Running from the homeless

Downtown Dallas is a scary place to be past 2am. There are no lights, no clubs or bars, and no people, save the homeless. Earlier this summer, a friend and I were hanging out at Trevor’s, lost track of time, and ended up leaving his apartment at 3 am. As the apartment complex's self-locking door closed behind us, my spider senses went off. Impending danger lurked in the form of a huge 6'4" homeless guy who was rapidly approaching from the west. Another homeless guy was flanking us from the south. Trevor’s building blockaded us to the north. Using the training I had learned from the children’s game, “going on a bear hunt,” I decided my only remaining option was to make a beeline east. I was wearing sandals and wishing I had heeded JD’s advice to never go out in sandals, an Achilles heel in any physical altercation. Fortunately, I was still able to speed-walk safely to my car, leaving my friend and the two homeless guys in the dust. When I looked back, I could see the homeless guys asking my friend for money. He gave them a couple bucks, they parted ways, and my friend casually walked the fifty yards over to my car. He climbed into the passenger seat and smugly asked, “Um, are you ok?” This question may seem harmless, but it was laced with a number of offensive insinuations. Within that simple three-word question, he was accusing me of being a wuss, racist, miser, and bad Christian. He was attacking my masculinity.

At what age did we decide “don’t talk to strangers” no longer applied? You may think you’re a hero for talking to huge, homeless people at three in the morning, but I say you’re crazy. Studies show that half of all homeless people are schizophrenic, and intuition shows that all homeless people are desperate. Desperate people do desperate things, especially when voices in their heads are telling them to. If running from huge, homeless guys at 3am makes me a wuss, then so does looking both ways before crossing the street.