Ouch

The fold-down cabinet door that serves as my table has a corner very much like a woodcarving chisel. I’ve had a few very minor collisions with it over the years, but I hit it real hard the other day, gouging off a strip of epidermis. I bled for a while, using up a couple of tissues before it eventually clotted. As I learned in Boy Scouts, apply pressure to the wound. Then this morning I accidentally scrubbed off part of the scab. A little more bleeding, a little more pressure with a tissue.

I keep telling myself to do something about that corner. It’s a threat whenever I try to retrieve something from under the bed. Most times I think to put my hand over the corner. Sometimes I forget.

I think I might still have some epoxy putty I could shape a nubbin with. It’s probably stored under the bed. I’ll need to be careful when I check. But I could be stupid.

Human to human

As I was walking into a grocery store a disheveled man pushing a shopping cart filled with his possessions said something to me I didn’t understand—probably because I was expecting he would ask for money. And because my hearing sucks.

I asked, “What?”

He repeated, “You’re nicely color coordinated.”

I was wearing what some might call an outfit rather than a random selection of clothing. My shirt and pants were both the same raw sienna color. And my shoes were a similar yellow-brown. These clothes were bought at separate times but, oh, hey, look how they work together.

The man’s comment surprised me. “Um yeah, it’s sort of a uniform, I guess.”

We shared a chuckle and he went on his way. No panhandling, simply a kind human exchange.

It made me think about how we tend to dehumanize street people, how we think they’re not like us at all. “Oh, they’re all just ___________________.” But we’re not all that different. Sure, some have addictions or mental problems. Some are lazy. Some are scammers or thieves. But so are some of the people with homes. We’re just differentiated by money. Some of the “respectable” people, the “good” people, are as penniless as the beggars, or about to be. And when we’re going through rough times we hope others will see our struggle, see us as a fellow human, and maybe help a little.

By the time all this made its way through my brain and into my heart, the friendly ragged man was gone. I hope I remember these things the next time I cross paths with someone in need—even if they don’t compliment my wardrobe.