Strangers Talk to Me

Much to the chagrin of my family and for no apparent reason I can discern, utter strangers quite often come up to me and start conversations: in stores, on the street, in parks. Just about anywhere you can imagine. Now these aren't "hi, how are you doing?" kinds of conversations. These are let me unload my life's story on you and you tell me what you think. It usually starts with a mundane comment they make (bread didn't cost this much when I was your age) to which I innocently respond. They then proceed to unload in graphic detail things like problems at home, work, illnesses, problems with the world today.

Complete strangers. They don't seem to be particularly unbalanced or schizophrenic (although there have been a few of those also.) Often times they are homeless people in the outdoor arenas but not so the women and men in department or grocery stores. I think most folk would consider this unnerving but I rather enjoy it. It is almost always educational in some way. I have met folks from all walks of life, many nationalities and cultures during these interactions.

LOL's (little old ladies) start in on the way it was when they were my age and I get a micro-history lesson. Little old men who almost seem lost as they shop for only themselves because they were widowed ten years ago. I get the kind of personal view of the world forty, fifty, or more years ago that you can't really get from books. Not with the emotion and fervor with which these people converse.

A little boy (Hilberto) kind of startled me while I was fishing one day. When I fish I almost completely zone out. He had walked up very quietly behind me and was watching me fish. He asked me in a very thick accent what I was doing and how could he learn to do it too. I always carry a second pole so I rigged it up for him to use and cast the bait into the river--all the while Hilberto chatted away about his family--mom, grandma and grandpa, brother, sisters, cousins the whole lineage. I caught a fish while we were hard at it. And he had to touch it, know what kind it was and where it came from and if it had a family like he did. We sat and he asked a million questions and told me about school and his life, as little ones are want to do. Until his grandfather showed up looking for him. Grandpa was very angry that he had wandered away and very apologetic that his grandson was being an annoyance--all in an even thicker accent than Hilberto's. He offered to pay me for my trouble and I adamantly refused and gave Hilberto the catch of the day : one twelve inch small mouth bass. He was all teeth and excitement then. He left--grandpa and fish in tow and I went home having made a new friend of sorts.

Most often my outdoor encounters with homeless folk begins with bumming a smoke. Some say "thanks" and walk off. Others unload the history of their present predicament. Disabled Vets not served well by the government. Construction workers injured badly on the job. Sometimes they bring their dogs along sometimes their spouses. I give up a couple of smokes and get more education. I'm always offered a swig of some mystery brew in a brown paper bag-which I graciously decline so as not to deprive them of the full experience. Once a man and wife team offered me a dinner of beans and toast--I gave them my catch of the day too. But always interesting yet sad stories of how they went from someone like me to living under a large shrub near a freeway entrance and making a living collecting bottles and cans to recycle. I never once felt threatened or afraid. Most often I felt sad and mad that the system would just let these folks fall through the cracks and not give a damn.

My family thinks I just have one of those faces. Like someone who gives a shit. They also think I look like a homeless person when I go fishing and that's why I attract homeless people. Personally, I think it's the look of boredom I have while shopping or the smell of cigarette smoke when I'm fishing. I wouldn't recommend this stuff to just anyone especially those faint of heart when comes to new and different aromas. But I think of these experiences as anthropological exercises. Views from the soft underbelly of the great American beast.