Ted the Hacker
It's New Year's Eve and I'm home drinking strong hot chocolate while watching trashy TV. My parents are still out, and I don't know where they are. Strange.
Earlier today I met some friends downtown Portland at the train station; they were picking someone up, driving to Seattle, and going to a dance concert. We almost got kicked out of the station bathroom for sitting in there so long doing each other's make-up. Then they took off, snazzy and excited, and Portland lay before me: parking is free after 7 pm on Saturdays and I had my teal cowboy boots on. Wander wander wander!
I love Portland. I love love love it. Out of every city I've been to, and I've been to a few, Portland is the best. It's clean and I feel safe (of course, police officers were everywhere: in cars, on foot, on bicycles, and on horses!). So I wandered around, not really worrying about choosing a destination. Eventually I found myself at Voodoo Donuts, and they have vegan donuts, and they are delicious. Mmm. Wander wander wander. Get complimented by slightly drunk guys. Smile, "Thank you!" and walk on. Give coins to some people sitting on the ground. Think of how nice people are when you're nice to them, when you're not scared of them. Around stores, all closed, even Powell's, which in my mind is perpetually open and awesome. I text some people to see if they'll come downtown. Nope, but that's not bad, I don't really want to stay down here and fight the hordes to drive away after midnight. There's a daycare open, saying that they'll be open till 1 am. All the kids are in pajamas.
I walk past a man standing, holding a cup. He asks for anything, and I see the cup holds bills and coins and cigarettes. He's remarkably sober-looking, and I stop and apologize about not having anything. He talks to me, gives me a long and detailed spiel about how to identify drug-addled pan-handlers. He shows me his hostel key and talks about how he's a web designer and computer programmer, that he hacked his phone because he couldn't pay for it, but he felt bad. I apologized for having nothing, and he said that's what people say, but they never actually help him--"my hostel's right there," he points to it, "no one takes me up on paying for a night. $17."
"What's the hostel name?"
"I'll escort you there myself!" and he offers his arm.
"Okay, lead me there!" And we walk the one block to the hostel, and I pay for one night's board. It seems so much better than handing someone coins, really; I want him to have a place to stay. I want a roof over his head. I know the money won't be spent on something else.
As I walk toward the door, he follows me, and says he'll escort me to wherever I was originally going. I say Pioneer Square, and he talks the whole way as we walk. Some of the things he says are somewhat strange, but a lot of it is detailed enough that it rings true. He graduated from college. His name is Ted. He tells me of various bars in town, including one where anyone can dance on a pole for 5 minutes and keep whatever money they earn in that time. He was there, he said, and he saw an old lady get up, pull her dentures out, place them in a cup, and dance her way up and down the pole--and she made $700. He talked with her. "There's no way you just got up and did that." She admitted to him that she had put her three daughters through college by dancing. She had 48 years of experience. Wow. And he doesn't stop talking. Yet, he seems like a beautiful soul, and I'm so glad that we met, and my idea that people are beautiful is reaffirmed. Ya just gotta give 'em a chance.
When I walk to my car, I realize that my parents would be horrified that I talked with a homeless man, walked arm and arm with him, hugged him twice. I know that I sometimes do things that aren't 100% safe; I realize that I could get burned. But I don't want to be scared of people. I want to love people, and I want them to know that I care.
Earlier today I met some friends downtown Portland at the train station; they were picking someone up, driving to Seattle, and going to a dance concert. We almost got kicked out of the station bathroom for sitting in there so long doing each other's make-up. Then they took off, snazzy and excited, and Portland lay before me: parking is free after 7 pm on Saturdays and I had my teal cowboy boots on. Wander wander wander!
I love Portland. I love love love it. Out of every city I've been to, and I've been to a few, Portland is the best. It's clean and I feel safe (of course, police officers were everywhere: in cars, on foot, on bicycles, and on horses!). So I wandered around, not really worrying about choosing a destination. Eventually I found myself at Voodoo Donuts, and they have vegan donuts, and they are delicious. Mmm. Wander wander wander. Get complimented by slightly drunk guys. Smile, "Thank you!" and walk on. Give coins to some people sitting on the ground. Think of how nice people are when you're nice to them, when you're not scared of them. Around stores, all closed, even Powell's, which in my mind is perpetually open and awesome. I text some people to see if they'll come downtown. Nope, but that's not bad, I don't really want to stay down here and fight the hordes to drive away after midnight. There's a daycare open, saying that they'll be open till 1 am. All the kids are in pajamas.
I walk past a man standing, holding a cup. He asks for anything, and I see the cup holds bills and coins and cigarettes. He's remarkably sober-looking, and I stop and apologize about not having anything. He talks to me, gives me a long and detailed spiel about how to identify drug-addled pan-handlers. He shows me his hostel key and talks about how he's a web designer and computer programmer, that he hacked his phone because he couldn't pay for it, but he felt bad. I apologized for having nothing, and he said that's what people say, but they never actually help him--"my hostel's right there," he points to it, "no one takes me up on paying for a night. $17."
"What's the hostel name?"
"I'll escort you there myself!" and he offers his arm.
"Okay, lead me there!" And we walk the one block to the hostel, and I pay for one night's board. It seems so much better than handing someone coins, really; I want him to have a place to stay. I want a roof over his head. I know the money won't be spent on something else.
As I walk toward the door, he follows me, and says he'll escort me to wherever I was originally going. I say Pioneer Square, and he talks the whole way as we walk. Some of the things he says are somewhat strange, but a lot of it is detailed enough that it rings true. He graduated from college. His name is Ted. He tells me of various bars in town, including one where anyone can dance on a pole for 5 minutes and keep whatever money they earn in that time. He was there, he said, and he saw an old lady get up, pull her dentures out, place them in a cup, and dance her way up and down the pole--and she made $700. He talked with her. "There's no way you just got up and did that." She admitted to him that she had put her three daughters through college by dancing. She had 48 years of experience. Wow. And he doesn't stop talking. Yet, he seems like a beautiful soul, and I'm so glad that we met, and my idea that people are beautiful is reaffirmed. Ya just gotta give 'em a chance.
When I walk to my car, I realize that my parents would be horrified that I talked with a homeless man, walked arm and arm with him, hugged him twice. I know that I sometimes do things that aren't 100% safe; I realize that I could get burned. But I don't want to be scared of people. I want to love people, and I want them to know that I care.
posted by Darcy at 11:31 PM
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