True Tales of a New York City Cab Driver #8
Homeless in the Winter
I drove west along Canal Street on my way across town. In the back seat of the cab was a middle-aged man in a heavy coat and hat. It was a frigid January ...night, and I had the heat up all the way to keep my feet warm. As we went slowly along through the salty slushy street I noticed a couple of homeless men huddled in a doorway. The sight was so appalling to me the I said to my passenger: "Poor guys. What must it be like to have to spend the night outside like that?"
He grunted without compassion and said, "Don't waste your sympathy on them. They don't have to be there."
"How can you say that? Don't you think they'd be indoors if they had a choice?"
"They do have a choice," he answered. "You always have a choice."
"Well, I feel sorry for them in this weather."
I could see him looking at me thoughtfully in the mirror. After a long pause he spoke again. "You know, a year ago I was one of those guys. I was out there, staying out all night, drunk on whatever I could get my hands on. So don't tell me. I know. Somewhere along I realized that I didn't have to be there. And I got myself off the streets. And now I'm here riding along with you in a heated car. So don't feel sorry for them. They don't have to be there. They choose it."
I had nothing to say to that, wondering in awe at the hopeless unfathomability of the world and the people in it. And counted myself lucky to be who I was, and not one of those freezing destitute people, whether they chose to be there or not.
Homeless in the Winter
I drove west along Canal Street on my way across town. In the back seat of the cab was a middle-aged man in a heavy coat and hat. It was a frigid January ...night, and I had the heat up all the way to keep my feet warm. As we went slowly along through the salty slushy street I noticed a couple of homeless men huddled in a doorway. The sight was so appalling to me the I said to my passenger: "Poor guys. What must it be like to have to spend the night outside like that?"
He grunted without compassion and said, "Don't waste your sympathy on them. They don't have to be there."
"How can you say that? Don't you think they'd be indoors if they had a choice?"
"They do have a choice," he answered. "You always have a choice."
"Well, I feel sorry for them in this weather."
I could see him looking at me thoughtfully in the mirror. After a long pause he spoke again. "You know, a year ago I was one of those guys. I was out there, staying out all night, drunk on whatever I could get my hands on. So don't tell me. I know. Somewhere along I realized that I didn't have to be there. And I got myself off the streets. And now I'm here riding along with you in a heated car. So don't feel sorry for them. They don't have to be there. They choose it."
I had nothing to say to that, wondering in awe at the hopeless unfathomability of the world and the people in it. And counted myself lucky to be who I was, and not one of those freezing destitute people, whether they chose to be there or not.
