I Gave a Homeless Man Pizza, What I Got in Return Was So Much More
It showed me how wrong I was upon feeling so sure I was right.
Classifications Based on Hierarchy
During my time as an ER nurse, you come to grow a perceived intuition of the patients that walk through the sliding doors.
They are categorized based on demographic, the area of the city they reside in, and the way they treat the health care staff. The rich (which we don’t see much of), the middle class (average intake of patients), and the poor(bingo, the most common census) all share a certain trait — suffering.
I am granted the privilege to see these different worlds of suffering. All aspects of human life are projected through one’s current state of health. Though, one’s level of survival will be vastly different than another’s.
And while the rich/middle class tends to stay afloat, the homeless population seems to be gasping for air.
The Truth is
They never had a chance. Forced into the deep depths of survival, they use wit and project guilt to get what they want. They know that they can be picked up by an ambulance and be brought into the hospital to get fed or clothed by playing the faux legitimate medical condition card.
That, or they drop in tanked because a bystander found them passed out on the sidewalk from a drunken binge.
Working in the health care field encourages the stereotyping/generalizations of certain groups whom you take care of. You automatically think since one homeless person has caused problems; they must all be the same. It’s quite difficult to remove that label.
When it comes to the clear and concise judgment of anything, we fucking suck at it.
Stereotypes are second nature to us as much as I would like to say they aren’t. This unconscious bias and fruitful expectations of others are what I blame. Let’s get real. When it comes to the clear and concise judgment of anything, we fucking suck at it. A human’s mind is as clear as mud. In my opinion, if we all removed these expectations and treated everyone and everything as a clean slate, a preconception about something or someone would never exist in the first place.
I was starting to categorize these homeless individuals that we got day after day into the same mold. Stereotyping to the nth degree.
Until I met a certain homeless man
It was a bright and cloudless night. The moon was vibrant, and its light swallowed the sky as I was leaving the dungeon-like atmosphere of the ER.
My ankles were sore, my feet slightly swollen, my hips were worn from bending down all day, my knees weak, and flat out mentally exhausted. Hence the climactic finish to every shift.
I hadn’t brought any chicken out from the freezer to cook, and I would have rather died than thawed something at that moment (I know you feel me reading this). Low and behold the beautiful red, white, and blue colors were gleaming as I was driving. Not the American flag. Domino's Pizza; saving the day once again.
After my purchase with my pizza in hand, I decided to sit under the moonlit sky. It was oddly breezy with a spectacle of an astronomical show. After about roughly five minutes into indulging I hear a loud, broad voice to my right.
Long, slicked-back hair, and a dirty t-shirt while donning black eye-liner — the Undertaker in the flesh.
I take a look and it’s this gentleman with long, slicked-back hair, and a dirty t-shirt while donning black eye-liner — the Undertaker in the flesh.
“Damn, Dominos is busy as hell tonight, huh?” He asked as he cracked his Pabst Blue Ribbon tallboy.
I sarcastically reciprocated, “Well yes, it is a pizza joint on a Friday night after all.”
He then fixates on the pepperoni pizza before me, ignoring the remark I made. “Hey man, what can I give you for a slice of pizza?”
I was sort of mind-boggled at this question. This may seem like something small, but the fact that he offered to exchange one of his belongings for a slice of pizza instead of just asking for something outright was a different experience than what I was used to.
I replied, “Honestly dude I don’t give a shit, just kick back and have a couple of slices.” He replied, “Wow, thanks, man!” Gladly accept the offer. “You want a beer?” He graciously added. “No thanks,” I replied.
He had seen that I was dressed up in my hospital scrubs. “Are you a doctor?” He asked, mid-chew.
I replied, “No sir, I’m a nurse.” He followed up with, “Wow, what is it like working with neurosurgeons?”
Without pulling any punches I replied, “Well depending on what rung of the ladder they’re on, some are nice, and some are pricks. It’s like a game of roulette basically, like anybody else in health care.”
He then got very serious, his makeup emphasizing his gaze. “Would … you believe me if I told you I was a neurosurgeon at one time?”
He then got very serious, his makeup emphasizing his gaze. “Would ... you believe me if I told you I was a neurosurgeon at one time?” I looked at him puzzled for a moment, “Not that it isn’t out of the realm of possibilities, but fuck no. Maybe the WWE will sign you”.
We both broke out in laughter.
