In Which I Pass the Buck

I passed the buck today. I mean that very literally. Let me explain:

Yesterday, as I was walking to the bar (because let's face it, that's what I do), I saw a dude staggering towards me. He was bronzed, wearing jeans and flip flops, and very obviously drunk. I thought, "oh, goody. A shirtless douche."  I was about to eat my thoughts.

As I passed him, limping and cringing (because I just fucked up my heel), he held his leathery paw out for a fist bump. I was relieved that he hadn't asked me for spare change, because that's what I was expecting, and obliged. Because, fuck it, a fist bump is free, and kindness matters. This dude, who was indeed drunk, but also not a shirtless douche so much as just a happy, Mexican surfer, lit up. He beamed. And it was contagious.

I beamed. For no reason.

He unleashed a stream of Spanglish that I didn't understand a solitary lick of, but his smile spoke volumes, in just that moment.

As we parted, he whistled and called to me. I didn't even revisit my concern about him asking me for change, because he uplifted my mood so much that I'd have thrown him a buck for a forty if he wanted it.

Do you know what he did?

He dug into his pocket, and handed me a dollar.

For no reason.

Now, I've gotten to the point that I very rarely need this kind of help, and yesterday, I certainly didn't, but something in this man's heart made him want to give me a buck. He told me it was "from the heavens." He said, "I got it. I share it. Now you got it." And kissed his fingers, then held them to the sky.

Then we bumped fists again, as I burst into laughter.

As most of you know, I'm an atheist. Die-hard. I do not believe this buck came from the heavens. I don't believe I was magically entitled to it, or that I'd mysteriously need it soon.

I do, however, believe in that Mexican surfer dude's kindness. I believe in the inherent kindness of people. I believe kindness matters.

And I do believe I've lost too much of mine lately.

I decided that that buck wasn't mine. I was just carrying it. I decided I wouldn't spend it, but keep it with me for the next time someone asked if I had any spare change.

Today, that happened.

Moments ago, I passed the buck.

And I hope that kindness, and that joy, and that positivity follows it.

Perspective.

                At about 8 o’clock this morning, my wife and I were trying to figure out what to do about cigarettes. We usually make our own, but this morning, there were about a dozen tubes left. That means, of course, that I’m going to have to go to Rite Aid™ later and get a box. Not really a big deal, the store is a few blocks away, and an easy walk, but still a bit of a pain in the ass, because I have work I have to get done today. I’m going to be chained to the computer most of the day. I have deadlines to meet. So what’s our solution? She decided to send me to the corner store to tap the ATM for a couple bucks, grab a transitional pack of smokes in the meantime with a coupon, and withdraw a couple bucks to go get tubes later when I get the chance. It’s a good plan. Hell, I might as well take out a few more so I can begrudgingly go up to the Chop Shop on South Street and get my hair cut. I hate getting my hair cut, but part of being married means giving over aesthetic control to your wife. It’s a pain in the ass, but it has to be done, or there will be a nonsensical argument, and probably some name calling. So, off to the corner store I go.

                I tap the ATM, intending to take out 30 bucks, but the damned pain in the ass thing only dispenses twenties. 20 won’t cut it for what I need today, and 40 might earn me a free dirty look from the Mrs. Solution? Take out 40, give 10 to my wife. I’d like her to eat later, too. I go up to the counter with my coupon and some cash, and wait. Why am I waiting? The shopkeeper hasn’t noticed me yet. He’s busy preparing stacks of lotto paperwork. He’s 3 feet away. He still doesn’t see me. I’m the only one in the store. My wife has to go to work. He still hasn’t seen me. I’m getting annoyed. I clear my throat, and he still hasn’t looked at me. I come to this store at least once a day, what the fuck? Come on, dude! He’s still playing with those damn lotto tickets.

                As I’m waiting, and bitching in my head, a man walks in. He’s dirty; obviously homeless. His dog tags make less of a clink and more of a muted clunk, because they’re caked with who knows what. I hope he doesn’t come too close. I don’t do too well with people in general, and my experience in this city with the homeless has jaded me, even though I was one once. They aren’t like I was. A lot of them stay on the streets because they want to. They call themselves “train kids.” They go from city to city panhandling enough to get liquored up until they’re bored, and move on to the next city via train (this I know, because I had a conversation with a group of them before they demanded that I move on because, and I quote, they were “working”).

                The disheveled veteran (I assume he’s a veteran, because who else in their mid-forties / fifties walks around wearing dog tags) shuffles into the store. The door is propped open, because it’s already a beautiful day. As he ambles in, something halts him. It’s the wire coming from his prosthetic arm. He has one of those old-fashioned steel and plastic harness-type hooks instead of a left arm, and one of the cables caught the edge of the door. Now I feel bad. I’m bitching about stupid, mundane, everyday bullshit, and this guy went and left his left arm somewhere halfway across the world to protect my privilege to do so. I catch myself hanging my head in shame, and no one knows why but me. I watch him turn around. I’m assuming he’s going to unhook himself, for which I’m glad, because watching this pains me. He doesn’t unhook himself.

                Why?

                He doesn’t have a right arm, either.

Fuck.

Not even a hook.

I want to show him some sort of respect, but how?

Somehow, I don’t think a salute is appropriate.

He does a 360, and unhooks himself flawlessly.

He’s done this before.

Many times.

As I walk by, all I can think to do is smile, tip my hat, and whisper “thank you.”

I can barely get it out.

I will never forget this morning, and I won’t be complaining about too much today.