Adventures in Cookie Sales

Encounters with the homeless seem more frequent here in Austin than in San Francisco. Weird, huh?

So yesterday, X and I drove out to the aptly named Slaughter Road. I say aptyly because X wondered aloud about the unpleasant name of the road. Well, there were some cattle still evident in the fields between cheap, windswept developments. All this dotted by oases of gas stations, fast food, supermarkets, drugstores and the occasional Starbucks.

We were out there to meet up with X's Girl Scout troop leader, for a late morning round of cookie sales. The poor young leader had driven out to the Slaughter Road Walgreens (our assigned cookie destination. We are a new troop so I bet we get the worst assignments.) before having her morning coffee. This was an emergency that I could relate to--and handle. So the two set up their table while I made a Starbuck's run.

When I returned, a youngish man wearing a Burger King party hat was hanging around the table, making the girls feel uncomfortable. And not just them. When he approached one couple in the parking lot, the man yelled out, "DON'T TALK TO ME!" I could see why the troop leader wanted me to stay around for a while. But what was I to do?

I led the Burger King man away from the cookie table. After a brief conversation, it became clear he wanted money and attention. (Don't we all?) So I pulled out a five, figuring that would be enough money for him to actually buy something with, so he wouldn't need to hang around asking for more. And from his breath, I knew he'd be needing a swig sometime soon. I told him that I was giving him the money so he would go away and leave the cookie sellers alone. He could see he was making things difficult for them, couldn't he? He rambled on some and asked me for a hug. After a quick "what would Jesus do?" assessment, I gave him one. I really thought about it: if an acquaintance or a family member asked for a hug, I would do it. The ideal is to treat every person like a brother. But ewwwww. I did it anyway.

I then asked him where he was going, reminded him that he had to leave, and walked him to the edge of the parking lot toward the train trestle under which he and his friends had apparently made camp.

I stood around the cookie table for a while, hoping my five dollar investment had worked, and finally drove home. I called the troop leader later and Mr. Burger King had not returned.

I asked X about it later. She said she was "creeped out" and tried not to watch. She admitted that she was prejudiced against him. I said that was fine: I didn't like his aggressive ways and dirty clothes either. And reminded her that, being a child, she shouldn't do any of the stuff I had done. She agreed heartily.