By gavatron, click for Flickr Photostream
The way we often view poverty is represented almost perfectly by the photograph above. It’s there, and we’re standing off, just watching it. We see it, and we move along. The man on the corner, making his cardboard plea for work or money or booze. The man sitting on the street, too tired to even ask, but with a tattered cup or swiss-cheese hat sitting there, screaming silently, “Please. Spare a dime, quarter, nickle. Anything.”
But what happens whenever it’s not just on the street, where you can pass by without thinking twice about it. Tonight, my wife and I decided to go out to the local installment of a major Tex-Mex restaurant chain for dinner. This restaurant is only a few minutes from our house, and when we eat out, it’s a frequent choice. Tonight, though, was a little different than most. Shortly after we were seated and received our never-ending bowl of chips and bowls of salsa, a man walked in who immediately drew gazes from every table there. He was seated nearby.
While no book should ever be judged by its cover, I will admit that I immediately made my assumptions about this camouflage clad, greasy-haired, clearly weathered hardback which sat nervously at the table. He fidgeted in his pockets, stood up and looked around every few minutes, and it seemed he felt as out of place as he looked. He ordered a glass of water, and began perusing the menu. As his eyes flitted across the brightly colored pages, I could see there were two distinct, radically different, reactions. My best guess is the first was a result of reading the item descriptions. It was pure ecstasy. The second was a result of seeing the prices. It was utter disappointment.
His roller coaster facial expressions weren’t, however, my first indication that this man would likely be going without dinner tonight. As soon as he was seated, he removed his coat, by pulling out his arms and letting it drop to the floor. He looked around to make sure no one who worked there was watching him, and he carefully slid the knife out of its paper napkin sheath. The drawstrings of the top of the coat had become knotted together, so it couldn’t be opened properly. He used the knife as a surgeon might, carefully trying to undo the knot without breaking either of the precious cotton-cord tendons. In the end, he just sawed through it, both because he was unable to break the knot, but also because the wait staff was beginning its parade. In a gesture which made clear his inability to pay for a meal, he carefully resheathed the knife, so the bundle looked as undisturbed as he could make it.
It was clear the wait staff was unsure how to handle the situation. There was a steady stream of aprons walking past his table, saying hello and asking if they could get him anything. He talked with any of them who would listen. I could only hear bits and pieces over the din of the restaurant, but I heard enough. He didn’t have much money. His mother recently died. How much just for a taco? In the midst of all this, he nervously nibbled at the basket of chips and salsa brought to him, and the look on his face said he was just waiting for someone to ask him to leave.
The manager walked by and said hello to the man. Her grey pantsuit sharply contrasted his black hoody beneath black shirt beneath newly-sutured camouflage. That was the end of his warmth, his meager meal, and his water, I thought. I felt sorry for him. While the low 40s may not be cold to some, for anyone around Texas it certainly is. For anyone who spends all day every day outside it is. She smiled and kept walking, then something amazing happened.
Another couple sat at the table just behind ours. Apparently, the man sitting there was just as nosy as I was. he got up, and got the manager. They were close enough to our table I could hear what he was saying. “Excuse me, miss. That man there at the end of the row. I want you to give him whatever he wants for dinner and put it on my bill.” The manager looked shocked. “That’s very, err, cool of you. Where are you sitting?” The man motioned to his table, they separated.
The parade of wait staff hadn’t ended, and one waiter was talking prices with the man, who was clearly on the verge of tears. The waiter told him he could get him just a taco, but it would be 4.95. The man pulled a fistfull of change and began counting it on the table. Both of them realized it wouldn’t be enough, and the man hung his head while the waiter said, let me just go check on something. Near the back, the manager had gathered the wait staff, spoke with them briefly, and they all went back to their sections, casting knowing glances at each other as they went. Shortly, our waiter went to the man’s table, and asked him what he’d like to eat. The man, clearly ashamed, admitted he couldn’t afford it, but the waiter told him not to worry about it, it had been taken care of. Anything there on the menu he could have.
Even in the soft light of the restaurant, the tear that began running down the man’s cheek was unmistakable. He ordered, and, like a child, asked if it would be okay if he got a coke, too. The waiter gave a jovial laugh and told him sure.
I kept an eye on the man throughout the rest of our meal, and I couldn’t quite place the emotion I saw on his face. It wasn’t exactly happiness; it was more akin to that deep joy you feel. Not the giddy pleasure, but that overwhelming feeling you get when everything finally seems like it’s on your side. The couple who offered to pay also had their left-overs boxed up and given to the man. They also made a deal with the waiter, that while they didn’t have cash, they’d make an extra-large tip if he could give the man some money on his way out. They just had one request. They wanted to know the man’s name.
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Please understand that I am fully aware that this man’s position in life is nowhere close to the bottom rung. Having spent some time in Ethiopia, I have a healthy appreciation for just how bad things can get, and I even understand that despite how terrible some of the conditions I saw there are, there are worse in other parts of the world. Please don’t think I’m disregarding these facts. For the first time, I will admit that I have seen children on the brink of starvation. I will admit that I have seen clotheless men lying face down in the dirt, and while I told myself they were sleeping, I know they probably weren’t. I have talked with these people, I have shared food with them. But even still, there’s such a great disconnect between their situation and what I can ever really understand. This man I saw, I realized tonight that I could very well be in his position. I read today about how tent cities are growing all over the country because people are out of work and out of home. Heart wrenching though the plight of the poor across the globe may be, there’s nothing quite like seeing it happen in your home town. In the restaurant you went to, knowing you’re paying way too much for the food anyway. It’s humbling, really. And a little embarrassing.
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The waiter was more than happy to oblige, and he went and sat down across from the man. They talked for several minutes, and he told how he had spent 8 years in prison, but he’s out now and has put away that lifestyle. He talked about how his mother recently died, after he’d been taking care of her. The waiter went to get him some more coke and make his rounds. He stopped at the other couple’s table, told them the man’s name was Doug.
Doug got the best meal he probably had in days. He was able to come in from the cold for a while, and he even got what was to him a delicacy, a coke. What a sight. I’m young, but I’ve managed to turn into quite the cynic, but despite all that, watching that couple give that man something he so obviously desired but couldn’t have got for himself made me realize a couple of things.
First, people aren’t just a complete loss. In these days of litigiousness and self-absorption, it was a refreshing to see someone who cared for another human being. Second, it showed me how even though I view a single meal at a restaurant as so insignificant, to someone, it’s a magic salve.
I didn’t see if the waiter actually passed on a portion of the tip like he said he would. Typically, I would be prone to believe he didn’t. But tonight? I’d be willing to bet he did.
