$1.65

The basket came to me first at this morning's meeting.  I had a five dollar bill in my hand so I passed the basket on to the next person.  I'm obscenely generous, for a cheap guy who hates to give up any money for any cause whatsoever, good or not, but I wanted a little change for my five.    After the basket went around the room I grabbed it again before the secretary added up the contributions used to help the group pay for rent, coffee, utilities, and the like.  


There was $3 in the basket.  There were 20 or 25 people at the meeting.  


I try to keep my opinions to myself even though they're the absolute definition of truth .  I try not to be self-righteous and judgmental, I really do, but it's just so damn satisfying to let myself feel superior to other people.  This particular clubhouse is a little less glitzy than most so I know not everybody can afford to contribute.  And I realize that I have some extra money so I feel a responsibility to contribute a bit more.  I feel it's a nice way to pay back all of the people who were carrying the freight when I was getting started in recovery.  Still, that $3 irritated me.  There was more than one cup of Starbucks at this meeting.


My friend Shorty says I should be putting in TEN bucks each meeting.  He wonders if I've seen what a beer costs these days.  It pissed me off so I imagine that he's hit the nail on the head.


SuperK and I took a long walk this afternoon and ended up at a coffee shop.  A lady who appeared to be carrying all of her earthly possessions in a few bags asked me if I could spare a buck for a cup of coffee.  I fished out a dollar.


She paused.  "Can I get a cup of coffee for a dollar?"


"Here," I said, standing up.  "Give me back the dollar and I'll go get you a cup of coffee."


She handed the crumpled bill over wordlessly.  I went inside and ordered her a cup of coffee.  I was feeling particularly self-righteous, but not generous or guilty or kind enough to do anything but order her the smallest, cheapest drink available.  She was sitting in the middle of her bags on the curb when I came back out and gave her the cup of coffee, and she mumbled her thanks.  Her voice was low, husky and it was hard to understand what she was saying.  She might have been sick or she might have had some kind of problem with her throat.


We sat outside for 45 minutes and watched this poor soul ask dozens of people for a dollar.  Nobody gave her anything.  Nobody, not one dollar.  One guy stopped.  "I'm sorry?" he said, leaning in.  She asked again for a dollar.  He shook his head, no, I can't understand you, and leaned closer.  She asked again.  "Oh, I'm sorry, I can't," he said, walking away.


What did he think she was asking for?  The time?  The weather forecast?  The exchange rate of the drachma measured against the Swiss franc?  It seemed a casually dismissive dismissal to me.  Why stop?  I didn't like it.  It felt patronizing.  "Pardon me, but do you know whether the moon is waxing gibbous in Buenos Aires tonight, my good man?"  


When SuperK and I got up to leave she asked me for a dollar.


"I bought you the cup of coffee," I said, not unkindly, although, in retrospect, unnecessarily.  Was I looking for a second thank-you, from a homeless woman, on a street curb?  God, I hope not.


"Oh, yeah," she said.  I don't think she remembered that I bought her the coffee.  There were a lot of faces flashing by this woman, and a lot of nice cars in the parking lot of the store selling ridiculously overpriced cups of coffee.  It didn't feel right.  It made me think how I overvalue so many things and undervalue so many others.  I want to be a Big Man On Campus but I don't want to do the little things, unnoticed, that make the world a better place.


$1.65.  That's how much the coffee cost.  WAY more than a dollar.