Out On The Streets

I’ve probably said this a few dozen times before - but I really hate my daily commute. Today there was a car stalled on the shoulder with a guy behind it waving for help. The car in front of me decided to stop, which was nice of them, but instead of pulling onto the shoulder, he stopped right in the lane of traffic and got out of his car. Yes, he left it there, blocking everyone behind him.

Meanwhile, I was stuck there behind him as everyone was speeding around me. So I gave a nice little tap on the horn, raised up my hands to show my frustration, and they both dismissed me with their little glares of contempt. Apparently he has no clue that the freeway - with a minimum speed limit of 40 - is not a parking place. Now I understand why they spend so much money in this city on widening the shoulders rather than building more lanes.

The freeways in Minneapolis/St Paul are a mess. Tons of money goes into 394 because that’s the route all the important people take, but the rest of the roads are about 40 years behind Minneapolis’s growth spurt.

As much as I truly hate my daily commute, I don’t miss working downtown so much. Like any inner city, you have to deal with the annoying parking issues and expenses, and then of course the lovely panhandlers. If you zip in and out of downtown with reserved ramp parking, it’s probably not so bad. But when you walk around a lot, you find yourself running into some beggars from time to time. It’s the main reason I stopped carrying cash and change, because I’d always give them a little money so they’d leave me alone. My theory was that if I didn’t have any money to give, I wouldn’t give it. And I’m fairly confident 98.5% of those panhandling on the downtown sidewalks aren’t using their earnings for constructive purposes, so as far as I’m concerned they had no business taking any money from me. I don’t have much to give anyway.

Once while living in South Minneapolis during the early days of college, I was getting into my car to go to a class and a homeless guy came up and started jiggling the passenger side door handle as if he was going to get in. I never sped away so fast in my life. Was driving a 5-speed at the time, and I never realized I could shift like that. It took about ten blocks for my knees to stop shaking.

Sometimes they’ll try to butter you up, and they’ll strike up a lengthy conversation with you. Apparently this must make people feel more required to pay up as you feel like you’ve wasted their time otherwise. Even if it means walking along with you for 3-4 blocks, they’re persistent and will talk your ear off like a salesman.

One time I got into a fairly interesting conversation with a younger homeless fellow while walking to a class. He was talking about how long he’s been living on the streets and how hard it can be to stay warm. Somewhere out of the blue I asked the question “Why are you on the streets?” Immediately after asking it I realized I probably didn’t actually want to know the answer, as it might reveal just exactly what kind of person I’m consorting with. But obviously I was interested. One can probably come up with a few guesses why a person would be living on the streets, but you really shouldn’t jump to conclusions - even with homeless folks. You never know, the circumstances could be tragic and out of their control.

But this fellow’s answer boiled down to this: “Because my parents don’t understand me.” Hmm, seemed like a pretty deep answer, so my curiosity compelled me to dig a little deeper and I asked “What don’t they understand about you?” And he answered, “They don’t understand that I want to be on the streets.” Didn’t really answer my question, so I took it as an ‘I don’t want to talk about it’ or a ‘you don’t want to know.’

But then I thought about it for a while and perhaps he really did mean ‘I want to be on the streets’ in the literal sense. He’s on the streets, begging for money, homeless, and freezing in Minnesota’s subzero winter temperatures, and there’s nowhere else he’d rather be? I don’t really buy it, but I suppose this could be one of the many things in this world that I couldn’t ever understand.

It’s hard to imagine what could be wrong with going home to your loved ones in a nice, warm, quiet, and comfortable home of your own every day. But then I start thinking of my old friend who used to have to shovel decapitated cow heads into a furnace at a slaughterhouse 12 hours a day for $6 an hour. There can’t be many jobs worse than that, and if that were my only option I’d probably be begging for quarters on the streets as well.