World Woes Cured by Spam

"Waves" photo copyright Wensheng Chen

I just got back home after a visit to the DMV, and I’m feeling rather unsettled. No, the visit itself was actually totally painless, relatively speaking. I timed my excursion so that I got there late in the day, and there was no line at all. The guy who gave me my ticket was even extra friendly and was cracking jokes about my T-shirt (the front says “HOLD ON TO YOUR BUTT” in large red letters). I only had to wait between ten and fifteen minutes for my number to be called, during which I was able to proofread three pages of a friend’s manuscript. I was just getting into my editing groove and was honestly almost frustrated that they called me so soon.

At any rate, after chatting with a nice lady about getting my new tags and being asked more wisecracking questions about my shirt by the security guard, I walked out to my car. As I was putting my new registration stickers on my license plate, I noticed a young man sitting near the sidewalk on one of those little concrete parking dividers. His posture exuded misery. His long hair was hanging down around his bowed head, obscuring his face, and occasionally he put his head all the way down cradling it in his arms. He looked distressed, not tired. Several times I thought about going over to him and asking him what was wrong. But I didn’t. I watched him the entire rest of the time that I was finishing my task, but never approached him. As I started up my car, he got up and wandered over to a nearby tree and leaned on it. He didn’t look that much happier than I had originally supposed. I drove away still wondering whether or not I should stop.

Here’s what unsettles me: why didn’t I help him? Was it because I don’t have the time? Definitely not. Was it because I don’t really care that much and don’t want to be bothered or sucked into whatever problem was plaguing him? No, I’m not that callous. Was it because he had stood up and was no longer looking quite so bereaved? I honestly don’t know. I asked myself these questions and others during my drive home. I’m still bothered by my behavior. I know it’s not necessarily a big thing, but how do I know it’s not? I’m disturbed that I seem to have bought into the current American attitude of “I’ve got mine, screw you,” if only temporarily. I really do think that as a culture, we tend to isolate ourselves from others. This isn’t right. Why is it so difficult for us to connect with strangers? What exactly are we risking that is so terrifying? What are we afraid of? I don’t like this culture of fear. It is at the heart of many things that are wrong with the world today. I placated myself somewhat with this thought: I feel that the fact that I’m even asking myself these questions brings me a tiny bit closer to being a decent human being than your average schmo, but not by much. Actions are what truly define you, not what’s in your head.

This incident reminded me of another time when I did stop to help somebody. I was driving home one day last year and a woman was half lying, half sitting on the sidewalk next to the bus stop. I immediately pulled into the adjacent parking lot and went to her side to see what was wrong. She couldn’t remember why she fell. I helped her up and sat with her on the bench for several minutes. I asked her if I should stay with her, but she swore she was fine. She also told me that she had been there for a while. Nobody else had stopped. Mind you, this is on a busy street with lots of traffic. What the hell? And I know some of you may be thinking, “Well, bless you for stopping. You are such a good person to help her.” Bullshit. Forgive my French, but that is nonsense. I really don’t understand why helping another human being you’ve never met before suddenly earns you a Good Samaritan trophy and makes you eligible for beatification right on the spot. It should just be what people do. The real issue is: what is wrong with everybody else that they didn't stop? I am amazed and saddened by this.

I can’t help but think what a different place this world would be if nobody was afraid to help a stranger--if we all felt so connected to one another, simply as fellow human beings, that there would never be any question or hesitation about helping. It should be a given. Helping others should be the default behavior, not the other way around. I apologize for the somewhat downtrodden and perhaps even bitter tone of this post, but I really am disturbed by this. I am disturbed by and ashamed of my own inaction today. I can’t help wondering what that young man is doing right now and if he is ok.

And now for something completely different (and a much lighter note): earlier today as I was waiting on the sidewalk for the light to change, a friend pulled up and called, “Hey baby! Watcha doing?” at me. It made me laugh and smile all across my face. I love living in a neighborhood where I know enough people that someone I know can randomly drive by when I’m walking down the street. That’s a pretty monumental achievement in a city of nearly one and a half million.
And the back of my shirt reads, “Our beaches and streets are not ashtrays,” courtesy of Surfrider Foundation