Memoirist Idol
Ian’s Big Decision: Dunkin or Subway?
“Good morning, Ian.” I waited as he looked up from his cement square on the sidewalk, back against the brick building, knees to his chest. His eyes took a few seconds to adjust to the bright sun behind me.
I smiled. “What will it be today — Dunkin or Subway?” Ian’s jeans were soiled and frayed at the bottom. They were the same ones he had worn the day before, and the day before that. His grey scraggly hair rested on his shoulders.
He smiled back, but there was no recognition behind his cloudy blue eyes. It was as if we had never played this game before. I repeated, “Dunkin or Subway — a $5 value,” and I held the two cards out for him to see. That day he chose Dunkin.
Little freedoms we take for granted each day, like a roof over our heads or a place to shower, are luxuries that those living on the streets must often go without. We take decision-making for granted, like whether to have carrots or broccoli, or whether to watch baseball or Netflix. We don’t even notice the many choices we make each day.
But, what if we had no options? Don’t choices equal power?
I moved back into New York City several years ago, and I was troubled by the number of homeless in my neighborhood and beyond. As our first winter approached, I watched as the “regulars” staked out scaffold-protected corners or heated grates.
Some held tattered cardboard signs that ranged from the clever, “I bet you $1.00 you will read this,” to the heartbreaking, “Seeking Human Kindness.”
That one resonated. What does human kindness look like?
I have a friend who runs a small food bank — an incredible commitment. And, I am in awe of Jose Andres, the humanitarian chef who founded the World Central Kitchen. When you talk about making a difference, it is these heroes that stand out.
But, I wanted to do something, even if it was small, right in my own neighborhood.
At the first snowfall, I zipped my puffy jacket and slipped fuzzy gloves over my fingers. I looped five homeless “gift” bags, full of Costco-inspired necessities, like socks, hats and gloves, over my arm. It took most of the winter to distribute the 25 bags I had assembled. Sometimes, I wouldn’t see any homeless. There were a couple of times when the would-be recipient gave me an insulted look and shook his head, “No.”
Had I inadvertently offered my gift to a non-homeless person?
I am familiar with the cautionary tale about vagrants spending their cash on alcohol and cigarettes. Honestly, I can’t say that I wouldn’t do the same thing, if my life had played out differently. Given the challenges of the gift bag idea, I decided that nourishment, or something that resembles it, might be the ideal solution.
I make a springtime decision to dole out $5 gift cards from Subway and Dunkin. It would be just enough for a six-inch sub or a hot coffee and a muffin — plus, they fit in my pocket!
It turns out that the best part of my routine — the part that often takes close to a minute — is when I offer my recipients the opportunity to make a decision. Subway or Dunkin?
Most times, we erupt into spontaneous smiles, as they process what I am asking. They weigh their options. I ask their name. I offer mine. They seem to like the game. If I see two people sitting near each other, I notice the second one, watching and waiting expectantly, six feet away.
Once in Times Square, Ben flashed a devious grin, and said, “I’ll take both.” I returned his smile, and said conspiratorially, “Sorry, just one per person. I know it’s a tough decision.”
Waiting in line to purchase the cards is a hassle, so I tried ordering from the websites. Subway has an online minimum of $20 per card. Dunkin charges a $1.50 activation fee per card. Perhaps this is an effort to thwart my plan, as it may not be the marketing promotion of their dreams.
So, I keep 50 gift cards in my drawer. I carry ten in my pocket. I have a running mental tally of which card is more popular — it is currently 60–40, with Subway in the lead.
Ian is back at his sidewalk spot. Could the warmth of a human connection, the promise of a snack, and the momentary decision-making power, make his day a little better?
His smile sure makes mine.
On a Day in Melbourne Long Ago I Left a Little Girl to Her Fate. I love the way The Celtic Chameleon captures the heartbreak and helplessness of a moment in time. Beautifully written.
