We are a narcissistic, oblivious society. This culture feeds our ego by aligning rooms with multiple mirrors and conveniently placing a series of body length windows on every street; all of which allow us to admire our own reflections.
But looking past our pocket mirrors and the beauty apps on our Smart phones, there is another world outside our comfort zone.
Every side street off Kennedy Blvd. has a brave man or woman in a bright colored vest posted up on narrow medians.
He or she is usually holding a sign that says “Will Work for Food” or “Father of 3—Just Laid Off—Please Help.”
My favorite has to be the man found off of Fowler and Nebraska. His torn-at-the-edges cardboard sign simply says, “Smile. It could be worse.”
How someone can refuse to acknowledge this crucial part of society is beyond me.
We try to avoid eye-contact with these strangers while we sip on our Starbucks coffee and yap away on our Bluetooths. Our radio station is fine where it’s at and our tinted windows mask our shame.
There is this instinctive mistrust in humanity. It is an automatic reaction to the unfamiliar.
We close our windows and speed through the yellow lights in an attempt to avoid being asked for money.
Questions start to arise in our heads that can override any possible acts of sympathy: are these people really in need? Are they professional cons that actually live in beautiful beach houses and drive BMWs parked two blocks away from their designated median off of Kennedy?
Or are they the “angels” sent from heaven to test our morals and capacity for kindness?
Every time I travel the ten minute voyage to get tea, I pass by a man nestling a Tupperware container cut at the top for the collection of loose change. Another man sits down with a simple cut-out sign taken from a Bud Light box.
I can’t help being a hypocrite myself. I start to imagine these people as a group of cons assigned their own personal intersection, a sort of gang “sticking it to the man” by refusing legitimate work.
I begin to overlook the fact that they are actual people in need.
Without a doubt, our imaginations are quite excitable.
Our ability to hold out a fist full of coins for those in need is lost within a life where our blinders are constantly up.
Regardless of our perspective, or their personal motives for standing out in ninety-five degree weather, the main question is: are we willing to acknowledge their presence?
The cliché states “ignorance is bliss,” but can we live with the guilt?
I don’t know if I could handle throwing away food or walking away from “worthless” dropped coins after seeing those men with three children and no steady income.
The fact that this portion of society is so abundant is upsetting. They seem to have emerged as a new social class; they remind me of the beggars described in Swift’s Modest Proposal. But this is a different world. These scenarios are not satirical. Human pain cannot be put on the back-burner.
The homeless do exist—closing our eyes and turning our heads does not make them disappear.
Optimism is the key to survival. Laughter can only help so much when it comes to serious situations like these.
It is wishful thinking to dream that everyone might acknowledge the presence of these people, especially when they’re requesting help from those road-raged strangers on a mission from point A to point B. The ideal society
is further away than I thought. It is almost equal to the prospects of an unrequited love. The need to obtain the impossible is my indirect goal.
To others, I am a crazy girl chasing after mythical aspects of life.
In other words, I guess I’m an idealist: I write poetry on bathroom stalls, carve “rest in peace” onto fallen tree trunks and leave pennies head side-up on shopping center floors.
Every time I see these people standing on narrow blocks of cement medians, I fight an internal battle: repeat donations to the same people or keep looking forward as I drive by?
At the moment, I am starting to become penniless myself.
If only I could hit the lottery, then maybe I could justify being an optimist amongst a world of pessimists.
Narissa Imprasert can be reached at nimprasert@spartans.ut.edu.