Last night I locked myself out of my apartment building. I came back from having dinner with a friend, put my things on a chair, and picked up a bag to place outside for the garbage collection. The interesting part came when I looked in the little Japanese purse I use as a key holder and found only one key – the one to my apartment. Where was the key to the outside door? I looked on the ground. No key. Then I looked at the buzzers and pressed all of them. No answer. I pressed again, for a longer time. Still no answer. I approached the only people on the street. They were nice. One person made a few calls on her cell phone. No Answer. I thanked them and left. It was a nippy night and I was dressed the way people dress when going out for only a few minutes. With arms huddled against my body for warmth I walked to a restaurant to ask for a phone book. My landlady’s number wasn’t listed. A locksmith would make an easy $100 tonight it seemed. When these things happen, one gets a glimpse into a homeless person’s world. Just a glimpse mind you, but the feeling is there. You’re cold, you have no money, no phone, and strangers look very comfortable in their own setting, and it’s strangers you have to depend on.
I wanted to press all those buzzers one more time before calling a locksmith, and so I started walking back to my apartment building. I had to be quick because the restaurants would be all closed soon. Only one person was on the street and he was ahead of me. Something told me to step up my pace. He thought I was stalking him because he kept looking sideways as we all do when we’re not feeling quite secure. I had a feeling about him. And feelings are important. Sure enough he stopped in front of my building. Then I recognized him as painting there only a few weeks ago. “Hello.” I said. ” You’re the painter. Right?” He smiled and said, “Yes.” Very good I thought. I told him my story and asked, “Do you have a key?” Answered prayers! “Yes.” he said. “I don’t have it with me though. I came to put the garbage out and someone’s picking me up.” He said he’d return with the key. We waited 10 minutes. His ride came and I waited another 20 minutes huddled against a store’s doorway for his return.
I realize this is trivial compared to what’s going on in California. However, the hour that I spent on the street at night trying to get strangers to help me, gave me a very, very slight idea of the feelings going through people who’ve been stripped of all possessions and are now dependant on others. We can’t ever underestimate the importance of strangers in our lives. I bet that if we thought about it, strangers have been there for us more times than we realize.
Here’s to all those strangers. Thank you.