Fight or flight... or yield?
What to do when a stranger confronts you
One afternoon a few months ago, I was on my way to the CVS near my office when a man came up to me on the street corner. He had a cart full of stuff with him and a big smile. In my memory he wore a dirty white t-shirt and jeans, and a nondescript jacket that might have been green or gray.
He was a familiar face, somebody I’d seen on that block before. I’d be walking to work in the morning and there he’d be, sitting against one of the buildings that lined the sidewalk, asking passersby for something to help him out. Some food, a little money. My reaction was usually to acknowledge him – a tilt of the head, a small smile, a “sorry, not today, sir” – and be on my way. But I never stopped.
That day, though, he came right up to me as I was waiting for the pedestrian light to change. And he started talking to me. He said, Hello ma’am, my name is Brian. I don't recall exactly how the rest went, but basically he asked politely, maybe with a touch of mania, if I could spare just a bit of cash. I've just gotten an apartment approved, and I’m bringing my kids with me, but I need help with the deposit.
He asked for $100 to get him on his way.
I clearly remember thinking that a hundred bucks is a lot to ask from a stranger. Hesitantly I apologized, saying I didn’t really have any cash on me. (Which was true.) But he was persistent. He said, How about a gift card? He said he’d take a hundred-dollar gift card from the CVS down the block.
The CVS happened to be my destination, and I didn’t know how to shake this man and go into the store without feeling rather cruel. At the same time I didn’t want to be diverted from my errand. It was the middle of the work day, I only had so much time, and in any case was I really going to turn around and go back to my desk empty-handed because I couldn’t handle a stranger?
There was a part of me – the part that fears confrontation – that wanted to, that was tempted to just take a different route around the block and make my way back to the office. Try the CVS another time.
But another part of me refused to let this person scare me into submission. I had coffee pods to pick up, dammit. I was not going to run away. It was a tricky position: Either abandon my errand, or cave to a guy who wouldn’t listen to “no.”
Finally I turned to him and said, OK. I’ll get you a gift card.
The light changed. He took his cart, and we made our way over to the CVS. As we walked, he chattered at me about his kids, how glad he was to have a new spot, how he hoped to get a job soon. I wish I could say I was comfortable talking to him. I wish I could say I did more than murmur some platitudes, maybe ask a question or two when it felt appropriate. I wish I could say I didn’t notice that other people’s eyes flicked away when they saw us, or that for those few minutes I walked with him I wasn’t terribly self-conscious. Because I want to be the kind of person who wouldn’t hesitate to stop and help someone in need, even if they were kind of pushy.
But I’d be lying if I did. Because I also felt a little scared. While he was not a big man, he had a wiry look about him, and I knew I wasn’t physically strong or skilled enough to defend myself if things went sideways. I’ve been in situations where it has – when someone who was unwell or under the influence got aggressive, yelling and pushing and throwing food at me for no reason. It’s unnerving, to the say least.
And though Brian seemed nice enough, the longer I was with him, the greater the chance that something might set him off. So I just desperately wanted the interaction to end. It seemed like the fastest way to do that was to give him what he wanted and get gone.
Inside the CVS, I told him to go ahead and pick his gift card. As I was paying at the self-checkout he kept talking, pointing out which buttons I should press to complete the transaction. It irritated me, to be frank. In my head I was like, I know how to do this, man. I’m doing you a favor here. Eventually the purchase went through. I handed him the card and said something like, Brian, you said you found housing. He confirmed and told me that I wouldn’t be seeing him again.
Brian left with his gift card. I wandered the store for a while, wondering if I’d just been swindled. Eventually I picked up my coffee pods and made my way out. And as I was leaving the store, who did I see again but my pal Brian, walking back into the CVS, talking the ear off some other woman.
To this day I don’t know how to feel about the whole affair. Or. . . I guess I do: I feel shame. It’s just that I’m not sure what it is I’m ashamed of.
Had I fallen for some kind of con and gotten swindled for a $100? What kind of sucker just gives away that kind of money to some rando on the street? How do I know that he didn’t just turn around and do something awful with that cash (and whatever that other lady gave him)? The idea of having been fleeced because I was too shy/scared/worried about what other people would think of me to say no – I’m a little ashamed of that.
I’m also ashamed of how embarrassed I was. How reluctant. God knows I’ve spent $100 on the most frivolous things. Makeup. Jeans. A nice dinner. Why did I so begrudge that man money that I can very much afford to lose? Who cares what he ultimately used it for – why couldn’t I just treat him like a person in need? I know I don’t regret giving him the gift card, in the end.
The interaction has sat in the back of my mind for months. And upon reflection, I think it’s because I don’t know what I’m supposed to have learned from it. Does it mean I should just give a hundred bucks to whoever asks? That doesn’t seem quite right. But I also don’t think it means I shouldn’t, ever again.
I’m still figuring out how to feel. Even writing about it has been a challenge, because it’s been so hard to articulate my various layers of discomfort. The best I’ve got is that I did what I could in the situation at hand. Maybe it’s OK that I was uncomfortable that a strange man came up to me on the street. That him asking for money made me uneasy. That I think it’s unsustainable to just give out cash (or gift cards). It’s also OK to want to give what I can, and to do it when it feels right.
Just a day after I started working on this essay, I saw Brian again for the first time. He was outside that same CVS with his cart and a sign that said, Please help. This time I tilted my head at him, said, “Sorry, not today, sir.”
And I went on my way.
Small victories 🏅
I recently that learned that Trillion Dollar Shot, the podcast miniseries that I worked on last year about GLP-1 drugs, is a finalist for the NIHCM Foundation Journalism Awards. What an honor! It’s funny to think how much more ingrained Ozempic and drugs like it have become since we aired the series. Hopefully that gives our chances for the win a little extra boost.
Hot mess recs 🔥
Speaking of the NIHCM Awards, my colleagues at the Wall Street Journal are also finalists! Which is no surprise, given that their work was also recently a runner-up for a freakin’ Pulitzer. Their investigation, which they called Medicare, Inc., shows how private insurers in the Medicare Advantage program employ questionable practices that cost taxpayers billions of extra dollars. The reporting team examined a ton of data and interviewed doctors, nurses, and patients with the program, and the series not only identifies patterns but goes deep into some very real experiences. It’s not light reading, but very worthwhile.
Looking for something a little less. . . weighty? Then let me point you to the latest fantasy series I finished and loved: The Licanius Trilogy by James Islington. Basically, boy with powers he doesn’t understand gets swept up in a millenia-old war of immortals, one that has earth-shattering consequences for his friends, his country, and the world. It’s got forbidden magic, shapeshifting, time travel, human-snake hybrids with a weird name, advanced technology from a dead civilization and a sword that can kill the unkillable. The books have got their cons: Some of the time travel stuff was hard to follow, the world-building far outstripped the characters’ depth, and the author really liked his adverbs. But otherwise this was one of the best successors to Wheel of Time I’ve come across in a while.
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XOXO – Jess