Soup for You

Last week, I wrote a post about some of my experiences with the homeless in Chicago (and Indiana), primarily sharing observations, and a lot of ambivalence. I recognized that I am uncomfortable with the idea of people living on the streets—shouldn’t this be disconcerting to all of us?—but I also realized that I am wary of giving out money I have when I don’t know how it’s going to be spent. I resolved that if I don’t feel comfortable handing over cash, then I should simply contribute in other ways. So, it was ironic that, two days after I wrote the first draft of that blog post, my boss sent out an email asking for some of the team to serve dinner at a Catholic center that provides meals to the homeless each week. I had no qualms about responding immediately to her email.

Tonight at the kitchen, we all did our small share in feeding 100+ hungry people, and aside from satisfied stomachs, the thing that dominated the dinner hall was happiness. And happiness, even if it comes and goes, is undeniably contagious when present.

Before the dinner, I had honestly forgotten what it feels like to be in a room filled with that many smiling, happy, grateful people. I smiled so much tonight that my jaw hurt, and on the walk home, I smiled at every person I passed on the sidewalk, which is something I hardly ever do. (Ear-to-ear smiles, not the half-assed “oh, hey” kind of pasted-on smile that I usually offer to strangers.) It’s actually been a very long time since I felt as happy as I did tonight.

There was a lot of mutual appreciation at the center tonight. It was such a pleasure for me to be there, rather than at home, alone, curled up with my computer on the couch (something I enjoy after work, but a bit of a bad, sad habit). It is always nice to speak to people who are genuinely happy to have you around, and I tried to make sure that each of those people knew that I was just as grateful to have them there, too. The attendees thanked us all repeatedly, and I thanked them right back. Aside from air of urgency surrounding the food tables, everyone was just relaxed, exchanging healthy banter, jokes, and food. No one seemed sad or angry during that hour and a half. All those people in one room and everyone in a good mood? It seems impossible even under the most favorable circumstances, but from what I could see that was definitely the spirit tonight. There was a lot of sustenance in the room.

Considering Chicago’s Homeless Population

Two days ago, I was coming into my apartment complex through the alley, and I saw the garbage man locking up the trash cans. My initial thought was something along the lines of, “Seriously?” I know that that’s part of his job, but really, all I could think was that the transients I often see reaching into trash cans on the El platform were completely locked out. I mean, is it really necessary to lock up people's trash? But then again, I know the city has to be concerned about people sleeping in the dumpsters, let alone rummaging though, and I have to admit that being greeted by throngs of transients every day when I try to enter my apartment building is a little disconcerting. I understand the safety issues. Yet, there’s something absurdly inhumane about locking a dumpster closed.

The first time I ever visited Chicago, I was not prepared for the number of homeless on the streets (a lot of tourists are like this—I see the mixed reactions on their faces all the time on Michigan Ave., and watch them hand over loose change on the train). No one warned me about this before I came to the city that winter, and it broke my heart to see people standing out in the frigid February begging for money. Yet, I was simultaneously uncertain how to react. It's difficult to hand over money to someone you know nothing about, whether good or bad.

The day I moved to Chicago I had a scary experience with an irate homeless man. My roommates had taken me along with them to a free concert in Millennium Park, followed by a drink with their friends in Lakeview. On our walk back toward Uptown, I was verbally attacked by this man, who bee-lined for me, and screamed choice words to tell me that he was gong to kill me. My male roommate jumped between us and told him to back off, at which point the crazed-eyed man spat on my roommate’s shoes and continued his swift pace in another direction. I’d never been verbally attacked by a stranger before, and I’d never had my life deliberately threatened. My roommates assured me that they had never seen anything like that before, despite years of living in Chicago. I chocked it up to a fluke, and went on with my day. I did, however, purchase pepper spray the next day, and became rather wary of my surroundings and strangers in general.

I’m never sure how to feel about transients, and, specifically, what I can or should do about their situation. The economy sucks. And even when it doesn’t, there are honest people out of work and home. But at the same time, that man who came toward me screaming expletives at my face was clearly out of his mind, and if, in fact, he was high or drunk, I do not feel that I should contribute to that habit. Because I do not know who I'm dealing with when I bump into someone on the street, I am very wary of how to respond.

I know that people wind up on the streets for wide and varied reasons. What I don't know is what to do about it. If I give someone a dollar, he will probably still be homeless tomorrow, but maybe he will eat. Or maybe he will feed an addiction. I know some people who say, "Who cares what the person does with the money? That's their prerogative." I don't really agree with that philosophy. I don't want to help someone destroy him or herself.

If you live in Chicago, you see homeless men and women everyday. On the El; on the streets; outside your local Walgreens; on the intersections as you’re walking to work; sleeping in the underpasses. Do you give them money? Or do you just keep walking? This is a dilemma I face nearly every day, when I encounter someone who asks me for change.

Please read my follow-up post: Soup for You.