Got Milked?

Yesterday morning, after having had a good-bye coffee with Clare at Spot, I was walking back to my car. There was a guy sitting on a low wall nearby, and we made eye contact, and we did the nod thing that one does in a small city -- in between the full greeting of a small town and the "look hard or look away" strategy that Andrew Vachss advises for NYC.

The guy called out to me after I had turned to get in my car, and I figured it would be the usual plea for spare change. I don't usually give handouts, for a long and complicated set of reasons that I am unable to articulate fully. But I usually try to say "no," politely. (Which I'm sure means the world to hungry street people.) So I turned to do that.

The pitch started out in a usual manner: "I'm just trying to get to my mother's house … I'm not a bum … look at me, you can see that I'm dressed better than that … " But then it got a little different -- he eventually came right out and asked for a ride.

Now, I used to hitchhike all the time, and I had some amazing experiences, getting picked up and driven way out of the driver's way, and so I'm inclined to pass along, or pay back, the good karma, for lack of a better term. So I said, "Where you looking to go?" I heard an answer that sounded coherent and nearby, and so, what the hell. "Yeah, come on."

He thanked me profusely, and got in. He was a giant. I indicated the seat adjustment. He introduced himself as Charlie, and we shook hands. I pulled away from the curb, banged a U-y, looked in my rear view mirror, and saw a cop. Crap.

I got the hairy eyeball from the cop, but he passed me by. I guessed out loud that he was heading for his coffee break.

Charlie was happier than I that we didn't get pulled over. As in, waaaaay happier. Turned out that he had just finished a ten-year bit in prison. Nine days ago. ("I'm in the halfway house now.") And, as sad as I am to say that this makes a difference, Charlie is black. Thinking back, he was the probably the one getting the long look from the cop. Me, in my pale skin and sedate sedan, not so much.

Anyway, we get to where I'm to drop Charlie off. He has meanwhile asked if I had a cell phone (I lied and said no, for reasons still unclear to me), asked me where I lived, which I told, and gotten me to agree to give him a couple of bucks for a coffee. We get to his mother's house, and her car isn't there, so he asks me to run him to the coffee shop down the street. I do so.

I pull to the curb in front of the shop, pull out my wallet, and give him what singles I have. He says, "As long as you're giving me that, why don't you give me another five, so I can get a sandwich, too?"

Of course I did.

I'm so goddam white.