Edelman

I will be the first one to call myself ignorant: I am ignorant. I am also more fortunate than I know, as are many of the people reading this blog. I grew up in a bubble, went to high school in that bubble, ventured to another bubble from inside my sporty, red bubble to attend college in another bubble. Upon graduation, I would not say that the bubble has popped, but it has become a bit more translucent. I guess maybe it did pop, but I created a new one for myself without all the soapy scum rainbows I was used to having slink along the sides. The real world is an interesting place, even though I can't hardly claim to know anything about it, being a young, above-poverty-line, employed white male in America. Sure, I've lived in Spain for a few months and visited the tiny pueblos in the dehesa for a few hours. Their caved-in terra cotta roofs and the weeds poking through the holes in the sides of the buildings, wax-paper windows and unkempt "lawns," for lack of a better term, were depressing until I jumped back on the bus and left it all behind. What are those acronyms? NIMBY? OSOM? Of course, I also viewed Spain through the sides of my bubble.

Anyways, the event that inspired this post happened at Publix a bit ago while waiting in line to purchase my $40 worth of groceries for the week/month. While loading the conveyor belt with my $5 steak, my five-for-$5 yogurts, my three pounds of potatoes, and various other sundries, I couldn't help but notice the woman in front of me visibly shaking as her groceries were being rung up. Not shaking like a 70-year-old lady trying to sign her credit card receipt, but like a 30-something mother of three whose husband took off without leaving her a penny.

The total kept growing: $50, $65, $90, $150, $250; canned soups, diapers, frozen vegetables, cooking utensils, baby formula. From what I could see, essentials. At around $300, the total stopped, and she handed the cashier a debit card. As you might expect, she didn't have enough to cover everything, and her feigned surprise was not very convincing. Still shaking, she pulled out some food stamps and attempted to supplement her card with them, but to no avail, since apparently diapers and other non-food items aren't covered by food stamps. The manager was called, and the cashier apologized to me as the already backed up line and I waited for her to be handled by the management. Fighting hard to hold them back, the woman let a few tears escape out of the corners of her eyes, although she quickly brushed them away and attempted to re-compose herself.

Of course, I stood there, shocked, barely hearing the constant flow of sarcastic apologies from the inured cashier, focused on the pain and humiliation emanating from the woman throwing herself at the mercy of the Publix management. She was doing nothing more than everything she had to in order to take care of her family, and she was failing. I felt a bit nauseous, standing there with my private college education, credit card, and nice coat, knowing that I would probably always have enough to pay the rent and eat out for lunch. Looking at the mound of items she undoubtedly needed and looking at my queue of items that I merely wanted, but could probably live without, I realized I couldn't possibly imagine what this woman must go through on a daily basis just to feed her kids. Surely I had a few—

The cashier must have read my mind, because as I reached into my back pocket, she slyly waved a knurled hand at me and shook her head, telling me that this woman pulls this stunt all the time. Of course this made me feel worse. The people behind me were beginning to grow impatient, and the now openly-weeping woman in front of me was whisked off to Somewhere Else where she could be consoled and eventually not allowed to bring home her groceries.

What do I do in this situation? Do I drop $300 on her groceries out of the goodness of my heart or do nothing and let her fend for herself? Do I continue with my life unaffected, eat my dinner I can afford to purchase and prepare, go to sleep in my queen-sized bed, wake up and go to my bi-weekly paycheck the next morning? Unfortunately, I can't be the hero and give you the happy ending where I buy her groceries, because I didn't. In fact, I did almost exactly as I described, minus the unaffected part. I realized that I was, in fact, living in two bubbles: a pecuniary bubble and a mental bubble. I learned that my way of thinking is totally different than most of those around me, and not just in a humorous sense or an intellectual sense, but in a common sense. While of course I'm aware that there are people who cannot afford groceries, because I'm not usually exposed to this type of event, it never sinks in how truly devastating it can be, or how common an occurrance it is.

I don't know if it's good or bad, but I feel that to leave that event without some sort of change in your way of feeling and thinking, as most likely the cashier, the Publix managers, and the people behind me in line surely will, then you've missed the opportunity to see the world as it truly is, and to break out of your bubble. Although, maybe I'm the only one in a bubble...

Word of the Day: flaneur n: one who strolls about aimlessly; a lounger; a loafer

The white-bearded professor was known as the school's flaneur, constantly walking around the campus muttering incoherencies and randomly flailing his arms about. By flaneur, I mean crazy.