How getting hustled renewed my faith in humanity

Oh, I got hustled hard this week.

I know what you’re thinking: Kara, you strike me as the kind of person who gets hustled all the time, but, SURPRISE!, I actually don’t! 😂

I’ve developed a pretty good BS detector, mainly from getting hustled a couple of times when I was younger, backpacking by myself. Those threw my lonely, 22 year old backpacker self into the kind of existential crisis you can only have when all you’ve got is time and angst. The lessons stuck enough, though, I’ve learned to be pretty wary ever since.

That is until Monday.

First, you have to know, this guy was good.

My sister and I were walking past and he asked if I minded rolling his wheelchair to the bus stop. Because I love to be helpful and never pass up a chance for chit chat, I said sure.

As we walked, he told us he was an ex-Marine, who was trying to get to the local vet center so he could (finally) get a shower, meal, and somewhere to stay. And if we could donate $20 he’d be good for three days.

Of course, we gave him the money!

And the second we walked away, we knew. I looked at my sister, and we both burst out laughing and I was like, “That guy isn’t going to the VA Center is he?”

It was one of those where some part of your brain is registering, “Hey! This guy smells good and those are some snazzy, new shoes, and I wonder why his pants look ironed?” but you don’t really take it in until the moment has passed.

The biggest question banging around was “Why didn’t he want me to actually take him all the way to the bus stop and instead had me drop him off in the middle of the block?”

I’ll tell ya why. Because about two minutes later, he came rolling back up to our end of the block with a different person pushing him and handing him cash.

We sat there for the next half hour and watched people of every age, ethnicity, gender, income level push this guy, give him food, throw away said food because he didn’t like it, and open up their wallets.

And I feel like I should be all down on this guy for basically taking money and time from hapless strangers, but, in a weird way, it restored my faith in humanity.

These past few weeks, it’s felt like we don’t remember that we’re all in this together. Every direction, you see people feeling fractured and alone and it’s hard to know where to start.

And, yet, here on a street corner in New Orleans, people were helping. They saw a problem, they saw someone they could help, and they did it.

It didn’t matter if they were a teenager whose pants were falling down, a couple who looked like they’d been partying all weekend, or, my favorite, a young man in a three piece suit, EVERY PERSON he asked, helped in some way.

So, rather than vilify this guy, we should thank him for performing a public service.

For reminding us that we’re only one moment away from connecting with someone. That it feels good to help and make a difference in someone’s day. That people in the real world tend towards kind, and helpful, and looking out for each other.

Or maybe it’s just that, no matter who you are, none of us are a match for a fast-talking, ex-Marine.

Here’s to a wonderful week with many opportunities for connection!

xx. Kara

PS: Have you ever been hustled? Tell me in the comments because I love a good “omg, me too!” story!