Hustlers
She spoke quickly. She said to me, " Can I ask you a question?"
An older black woman, perhaps sixty. She had speks of facial hair, her make-up was bright and clownish. She stood in the cold and walked right up to my face as I walked out of the barbar shop.
I replied, "Sure." My haircut felt good and I was wearing my new cable knit sweater, a treat for a hard month.
"Do you know anything about electronics? The trunk of my BMW locked up and I left my purse and everything in there. Are you a student? I called BWU, and they said the locking mechenism cannot be broken into."
"No, I'm a legal assistant?"
"Is that right, I'm an attorney for Donald and Dweyer, 1516 K street. Only the 3rd largest law firm in DC."
"Is that right?" I said. "No I've never heard of Donald and Dweyere, but I'm down on 17th and Penn. So sorry ot hear about your car."
Her coat was too big for her. Her face was shriveled and shivered a bit. Her eyes gave it away. They are vacant of compassion and hungry. I looked her in the eyes and she touched my arm and said, "Do you think you could loan an old woman some cab fare to get her spare key?"
Maybe she would go and buy a bottle of vodka an once of weed and laugh about the gullible legal assistant with a beau.
She said, I'll pay you a $100 plus."
I said, "How much?"
She said, "I need at least $60, the cab ride there and back."
"Listen, I can't spare $60."
She spoke more attoney talk, things about anti-trust, life as an attonrey, wines and the latest trends for the holidays.
It takes a lot for a person to beg. They place themselves at the mercy of others. My dad had always taught me that hard work will take you anywhere, and it has. It was never a verbal lesson, but more a way of his life which I have since picked up.
I told her to wait and I went to the ATM. She wanted to talk about Patriot Act regulations and said, "Hold on"
I took money from an ATM and gave her $40. I hugged her, told her I trusted her to do the right thing. She wanted to cry. When she hugged me, she remined me of my mom's elder aunt who lived with us in a one bedroom apt in East Boston with her two kids. I would want to sleep in her bed everynight because she would tell me stories. I hugged her for a while and told her, "I trust you, Ms."
I walked away to the gym, new hair cut, new sweater, a bit more humbled.
An older black woman, perhaps sixty. She had speks of facial hair, her make-up was bright and clownish. She stood in the cold and walked right up to my face as I walked out of the barbar shop.
I replied, "Sure." My haircut felt good and I was wearing my new cable knit sweater, a treat for a hard month.
"Do you know anything about electronics? The trunk of my BMW locked up and I left my purse and everything in there. Are you a student? I called BWU, and they said the locking mechenism cannot be broken into."
"No, I'm a legal assistant?"
"Is that right, I'm an attorney for Donald and Dweyer, 1516 K street. Only the 3rd largest law firm in DC."
"Is that right?" I said. "No I've never heard of Donald and Dweyere, but I'm down on 17th and Penn. So sorry ot hear about your car."
Her coat was too big for her. Her face was shriveled and shivered a bit. Her eyes gave it away. They are vacant of compassion and hungry. I looked her in the eyes and she touched my arm and said, "Do you think you could loan an old woman some cab fare to get her spare key?"
Maybe she would go and buy a bottle of vodka an once of weed and laugh about the gullible legal assistant with a beau.
She said, I'll pay you a $100 plus."
I said, "How much?"
She said, "I need at least $60, the cab ride there and back."
"Listen, I can't spare $60."
She spoke more attoney talk, things about anti-trust, life as an attonrey, wines and the latest trends for the holidays.
It takes a lot for a person to beg. They place themselves at the mercy of others. My dad had always taught me that hard work will take you anywhere, and it has. It was never a verbal lesson, but more a way of his life which I have since picked up.
I told her to wait and I went to the ATM. She wanted to talk about Patriot Act regulations and said, "Hold on"
I took money from an ATM and gave her $40. I hugged her, told her I trusted her to do the right thing. She wanted to cry. When she hugged me, she remined me of my mom's elder aunt who lived with us in a one bedroom apt in East Boston with her two kids. I would want to sleep in her bed everynight because she would tell me stories. I hugged her for a while and told her, "I trust you, Ms."
I walked away to the gym, new hair cut, new sweater, a bit more humbled.
posted by Class Officers at
12:46 AM
3 Comments:
This will sound naive...I'm always surprised that folks Over There beg! And it's not just me, people come back from vacation abroad and say, do you know, they have poor people on the streets there?
Sad but true, especially in our own nations capital.
It's really sad. My friend Shelley (http://www.complexuniverse.blogspot.com) was in Prague last month and she said that there were people begging there with their faces pressed to the cobblestone all day long. They didn't move. Can you imagine?
I wish there weren't so many homeless people, and I wish that more people had compassion for the illnesses and tragedies that force so many of them into that state. It's a big issue here in Toronto as well.
Post a Comment
Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]
<< Home