The day I was almost molested by an old man (humor)
You may have read the title above and may be thinking you are about to read something dramatic. I am afraid I must disappoint you now, because the unfortunate story below is not exactly like promised — I admit — I have only chosen that title as a click bait, my bad.
In case you haven’t decided to punish me for this childishness, here we go.
It happens I have a common and boring routine of studies, so, considering my tendency to concentrate better in silent places, I thought it would be a good idea to transform the library from my university into my study room (my house’s always crowded, so staying there isn’t an option). This is what I do FU#!$$% every day, from 08am to 7pm: getting there (at the University) and studying all day long (very flexible schedule, huh?).
Anyways, every time I have a break I go downstairs and rush to the so called “Leisure street”. Don’t get me wrong here, that’s how people really call the street, don’t ask me why.
But if you insist in inquiring me about it, I would say that at a certain moment in recent history — years after the pavement of that specific street had been concluded — business persons decided it would be a good idea to place their food stalls there.
Then, visitors — from professors and students to passersby— simply loved it, eager to spend their lovely cash on the delicious snacks, giving birth to this creative nickname “Leisure Street”, in replacement of the formal (and previous) one, which no one seems to be familiar with (in the past, brazilian streets used to be given creative names, just like “Sun Street” or “Harmony Street”, but in more recent years boring names such as “Counselor Rosa & Silva” are the primary option. How sad.).
There is a lot to talk about that street, but what interests us here is the enormous quantity of beggars/crack addicts it holds. I challenge you to finish your meal/snack there without being disturbed by one of them. These poor devils wander the streets around campus and spend every hour of their existence in begging.
I have once heard from a certain elder food stall owner — who’s an acquaintance of mine — that these subjects are able to reach a daily amount of R$50,00 (at around US$12,50 a day), which is more than a minimum wage in a month (it may sound strange for north Americans, but in Brazil the salaries are always paid every month, not on a week basis, so that we are much more used to refer to month payments as a reference for anything). Why bothering to look for a formal work then?
Like it or not, it is something you have to get used to. They wander around and beg, unbathed, wearing dirty rags while babbling phrases of supplication and sometimes behaving aggressively. From five years of experience accumulated along my graduation, I have learned that the most proficuous way to chase them away is to just ignore them.
Before a SJW (Social Justice Warrior) comes up to criticize the supposedly unorthodox way I am referring to these beggars, let me say they’re no random beggars. They’re addicted to crack. These people wander around the streets every day, and the minimum quantity of money gathered by them will eventually reach drug dealers. This is why I refuse to give money to them! (most of the times).
The only possibility they have to eat something is that if you hand them a meal. Still, it is no guarantee they will have it, for it I have heard from the same old food stall owner (he talks a lot about beggars, doesn’t he?) there is this heavy drug user who is used to selling the meals he receives from good Samaritans to car watchers (maybe one day I will write about these ones too).
So here’s the thing. The guy is starving, receives a meal from some good people and instead of eating it quickly, as if there was never going to be another opportunity (which is what I would do if I were on his shoes), he sells it to buy more crack.
Some serious stuff we got down here, huh? Vicious addiction. That’s what we’re dealing with. “Brazil is not for amateurs”, says a popular quote on the web. Indeed.
Getting back to the plot, there you have me heading to the closest food stall, eager to devour a tapioca (check photo below — it’s a traditional food from Brazil, created by indigenous populations from maniot, very tasty ;p) and to drink a cup of hot black coffee, when this “wild beggar appears”.
I start to put my pragmatic tactic into practice: ignoring him. Unfortunately, it doesn’t work very well on this one, as he raised an open hand to me and his facial expressions indicates he’s not very happy with the cold shoulder I gave him. I’m not quite sure about how much time he stood there staring at me, with that outstretched hand of his, but it was time enough for me to feel awkward.
Suddenly, an old man emerges from the shadows (actually he had been watching the situation from the counter all the time) and calls for the man. When the guy approaches to him, he orders a tapioca and a cup of hot black coffee at the stall (the exact same order), after what he delivers the food to a now smiling-grateful dude.
It felt like a “Punch” on my face, as depicted on comics. I was unconfortable. You see, I felt the urge to justify (not to anyone in particular, but mainly to the old man) why I hadn’t given the poor guy anything.
-I just didn’t give him anything because he demanded me. Had he asked me for it, I would have given him something. (It is partly true, despite what I said above concerning the destination of the money, I sometimes can’t simply deny giving away some pennies to a guy who’s in front of me begging for some food.).
To which the old man replied, in a wise manner:
-Oh my boy, begging is so unfortunate. You would most likely not understand.
So I responded outraged:
-I have seen a bunch of poor people like this one in the past, and few of them acted so aggressively like this one.
At this very moment, I had an epiphany. The old man approached and held my ear. That’s what you’ve just read, he held my goddamn EAR — not my face — what would have been more appropriate, though incredibly awkward as hell — to which I dodged.
It felt even more strange when he (right after) inquired me about my I age — remind this scene was being watched by passersby and God knows who else. I was like whatdaheck?
Then I just invented an age, just to give him an answer and perhaps stop that awkwardness, so he raised his eyebrows — his face expressed comprehension — he said he could understand why I was behaving like that, considering my early age, he said, but the general content of the message he left was more like “you have much to learn, young padawan”.
I held what was left of my tapioca (I do want you to taste that) and faced a doubt that keeps bothering me to this day.
Was the old man a person sent by God, as to check on our charity, or was he just a perverted old prick who wanted me to b$#% him?
