I went to San Francisco for work recently. Due to restrictions on what hotels I can use and what I am allowed to pay per night, my pickings were pretty slim for places I knew and had previously enjoyed positive experiences while staying there. I was not in the mood to be adventurous with my hotel choice given the daunting task of the work ahead of me during that week in my favorite US city.
The hotel I chose was deep in the Tenderloin district and while it had the nice benefit of being 1.1 miles from work so that I got a nice walk in before and after my business day, it also has the downside of being rife with, in my opinion, the most economically disadvantaged of the city. Walking from the BART station, which is how I get from the airport to downtown, was 9 solid blocks of being asked for money though one enterprising man did offer to sell me socks…brand new, he noted!
Not quite raining, but more than drizzling, I hurried to my hotel, wanting to avoid becoming a soggy mess but unable to zip by those requesting assistance without at least taking a moment to decline their offer to give money…but it just seems so wrong to ignore as if unheard.
I also wanted to get a planned run in and had to take advantage of the break in the downpour that had been falling as we landed. Thankful for the reprieve, for those like me that wanted to be outside, from the Pineapple Express deluge! Once I checked in I hurried to change into my running gear and headed out the door. I’d taken only three strides when I was stopped and asked for money. I used my hands to outline my body, showing that I had nothing on me…I’d come without my running belt so I was carrying my room card key in my bra, phone in hand and otherwise had nothing on me and yet the begging persisted until I made it several blocks up to California Street and could really open up and fully run without being stopped by those actively seeking monetary assistance.
An hour and a half later, I returned to the hotel…and you likely guessed it…panhandled actively from the moment I got back to the Tenderloin until I walked into the hotel. This was going to be an at least twice daily phenomenon. What to do, what to do?
Kismet, in the form of having forgotten a toiletry item, took me to a Walgreens where I saw a large, individually wrapped chocolate chip cookie marked down to 25c. I read the label. It wasn’t healthy by any means, but I’ve surely seen worse. And then it struck me. Cookies for a quarter! I asked how many they had and the guy jokingly replied how many do you want? 100. 100? Yep, 100!
25.00 later…no tax which the cashier and I both found odd…I walked out of the store with 100 cookies neatly stored in my bag and a smile on my face. I said “Have a good day!” and the cashier said “Have a good giving” and in that moment I was struck that it was exactly my plan—to have a good giving!
Using my favorite Thirty One bag, I was able to load up a dozen in the outside pockets and placed on in my right hand and had the bag over my left shoulder and walked down the street. As I was asked for anything, I would ask if I could give them a cookie. I had one decline from a man who thought it would be too hard for him to chew and otherwise I watched people take it with smiles that day. And many that said thank you.
So the next morning I was able to give 11 away on the way to the office, some handed with conversation, some left beside wrapped, sleeping forms in doorways, hoping they’d discover a surprise and have a smile upon waking.
Home, another 9 given out and so on each day…coming and going with cookies handed out regularly along the way.
And I also realized that part of what I enjoyed was the smile from the recipient. Certainly, I appreciate a thank you, but saw the smiles that came from deep within so many. Thursday morning I rounded Post for a left onto Kearney and nearly ran into a man standing in filthy rags, his face deeply grimy but with the most beautiful, soulful blue eyes. A man who had once been handsome in his youth, of this I am sure, but time and lack of basic personal care had taken a toll on him. “COOKIE GIRL!” I was a little surprised he remembered me, but I surely had recalled those eyes from Monday night. I asked if he’d like another and he said he would if I didn’t mind giving him another.
I’m often so struck by the majority of those so deeply in need that still don’t want to take more than ‘their share’ and yes there are exceptions and some that would do a grab of all they can get, the vast majority are mindful that they had some while others had none. I had two left in my bag and asked if he’d like them both. He said he’d share it with someone and told him that was his choice, but I was giving them to him.
A few blocks later I turned right on California and walked into my climate controlled office. I thought of that man and how he’d likely be incredibly aware of the temperature, the ability to wash my hands before making a new cup of tea. The ability to use a restroom when the urge struck. The ability to safely store my lunch in a fridge without worry of it being there later or inadequate for my needs. The ability to go and get more food if I so needed or desired. It stirred up again the questions I have long been asking myself. How can I, or anyone for that matter, really and truly HELP the homeless.
I don’t know the answer. Oh how I wish that I did. Or that someone did.
I don’t know how to bring the homeless issue to a conclusion of housing for all that want it. Food for all that need it. Jobs for those willing. Quality nutrition for everyone. Mental health care for those who need it. The list goes on and on. And while I’ve often given out more substantial food than a cookie, that was what I went with this particular week. If I can bring a smile to a face and put a cookie in a hand, then that is what I will do.
What will you do?
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