Railbirds of life

I’ve written before about the empty faces that stand on street corners in Las Vegas, with their signs and desperation held out to passing motorists, and they are definitely still there – just because I haven’t written about them doesn’t mean they’ve gone away.

When I traveled to my dentist this week they were doubling teaming everyone coming off of the freeway on the Charleston exit. I doubt that they were together, as a team, but there was one on one side and one on the left side. The exit breaks into four lanes, two going west and two going east. The east side was canvassed by a heavy woman appearing to be in her early 30’s and wearing a tank top and no hat. I couldn’t help but think how sorry she was going to be when she found herself burned to a crisp later in the day. The gent on the west side had on a jacket and a hat, and appeared to be much older and in much worse physical shape than the woman.

I have an incredible urge to ask one of them how much they really make a day. I won’t. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to. They must make something or they wouldn’t be there. Some of them have their corners staked out and are there just like a job, at certain hours of the day.

When I used to leave The Wild West, late in the night after visiting the truck driving duo, I headed east on Tropicana to the freeway. Traffic right in that area is a jumble and vehicles are screaming on and off the freeway and Tropicana is three lanes heading east and three lanes heading west. There’s a very thin median, I’d guess three feet, dividing traffic and one gent that appears to live on that median late night, in the dark, with his sign and desperation. I have no idea how he’s not been part of an accident as I’ve seen him hop back and forth and move up and down the length of it. If I were in a different spot in life, I might invite him out for coffee and food just to hear his story, but I’m not. and I won’t.

I did have a first this last week with someone in need and a sign. I was wheeling the food aisles of the Super WalMart by my RV park, evening hours, and came around a corner to have a small, older gent, step right in front of me and hand me a sign. He looked like he could have been out mining for gold, a short beard, a hat, around my age, orderly looking working clothing, and I took the hand written sign. It read, “I am deaf. My wife is in the county jail until the 25th. I am hungry and trying put away something in advance.”

I handed the sign back to him and mouthed, “I’m sorry,” as I shook my head and went on my way.

Regardless of how many times I am confronted with this, regardless of anyone else’s opinion on it, given the right time and circumstances, I will hand money to a person when their desperation hits the right chord at the right time. That hasn’t happened of late and I’ve kept my money in my pocket. Yet I always walk away feeling a bit of despair at the sad state of the world and how people get to where they are. I don’t think any of it’s one damn bit funny.