This is your life, and its ending one minute at a time.

I met a man today.

Traveling to the South Dallas post office to pick up a certified letter. A day not unlike any other.

As I was leaving, it wasn't until I opened my car door that I heard, in a quiet voice, "Excuse me, sir?"

I turned to see a man, obviously down on his luck: white t-shirt matted with stains and two sizes too small for him, filthy jeans cinched tight against his very thin frame with a belt he had to punch holes into to fit him, sneakers with knots in the laces where they had been broken and re-tied. In his hands he carried a plastic grocery bag, the top of which was filled with the neck of a bottle of cheap window cleaner. Leaning against the tree he was standing next to was an old push broom.

Yes, how can I help you?

"I tried to keep my distance cause I didn't want to scare you. I am not proud of my appearance."

oh, that's okay...what can I do for you?

"sir, I wanted to see if you could help me. I have my bible in my bag and I pray everyday. You can see I'm not afraid of work", he said as he lifted his sleeve to show me his biceps. He then displayed his hands, showing rough and cracked against his skin. "You can see that I'm trying"

I nodded, unsure of what to say.

"I was just wondering if you could help me out. I am willing to clean the rims of your car or wash the windows, whatever I can do. If you can't give money, a meal would work. I'm just trying to get through the day."

I looked into the car where I keep my change and found only pennies. An insult to give him these, I thought. I turned back to him.

I'm sorry, I don't have any change or bills. I wish I could help.

"Are you sure? I really could use the help?"

Sorry I said. Best of luck to you.

As I got back in the car, I could see him walking back towards the shade of the tree, protection against hot late summer sun, shaking his head as if wondering what to do next.

I drove out of the parking lot, but could't get the man out of my head. As I approached the corner where I would turn right towards the freeway and home, to A/C and TV, to a refrigerator filled with food and a pantry with the same, to a warm bed, to a shower, to friends and family, to a life filled with the material things from working hard and seeing the benefits, I realized: with so much that's great in my life, who am I to turn down the request for help from someone who doesn't have what I do? I learned from a man who started a meal delivery program here in Dallas, that it didn't matter what we were doing, that we weren't trying to preach to them or save them, excoriate them for past mistakes or compare their existence to ours....we just wanted to provide them with a meal to give them the opportunity to live another day. Who knew what tomorrow would hold for these folks, but maybe...just maybe...this would be the day they would turn it around for themselves.

On the right side of the intersection, there was a McDonald's. I switched blinkers and drove into the drivethru. Ordering several breakfast sandwiches, paid by my debit card, I turned back towards the post office, hoping he would still be there. As I pulled in to the circular drive, I didn't see him right away. Damn...

Then, in the glass, reflecting back at me from morning sun, I saw him crouched down beside a truck, scrubbing the rims with his dingy towel. I pulled up behind the truck, rolled down the window, and shouted Hey.

He looked up as if unsure where the sound was coming from, then looked behind him. I saw recognition in his eyes as he approached my car. I held the bag of food up and onto the window frame.

This is for you.

"Wow, thank you so much. It means a lot that you would do that and come all of the way back here."

Its my pleasure - hope it helps.

He began to quote verses from his bible regarding mercy and salvation. I held my hand up.

Its no problem...good luck to you.

I didn't want to take anything from him: his energy, his verses, his thanks, clean rims. This man just needed a meal. I couldn't give him what he was already getting from his bible, whether you believe in that book or not (I don't), or what he was getting from trying to accomplish by working menial jobs for spare change. I couldn't understand his life, nor did I want to disrespect him by asking about it. He was a fellow traveler, making his way in the world.

I thought about him all day yesterday, so here is this story.

Write

One of the things I notice on a daily basis is something known as 'situational ethics'. In essence, it is the way someone treats another human (or an occurance) based on the situation at the time. An example to help the Reader along is a simple one: man goes out to lunch with his boss and is completely deferential to him while at the same time treating the waiter/busser/maitre'd personage like crap. Woman walks into a shoe store and treats the hard-working clerk like the dirt of the earth. We've all done it, yes? I hope not. There is nothing worse than someone who thinks they are superior based on a job, a position, a title. You are not your job. You are not your position. You are not special. You and they are the same human in a different uniform. Their apron and sturdy, slip-proof shoes are no different than your Armani 3-button...its just a uniform you put on in the morning. Next time you see this happen, think.

So, to summarize, some humans treat others based on the situation: if you are my superior I suck up to you. If not I treat you like shit. This is not the worse thing that could happen, but it is surprising that it continues to happen. Naive? Maybe I am. I suffer from a Utopian vision fo how people should behave around one another and after 40 years am still surprised at daily interactions. I would never derive my decision on how to co-exist with those around me based on a position of supposed "power". Power is the ability to treat others with respect and tolerance. Power is the ability to demean someone but choosing not to. Power is the decision to level the playing field for all.

Welcome

"look at yourself...you're pathetic....just let go....LET GO!"--Tyler Durden...Fight Club

At the age of 40, after attempts at writing that would be considered lame, despite an overwhelming desire to do nothing else, I decided that I would just let it flow. Part of the problem was that I would constantly self-edit, instead of doing what I am now. You the Reader may not care about what I, the Writer, have to say, but I guess that has been part of the mental block that has always existed for me....I cared, therefore I edited. Now, I don't and now it flows...at least for me.

Why Stripper Pole? Born and raised in Las Vegas, the question of strippers would inevitably come up early in the conversation of anyone I met after leaving said town. Plus, if I was ever in a band, I always thought it would make a good name. Lastly, it conjures a specific image, and I found that my favorite writers do just that...create an indelible image in your mind that won't go away.

Read, review, respond. Thats all I can hope for.

davelory