I Said No When He Asked Me to Buy Him a Roast Chicken and Now I Feel Like Scrooge
To give or not to give? That is the question —
I’m standing in the checkout line at the local Safeway yesterday when a middle-aged man comes up behind me.
He’s bearded with sunken cheeks and wearing a brown, shabby winter coat. He’s holding one of those barbeque chickens they sell at the deli in both hands.
He’s talking to me. I can’t quite make out what he’s saying, but I assume he wants to bud in line since he only has one item.
“Pardon me?” I say and lean in a little closer to hear him.
“Could you buy me this chicken?” he asks. His eyes are downcast and he shakes the chicken a little to make his point.
I’m taken aback. I look down at the sweating, plastic coffin the chicken is in and its price tag of $11.49. “No, I’m sorry. I can’t,” I answer without taking a beat to think about it.
The man quickly leaves the cue and walks to the next cash register. I don’t hear him ask the question, but I do hear another woman say, “I’m sorry. I’m poor, too.”
A Safeway manager shows up at the till where I’m standing and with a look of annoyance on her middle-aged face, asks the cashier, “Can you call, Harry to the front?”
I make an assumption it’s to deal with the man begging to have his chicken bought for him. The cashier does as she’s told and then rings the remainder of my groceries through.
I pay $13.94 for a can of organic pinto beans, stewed tomatoes, tomato sauce, and 2 L of organic veggie broth.
I shove the groceries into my reusable canvas bag and hear the manager say, “Cancel Harry.”
Did the Chicken Man find someone to buy his chicken? Did he abandon it and his hungry stomach to save himself the embarrassment of being escorted from the store like a leper?
I leave Safeway and brace myself against the arctic cold that has claimed Edmonton over the last 48 hours.
I haven’t been able to stop thinking about this incident. I tell myself if I had had a little heads up and wasn’t taken off guard by the unexpected request to buy a stranger a BBQ chicken, I probably would have.
But these kinds of requests don’t come scheduled or with a content warning. They find us unprepared and reactive. The first answer is the final answer.
I have enough money in my bank account to cover the extra $12.00. It wouldn’t have broken me. So why was my answer a no?
I am privileged. I have a warm place to sleep and food in the fridge and pantry. I can feed my son a vegetarian meal because we can afford to make that choice.
The Chicken Man doesn’t have a choice. He’s just hungry and wants some damn protein in his belly so that he can survive the cold and not starve to death huddling inside a bus shelter.
I’m feeling guilty for saying, No. And maybe that’s the point. Had I said, Yes and paid the $11.49 for the bloody chicken, I could be writing another story about homelessness and poverty and how I had done the right thing and helped one person out.
I’d be patting myself on the back for a job well done and that’d be it. I wouldn’t be thinking about it now.
Instead, I’m writing this article feeling shitty that my knee-jerk reaction was a No.
No, I can’t buy you a chicken. And, yes, your poverty and hunger terrify me. And no, I’m not rich. And yes, I could have afforded to buy you the chicken. And no, I don’t know how to fix your problem, and had I bought that chicken, it wouldn’t have fixed it and you’d be back tomorrow asking someone else and the cycle would repeat itself indefinitely.
So what is the answer?
My daughter works at a youth shelter. She sees poverty, hunger, homelessness, and mental illness firsthand every day she’s on the job. I didn’t tell her about what happened yesterday because I feel both ashamed and also grateful that it’s not me on the street fighting to keep warm and begging for someone to buy me a chicken.
So to you, Chicken man, I’m sorry. I hope you found someone else to buy you food. If I ever see you again, or someone else who isn’t asking for change, but humbling themselves to ask a stranger to buy them food, I’ll say yes and throw in an extra $5.00 for a cup of coffee.
It’s not a long-term solution. I have no idea what the solution to abolish homelessness and poverty would even look like. Isn’t that for the government to figure out? I don’t have the skills or the resources, I tell myself, and feel the hook of guilt loosen somewhat.
It’s easy to not think about it and go about my day writing little stories on Medium and turning up the furnace because it’s frigid outside. I have my coffee growing cold in a porcelain mug I brought home from a trip to Europe and my feet are warm inside my fuzzy slippers and it all just feels so superficial right now.
I have no answers. What are your thoughts? Head on down to the comments and let me know how you would have dealt with a similar situation. Thank you for reading.
Judy
These here are wise words from Jill Eng. She brings reality into hyper-focus and stoked the fire of self-acceptance inside me.
And Annie Trevaskis’ story about a Medium scammer. Yes, they’re out there, so beware.
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