now. But the import thing is to put my money where my mouth is. Or my kneecaps where my blogging is. Or my....well..... you get the point.