I
was in line at the bus terminal getting my pass for next week. It had
been a long day, an even longer week, and I was dog tired. I just
wanted to get my pass, get home, and relax. It was somewhat crowded,
the line fairly long, and there seemed to be a bit of a stir ahead of
me.
I couldn't see what was going on, I couldn't hear anything out of
the ordinary, but people off to the side kept looking over. Some seemed
disgusted, some were snickering, and some were laughing outright. And
while the clerk at the window was still on the same customer, the line
seemed to disintegrate in front of me, one by one. Until I stood a foot
behind him.
The first thing I noticed was the smell. It was the unmistakable
aroma of urine and sweat, so strong I had to back up a step and turn to
the side. No stale wine or alcohol, just the raw, unadulterated stench
of extreme poverty.
After a moment, I turned again to the front, and looked at the
elderly man just ahead. I say elderly, as that was my first impression,
but on looking closer I saw he appeared to be in his sixties, not so
old for today. He had a good head of gray hair, not too long, but it
was scraggly and disheveled. His beard was the same. His head was bent
low, his gaze focused on the floor just in front of him. His shirt was
nondescript. His medium blue jacket, sliding down his right shoulder,
was so filthy it looked like it hadn't been washed in years. His jeans
were as worn and dirty as his jacket, ending in tatters just above
ragged white sneakers.
As we inched forward, he would raise his head a bit and look off to
the right, where others in line were openly mocking him. There was no
anger or resentment on his face, only resignation, and a hint of shame
in his wide blue eyes. Then, he would turn to the front again, and
lower his head.
I felt sorry for him. He seemed so beaten down, like he had been on
the bottom so long, he didn't remember any other way. Maybe I'm
inferring a bit too much, but that's the impression I got. I wondered
why he was in line.
When it was his turn, he held up his hand and I saw he had several
ones in it, maybe four or five. He stepped up to the window and mumbled
something, I couldn't hear what. The clerk waved him away with a wide
exaggerated sweep of her hands. The old man tried to say something, but
the clerk again waved him off, leaning far back in her chair so as to
avoid any contact with him or his aroma. He bent his head low, put his
hand down to his side, and walked away off to the left, not stumbling
or shuffling, just beaten.
As I stepped up to the window, the clerk and another woman in the
back laughed and talked about it, while the second woman made a point
of spraying air freshener about in a wide swath for several seconds.
Then the clerk turned her attention to me and proceeded with the
transaction, as though nothing had happened.
Finishing, I turned and walked back to the main part of the
terminal. I looked around for the old man, but didn't see him at first.
Then I spied him, off to the side, at one of the token machines. His
head was still bent down, and I couldn't see if he was getting tokens
or just standing there. I'd like to say I went over to him, to play the
Good Samaritan, to see that he had what he needed. But, I didn't. I
just paused briefly, then rushed off, not wanting to miss my bus.
The ride home wasn't all that long, just about fifteen minutes. All
the way, I kept mulling over thoughts of the old man, his
circumstances, and what, if anything, I could have done. He was still
on my mind as I got off the bus and started the short walk home. Once
there, I sank onto the sofa, dropping my bags to the floor, and closed
my eyes. I was tired, and still a bit saddened by the whole experience,
And yet, in spite of everything, I felt strangely blessed. I saw Jesus today.
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