Poop Shute

I took a much longer route home that day, as the usual route was... well, too usual. I needed a change of pace. So I crossed the freeway at Elliot and went through Guadalupe.

I'm sure the people that live there would chose to describe it differently, but I honestly think Guadalupe is beautiful. The houses have character, unlike the tract homes that 90% of the state's population lives in. Like their homes, the people have more character. Old men and women sitting on their front porches enjoying a midday beer raised their cans and their smiles to me as I glided by on my bike. Children were playing tag in a nearby yard. A stray dog playfully followed me for a while, out of what seemed like innocent curiosity.

Then I made my return to my world.

I hit Baseline and the self-contained little world of beauty came to an abrupt end. My lungs refilled with that visable air that causes so many of us to have serious respiratory problems. Especially those of us who physically exert ourselves while filling our lungs with this crap. Just when my good mood began to wane I saw beauty in another unlikely place.

As I stopped to wait for a WALK signal at the I-10 underpass there was a homeless man with his back to me about ten feet away waving his cardboard sign and yelling at the cars who were waiting, like me, for the light to change. My first instinct was to remain silent and avoid eye-contact, because he seemed irate, and a little crazy. As if hearing those toughts he turned and noticed me right then.

"HEY!" He yelled, I'm assuming to make sure I heard him over my headphones. Hesitantly, I pulled them back.

"Hi, how are you doing?" The words came out my mouth as my mind screamed to not make conversation.

"I'm great, how are you?" He said with an honest smile.

"I'm good." I replied, still a little tense. Again, as if hearing my thoughts, it was then that he very deliberately turned his cardboard sign around so I could see.

IF NOTHING ELSE, PLEASE GIVE ME A SMILE.

The sign was crude, but clearly legible. I looked back to his still-grinning face, and couldn't help but feel a little shame at my prejudice.

"You have a great holiday, man." He said, still beaming.

I gave him a dollar, and wished him the same.

It's rare things like this bike trip that restore my faith in humanity. At least a little. And I apologize for the cheesey ending you're about to read, but tough poop!

I wish all of you the same thing that he wished me; Have a great holiday, and if nothing else, please smile.