Beggars and Choosers

Travel enough to any city and the ever-presence of folks who live on just the flimsiest sheen of existence become part of the never-changing landscape.

A trip through such public domains as New York City's Pennsylvania Station, a hub that connects Amtrak trains, Long Island Rail Road, New Jersey PATH and MTA, is a nexus of travelers, commuters and visitors. Yet sprinkled amongst the colors of those in transit are the small gray sights of those who are not there to travel at all.

I have seen the people approaching visitors as they stream through the large open spaces in the train station. Usually just a whisper, or a gesture. No hands being extended, just an approach.

"Can you spare something?"

Obviously it's money. But sometimes it's just a remark. A response. And usually, because of what I feel is my sometimes glaring blindspot for compassion, I give neither. No response. No money. No glare, no stare.

Merely looking ahead, to the turnstiles and steps that take me away from this subterranean space and back out into the daylight.

The hardening shell around me. I see my fellow travelers in the same vein, hurried, never stopping, never participating. In some way my excuse is that they have shown me how to deal with these small intrusions...the same way one might deal with a slight spitting rain. Indifference. Just get me to my destination. I've traveled long enough.

And frankly the people soliciting know this as well. There isn't a follow up question. There isn't a raising of the voice just in case you didn't hear. They're fishing, with only their appearance or our compassion to attract us to each other, and in the sea of crushing commuters there is a pretty good chance they'll not leave empty-handed. So they expect the brush-by, and merely wait for the next person.

I say that as back-drop into the usual situations where I find myself approached. But I recently had a different experience, and frankly while my actions didn't differ, my reactions did.

As I was coming up the part of Penn Station that opens up to 7th Avenue, a lady actually put herself in my path. She was normally dressed, that is, she didn't appear to be grossly impoverished, and she was carrying a couple of bags. Just as I was walking towards her, I saw a man fishing a dollar out of his wallet to give to an entirely different elderly lady. A lady who looked like she had left poverty years ago and was in full blown disaster mode. Disheveled, dirty, barely intelligible. I saw the well-dressed man hold out the dollar like a sacrament, and she accepted it as such.

So this was my last view before this other lady popped up in front of me.

"Sir", she started, which caused me a bit of a pause, because she clearly wanted my attention. I looked at her briefly.

"could you help me and..."

She had lost me, and she knew it, her voice trailing off, broken off against me. She had seen enough people passing by that my slight pause and then readjustment of my sightline well past her indicated that I was in fact, not going to stop.

But I did. About 50 feet past her. I didn't stop next to her, but continued walking until almost to the escalator. And then I turned around.

I didn't take any steps back. I didn't do anything else. My luggage, stupidly spread out in three separate bages, tugged heavily at me.

I looked to see if I could see her among the onslaught of commuters, and of course I couldn't.

And I felt like I had stolen something. Felt like I had taken a piece of her. Something she had offered up, a complete stranger, and I had batted it out of her hands.

I didn't do anything else, these emotions pinpricking in my head and a slight spill of disgust pooling. I saw nobody else stopping.

I emerged from the stairs and into the loveliness of a dusk in the city. The sidewalk was set up with a table, with an empty water jug collecting coins for the homeless.

I joined the rest of the people, walking by. Not stopping. Glaring at the faces of strangers who I didn't know, didn't care to know. Hoping they wouldn't sense my shame...or the copper-taste of disappoint that suddenly filled my mouth in how I had behaved.