Despite my busy schedule as of late, I’ve found myself more able to indulge my impulses. Going for random walks. Leaving a social event when I’m tired instead of when I think it’s “right”. Revisiting my old routine of daytime naps.

This past week, I rekindled an old urge that, for some reason or other, I used to follow more often: donating leftover food to the homeless.

After a work event at the office this week, I found myself with the perfect opportunity. A variety of food remained in the office, from bananas and cookies to chips and soda. As time has gone on, after seeing that my coworkers–as socially conscious as they are–either throw leftovers away or allow said edibles to go to waste, I have assumed the responsibility of distributing the food to the less fortunate. This has been the case long before I set out on my journey through rent-independence.

So gathering a shopping bag full of items, I set out to find a proper home for the extra food. So I took one bag and headed north on my bike to my favorite sandwich shop. I had a few ideas where streetfolk might be lurking, so it didn’t take long to find one. He was an aging white man, perhaps 60, in thick glasses toting around a grocery cart stacked elaborately with belongings. I noticed him from a distance, sifting through a series of trash bins alongside a small apartment complex. So I rode towards him. When I got closer, I asked him if he was hungry.

“Yeah, sure,” he said, striding towards me. “Thank you.”

His vocal command was strong and his gait fluid. Had you put him in a suit and tie, he could’ve been my Classics professor. He accepted the bag and made his way back towards his belongings, before hesitating and turning back to look me in the eye.

“Do you know me?” he asked.

At first I thought it was a strange question. Something an amnesia patient might ask his brother from her hospital bed. As if the act of random benevolence was too baffling, it required explanation. He was sincerely curious.

“No,” I said.

“Oh,” he replied. “Well, thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Have a good day.”

And with that, I rode on to retrieve some sustenance of my own.

… … … … … …

Thanks to some distractions of the impulsive variety, two days later I found myself still holding on to the second bag of food. So I made haste to offload it, bringing it with me on a highway-happy workday down to the South Bay. But despite covering over 50 miles of thoroughfare, some through a variety of neighborhoods, I didn’t see a single homeless person. This, I admit, held an element of relief. If I saw no homeless people on the street, perhaps the problem was lessening. Or perhaps by some magic of irony, my desire to distribute free food was helping to eradicate the issue altogether.

Recognizing the unlikelihood of this, I pressed on searching for a recipient. It wasn’t until 6:00 that I spotted my first candidate. It was what appeared to be a skinny man crouched behind a grocery cart. Perfect.

I drove up to the cart, pulling up next to it while rolling down my passenger side window. I could barely see the man crouching behind the clump of stuff, and was trying to make out his appearance when I called out to him.

“Hey man, you hungry?”

The figure peeked out from behind the cache, and I began to make out his features. Your brain reacts quickly in moments of recognition, applying elements of visual cues to judgments about character in order to assess the status of a thing. Your brain, in most cases, also multi-tasks with unfathomable efficiency, following well constructed pathways to reach intended ends, and all without a single conscious thought. Its effectiveness lies in the ability to process thought while acting. Its vulnerability lies in the overlap on contradictory thought and action. This is why we sometimes bite our tongue while chewing gum. We are well aware of our chomping, but our brain is driving our tongue into the path of clamping pearly whites to meet a different end–to soothe itchy gums or satiate an unsettled nerve–before it can fire a synapse to stop the biting.

What am I getting at?

By the time I realized this guy wasn’t homeless, that his leather jacket was too trendy, his haircut too fresh, the stuff in his shopping cart too new, I was already asking him if he wanted something to eat. The look on his face was something between horror and confusion. This guy, who I soon found was just waiting for a friend to help him load his stuff into a car so he could move apartments, probably thought I was propositioning him. So before I could get an answer from him, I put my hand up and smiled as I looked down in shame, shaking my head as if I’d been caught in a practical joke.

“Ooooooh!” I said. “You’re not homeless!”

“Yeah, uh, no…” he replied.

“Very well then, my apologies!”

And I chuckled as I drove off, wondering if he had any idea of the extreme irony of the situation. Because here I am, totally home-free myself, offering food to a guy who’s on his way to his apartment. I smiled all the way to the next candidate, a man peddling at a highway exit. Only this time, I made sure he was in need of food before I asked.

I guess two out of three ain’t bad.

– TOH