It was going out to lunch without spending a fortune, something I so miss, but a girl in debt has to make compromises boring as it is.
It’s also necessary if you’re trying to lasso your Visa that’s about to bust through the barn door.
I went halfheartedly to the deli and bought a Swiss, lettuce and tomato sandwich on rye with a side order of potato salad…a banana for dessert. I know, it wasn’t exactly linguine in clam sauce and a lemon tart, but what are gonna do?
So there I was preparing to eat when I notice a hobo, as my mother so politically correct would have called him, a few feet from me. I didn’t see him at first, but suddenly a peculiar smell began wafting in the direction of lunch. I didn’t move for fear of insulting him. I know, how crazy is that, but then again, you’re not from Connecticut the, if it kills you be polite no matter what, capital of the world.
Feeling impoverished myself, I wondered if this man in his tattered shirt and holy pants, had eaten.
“Excuse me sir, I was just wondering if you’ve had your lunch?”
He looked at me, quite appropriately I might add, as if I were nuts…but did that stop me?
“I thought you’d like half of mine since there’s so much here.” Which was true. Unbeknownst to me, Arturo, the deli man, put extra goodies in my bag as a surprise bonus: chips, raisins and a shit load of dill pickles.
Again this man looked at me like I was crazy. What I know about men, homeless or otherwise is, you don’t ask them about food. You just put it in front of them and they’ll eat, like when they were little. It’s true…try it and see.
I took half the sandwich along with the chips, raisins and pickles making a place mat out of napkins adding a flower I found on the grass.
I then said, bon appetit, returning to my bench.
Nothing eles was said by me, but when I turned to look he was happily eating.
Remembering Anne Lamott, I got up and gave him my banana.
Better than him giving me his.
Well I’m just saying 🙂