Authors Note: This story was originally written and shared on Facebook back in October of 2015. I felt as though this blog would be a nice place to document this event too.
Roughly nine years ago, I was working late at David&Goliath one night when a few of my co-workers decided to take a break and head across the street to Bandera on Wilshire for a Scotch or two.
Bandera, for those who haven't been there, is essentially a fancier version of Houston's that features a wide array of overpriced food, vodka-fueled divorcees and overpaid attorneys.
Upon entering the restaurant, we promptly made our way to the bar, got a few drinks and proceeded to belly up as a jazz band filled the room with an ambient soundtrack to corporate small talk and soon to be alimony payments.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, the chatter and music was interrupted by a booming voice that declared, "I have a fucking announcement to make! I need everyone's attention! I just got out of the hospital and I need help. I am a schizophrenic and I need to fill a prescription for Lithium. I don't want to hurt anybody, but I need help!"
The room fell silent.
The bass line came to an abrupt halt like a jukebox at a honky tonk, when an out of town stranger walks in. You could hear a pin drop.
The first thought I had, before looking over my shoulder, was that this was the end. The voice was probably about a foot from my head and I was certain that at any moment, I would hear "BANG!"
One to the dome. Game over. Unsigned mechanical back at my desk.
As I slowly turned around to see who had so rudely interrupted my glass of whatever the fuck my boss was paying for, I saw a fairly large man, who appeared to be homeless, staring blankly at the room as customers sat frozen in silence. No one made a move. No one uttered a sound. It was though as if the room was paralyzed by fear. Probably because we were - I know I was.
After what seemed like an eternity, a waiter slowly approached the man and spoke to him in a calm, soothing fashion. "Sir, how about you come outside with me? How about we talk....outside?"
The man reluctantly agreed.
Conversation, albeit with trepidation, began to resume.
"Can you believe that guy?"
"What the fuck was that?"
"The homeless here are really getting of control."
"Anyhow, I told Doug that this case doesn't stand a chance in court if we only...."
Back to our drinks. Back to work talk. Thank god the crazy guy is gone. For years I've told people about the time in Bandera that I thought I was going to be smoked.
Fast forward 9 years.
I'm back at David&Goliath, but tonight I wasn't working too late. Instead, I went home, fed the dog and decided to walk to Ingos Tasty Diner, down the block from me, for a drink (somethings never change) and a solitary dinner. Jidori Chicken. Why not.
Unlike nine years ago, this night was different.
No coworkers. No cougars. No corporate small talk or lawyers who consider Q's the afterparty. Just people enjoying their dinner, amongst a friend or two, having respective quiet evenings.
As I finish my meal, and await my bill, I hear a familiar voice from a long time ago erupt into the room.....
"I just got out of the hospital! I do not want to hurt anyone! I need money for medicine. I'm a schizophrenic, who walked from the hospital and I need my lithium. I need my lithium!"
The silence is deafening. The patrons are silent. Everyone is afraid.
But I've never felt so......calm.
I've lived this night before and somehow, I feel assurance that there is no harm in store.
A chef and a waiter walk up to the man. He holds up a crumpled prescription, repeats his plea and trembles as a room full of 40 or so people stare at him blankly.
One woman utters "Why don't you get out of here?"
Another woman quietly pulls out a dollar bill and makes her way to the man, by herself.
Two different reactions to a situation that from experience, I understand is difficult to comprehend in the moment.
I look at the bartender and say "This happened to me 9 years ago. I know this guy. I've heard this before."
So I sign my tab and make my way to the door. Perhaps, I think, I can show the compassion that I witnessed 9 years ago when that waiter I saw spoke to this guy gently, calmly and in a reassuring manner that resulted in the peaceful end to a disruptive evening by an unstable man........escorted out onto Wilshire, never to be seen or heard from again.
While walking to the door, with a dollar in hand to coerce the gentleman to leave, a pessimistic thought went through my mind.
Perhaps this is just an act.
A scripted routine.
A homeless guy who has figured out that if he strolls into a restaurant, throws a fit and pretends to be at wits end, a few dollars can be secured before making his way off into the night.
Suckers....got them again.
That thought quickly vanished as the man made his way towards me. It was at this time, that I noticed he was sobbing, genuine tears rolling down from eyes....one clear and one cloudy, likely blind. Spit stuck to his lips like a child that had been crying for some time.
What I saw, as I looked into his pupils was genuine sadness, despair and utter hopelessness.
He put his hand on my shoulder and said "Why won't they help me? Why won't they believe me, brother? Why won't they believe me?"
I told him that I believed him and handed him my dollar. He said "I don't want you to believe me. I want you to know. I want you to know."
With that he handed me his prescription.
"Read it," he said. "Please, please, please. Read it." "What does it say? What does the date say?"
With no one willing to engage him, it was as if he knew that perhaps I was one person who could validate his need, his embarrassment, his despair. Even if no one else believed him, it would be enough if just one person did. Perhaps one believer could just for a second, ease the humiliation of having to cry for help in a room full of strangers who could likely never relate nor empathize.
I read the prescription.
Lithium. Prescribed 10/25.
Slowly, I read the prescription back to him, in a quiet voice and put my arm around him. I wasn't scared. I didn't fear a punch, a shove or any unexpected action from a man who by all accounts appeared extremely unpredictable.
I just felt a calming sadness fall over both of us.
As he took a step back, I decided to empty my wallet and gave him everything I had, which was a mere 30 bucks or so. Not Ghandi-like by any means, but it was the best I could do. It was really the least I could do.
As the gentleman took the money from me, he started sobbing and hugged me with two arms around my neck as the waitstaff and chef stared somewhat in disbelief, not sure what to do.
"I need to get my medicine now," he said. "We're the same brother. We're the same."
Across Wilshire he goes. The cops pull up. They make a U-Turn and intercept him somewhere along Wilshire and 15th. The patrons, I imagine, like me many years ago, wonder what the hell they just experienced and resume their night.
Something feels different as I make my way home. At first the night feels like a strange coincidence.
An odd Los Angeles night from years ago that somehow, so randomly repeated itself once again.
I think about it more on my walk home and it begins to sink in.
It's easy to become immune here.
Despair, mental illness, homelessness are all part of my stroll to get a coffee, walk the dog or pick up a shitty piece of pizza.
Sometimes I help, sometimes I don't.
Sometimes I think a guy needs a bite to eat so I get buy him a sandwich, other times I think it's just a scam so I hold off.
"Sorry dude, I got no change on me," I'll say as I look dead ahead. If I don't make eye contact, I don't engage. If I don't engage, it's not my problem.
That's not good enough.
Tonight, I made eye contact and in doing so, had my eyes opened.
I may not always have change on me, but from now on, I can always afford to look another person in need in the eyes.
Perhaps that's all they really want.