Setting Down the Privilege Backpack, One Pound at a Time
On learning to be inefficient
Skittering around the edge of the crowd, Penny did not approach me directly. Her dirty pink cap followed her eyes downward, arms folded tightly across her chest. She walked quickly, perhaps hoping I would notice and spare her the bravery of talking. And I did.
“Are you here for a shower today, Penny?”
Her head nodded quickly and I’d barely confirmed her on the list before she darted off to a distant bench, awaiting her turn.
Penny (not her real name) and a couple dozen others show up on Mondays at the shower truck near the university, and for the last month, so have I.
David was rocking back and forth on the bench, waiting his turn for a shower. Last week, before his shower, he’d trimmed his hair in the parking lot, asking for help for the back of his neck, and it still looked good. Others shave while they wait, or charge laptops, or sleep. A few pairs take turns watching their dog while the other showers. But David was just sitting there waiting, glancing over to my table every now and then, hoping to hear me call his name.
I waited too, wishing one of the shower doors would open so I could relieve David of his temporary powerlessness. I thought about times I had waited —…