After a short time sitting with this man, exchanging some banter, laughs, and stories, I had a growing fascination with his way of life. Not just the tragedy, but the way his charisma gleamed through his words and demeanor. I wanted to know more.
Brandon
He had originally lived in Tallahassee, FL as according to him was a haven for the homeless population. But it was largely based on college life and he decided he needed a change.
Upon hitch-hiking his way to New Orleans, he explained that he got hooked on crystal meth. “That shit will ruin your life, hence me being homeless,” he joked.
Although he was laughing he turned away for a moment, sipping his beer as he gazed into the dead of night, as if searching for answers. I stopped laughing at this point. His body language displayed pain and anguish as clear as day.
We’ve all undergone those gut-wrenching, psychologically destabilizing moments that change us forever.
We all experience a significant loss in life, it’s inescapable. We’ve all undergone those gut-wrenching, psychologically destabilizing moments that change us forever, and when mentioned, can give us a sense of temporary disruption as the past trauma is rehashed. A reminder, yet again, of the power it may have over you.
In that brief moment, his nature was transparent, and I could see that he was trying to forget. The over-analyzer I am, I started to wonder if he lost somebody to this.
Is his addiction the reason he was homeless, to begin with?
What did his version of rock bottom look like?
My mind was on a flight of ideas as to what could have caused this. I was about to try to crack this out of both empathy and intrigue. Instead, I joined him in his moment of silence.
He was, after all, a stranger.
Soon, the moment was over, and the discomfort of silence was interrupted with humor. It saved him from an impending confession of his current state of mind. His alleged trauma was gone with the cool breeze sweeping by us. He seemed rather chipper now.
He sipped his beer and talked of his pending descent to California when he scrounged up enough petty cash. Finally, after a little more jokes, sips, and stories of crazy homeless pow-wows, the pizza was no more. My food coma had set in, and it was time to call it a night.
“Alright, I’m calling it quits bud, what are you up to tonight?” I asked, genuinely curious about his plans.
He replied, “Maybe hit the McDonald’s parking lot for dessert,” with a cheeky smile across his face. “God-speed my friend,” I said while half-laughing.
Upon leaving, I realized we had never exchanged names.
“By the way, my name’s Steven, nice to meet you man,” I said as I reached out for a handshake.
He freed one hand of about six beers he would inevitably drink to return the formality. “Nice meeting you too man, thank you for the pizza. Name’s Brandon, you sure you don’t want a Pabst before you take off?”
I politely declined and we went our separate ways.
The Revelation
You always hear that blanket statement from modern/middle-class society, “We need to feed and help the homeless.”
We have homeless shelters in place, and plenty of food distribution/voluntary positions in which we can help them, help themselves.
But there is a problem that isn’t quite addressed.
Here’s a little food for thought:
We need to get to the source of why someone would be homeless, to begin with. Am I opinionated and maybe a little overzealous? Maybe, but more often than not, I don’t see homeless, I see alcoholism.
More often than not, I don’t see homeless, I see alcoholism.
I don’t see poor; I see drug addiction. I don’t see poor hygiene, I see mental health issues.
In essence, we need to delve into the core of homelessness and the problems that arise from the roots, not what grows and what we see. And the piss-poor outpatient mental health clinics and services just aren’t cutting it. The stigmatization is repressing it. And the overall society (like I was) is ignoring it.
Are there some bad people that are homeless? Yes. But many good people never had the chance to prosper.
I hate writing all of this to neglect a solution as, ironically, I wrote the classic blanket statement I hate so. But what we need is a more tolerant view towards vulnerable populations — a pivot in behavioral tendencies. That’s not a big ask.
It always matters that there is a ‘start.’
From the span of leaving our conversation to opening my car door, these were the thoughts racing through my mind.
Not only did I have one of the most interesting and funniest conversations I’ve had in a while, but I was also somewhat indignant with myself at the way I portrayed the vulnerable population of homelessness.
It will take time for me to condition my thoughts to think differently. To be less jaded. But I want to get there.
I know the man probably lacks a laptop to read this post, or maybe there is no way for him to know or read this.
“Thank you, Brandon.”
You’ve been an intervention to my thought process and should be deemed the ambassador of homeless people.
I will still go to that same Domino’s to attempt to learn more about your life, hoping the same pepperoni pizza shines as the bat signal in the sky for you.
And if you bring some beers, I’ll take you up on your offer this time pal.
Thank you for reading
