A disheveled young guy with a couple of weeks of blond beard literally stumbled out into the crosswalk from the far side of the road. He caught himself, straightened up a bit and proceeded -- still none too steadily. He paused at the center island a moment, then continued on across the nose of my car.
But he stopped for a moment, turned, and stuck his tongue out at me. All the way out.
What could I do? I waved.
He tottered on across the final two lanes, tongue still extended. He turned back toward me a couple of times to make absolutely sure that I could see it. I shrugged, and made my left turn.
Sigh.
The Homeless Services Center is just beyond the north side of the intersection. There, homeless locals and nomads can get a free meal, a shower, a locker, counseling, and other services. Regular foot traffic moves back and forth across the highway here between the homeless center and downtown Santa Cruz, right past the giant blue-and-yellow RIVER STREET -- WELCOME TO SANTA CRUZ sign.
Most of the time the homeless and/or nomadic cross in an orderly manner, like anyone; a few of them walk right in front of moving cars without looking; another few scream and rant at the cars, the sky, or life in general. Some of them, like Tongue Boy, try to get a rise out of drivers who stopped for the red.
These are the marginalized: mentally ill or addicted or just plain disaffected, not important to society, but clinging to this life-raft of charity that Santa Cruz puts out for them. Which was created to provide aid to our fairly constant influx of homeless visitors, but also to keep them from constantly panhandling downtown for food or whatever. That's why the homeless center is north of Highway 1 in a sparsely-populated industrial neighborhood. Your classic mixed message in a town full of mixed messages. And you bet the homeless are aware of both sides of the message.
What set off Tongue Boy? Could be anything. Maybe he didn't like my shiny hybrid car -- anarchists, hybrids are just another corporate scam meant to make consumers feel better about themselves. (I've gotten that lecture before.) Maybe he was a mean drunk. Maybe I resembled somebody who made his life hell once. Maybe I looked wealthy and complacent (hah). Who knows?
So he was angry, and he raised a little fuss. You see a a fair amount of that in Santa Cruz: Scruffy men in tatterered clothing standing in the middle of the street to block traffic, ignoring the horns of impatient drivers; men and women who scream at pedestrians or stand in their paths as they walk down the street, daring others to notice them.
And if you get mad at them, or swear at them, or shrink away from them -- well, at least you've acknowledged their existence. They made you do something.
Like I said, they're the marginalized. The only power they have left in the world is the power to be inconvenient: to block a road, yell, get in the way. It's a poor and common power; everyone has it. Four-year-old children have it. The men and women who rant at you -- they've got nothing else left.
And that's why I don't get angry anymore, don't react beyond a wave or a "Have a nice day." I don't agree with the way some of these folks react to powerlessness, to invisibility. But I understand. So I wave. I don't talk otherwise beyond a simple greeting; tried that on the street a few times. Usually they can only rant or attack. They're beyond listening back. Drugs, mental illness, just anger? Who knows?
That same day Rhumba and I went out to an auto dealership to see about some service for our car. In the twenty yards between our car and the service department door, a salesman charged us like a shark: how were we doing? What could he show us? The lot bulged with unsold cars. And he was on commission. I could see the desperation. Later, I realized I dealt with him just as if he were an aggressive homeless man: smile; wave; don't engage.
On the way out again through the lot -- crowded with cars, empty of people -- I saw a young salesman slump dejectedly on a bench in the dubious shade of some small tree. Ignored by all of the few who passed by.
It's pretty easy to be marginalized in Santa Cruz. And he didn't even have the power to yell.
3 comments:
Hey Boomer,
We got our resident homeless out here in Claycord. They used to hang out in front of some of the shops in my little row of shops, usually drinking and sometimes panhandling, or at least accosting people as they came by for their sandwiches or books. You can imagine how thrilled I was with the situation. Recently my landlord removed the brick facade along the front of the shops, eliminating their sitting spots. Our homeless guys have moved on. Can't say I miss them. I sort of feel guilty about feeling intolerant toward them, but some of them were really obnoxious. White liberal guilt. As you say, hanging out and irritating the passersby was something these guys could do to get attention. So I guess I don't blame them. Don't miss them either.
LK:
No need for liberal guilt here; it's bad that these guys turned out that way, but nobody says you have to accept antisocial behavior. Well, some do, but they don't tend to be business owners or live downtown.
My thought is that society shouldn't tolerate bad behavior from these guys, but should absolutely offer immediately help any one of them who wants honestly to climb out of the hole they're in. We're good at the first part, but don't throw a lot of money at the second part.
We're at that intersection all ways agree "they" lend a crude flavor, keeping me humble too. My husband has little tolerance for anyone who dresses better than him with hand out. Got 5 dollars?...
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