Off The Record
I Bought Coffee And Shawarma For A Homeless Man, And He Gave Me A Note That Made All The Difference
On a chilly winter night, I bought shawarma for a homeless man and his dog. At the time, it appeared to be a straightforward act of generosity. However, I realized this was no typical encounter when he slipped me a message that hinted at a past I had completely forgotten.
I was employed at a downtown mall sports goods store. I believed that nothing could surprise me after 17 years of marriage, two teens, and innumerable late shifts. However, that’s how life is hilarious.
Holiday customers’ demands for refunds over obviously worn things had made that day especially difficult. In addition, my daughter Amy texted me about failing another math test, and a register kept jamming. It would have been necessary for us to consider hiring a tutor.
When my shift finished, I was thinking about all of these things. To make matters worse, the temperature had fallen to extremely low levels. The store’s exterior thermometer read 26.6°F.
As I stepped outside, the wind whipped loose papers over the sidewalk, howling between buildings. Dreaming about the warm bath I would prepare at home, I tightened my coat.
As I approached the bus, the shawarma stand, which had been there for nearly as long as I had worked in the store, caught my attention. It was between a gloomy convenience store and a closed flower shop.
The metal surface of the grill emitted steam into the warm air. I nearly stopped for one when I smelled the spices and cooked pork. However, I wasn’t a big fan of the vendor. His frown lines were persistent, and he was a stocky man.
You could receive your shawarma in two seconds, and the food was wonderful, but I didn’t want to be grumpy today.
However, when I noticed a homeless man approaching the stand with his dog, I still stopped. The man, who was about fifty-five, glanced at the revolving meat with a chilly, hungry expression.
The poor puppy had no fur, while the guy had a thin coat. For them, my heart ached.
The vendor’s piercing voice surprised me, “You going to order something or just stand there?”
I observed the homeless man collecting his bravery. “Please, sir. With his shoulders slumped,” he questioned, “Just some hot water?”
Unfortunately, I was aware of the vendor’s answer before he ever spoke. “LEAVE THIS PLACE!” “It’s not charity!” he yelled.
The man’s shoulders slumped as the dog came closer to its owner. That’s when I saw a picture of my grandmother.
She had told me stories of her difficult upbringing and how one act of compassion had prevented her family from being hungry. Her words came to mind, even if I couldn’t always help, and I’d never forgotten that lesson:
“Kindness costs nothing but can change everything.”
Before I knew it, I was speaking. “Two coffees and two shawarmas.”
The dealer nodded and got to work quickly. He put my order on the counter and said, “$18,” in a blunt manner.
I gave him the cash, snatched up a tray and a to-go bag, and hurried to meet the homeless man.
His hands trembled as I handed him the food.
“God bless you, child,” he said in a low voice.
I gave a clumsy nod, eager to get home and out of this terrible weather. But I was halted by his hoarse voice.
“Wait.” He pulled out a pen and paper, scrawled something quickly, and held it to me as I turned to look. “Read it at home,” he remarked, grinning oddly.
I stuffed the note into my pocket and nodded. I was already thinking about what I would make for dinner and whether there would be any seats on the bus.
Life at home that night continued as usual. Derek, my kid, wanted assistance with his scientific assignment. Amy was upset with her arithmetic teacher. Tom, my husband, mentioned a new customer at his legal practice.
Until I began gathering clothing for the laundry the following evening, the message remained forgotten in my coat pocket.
I read the following message after unfolding the crumpled paper:
“I’m grateful that you saved my life. You have previously saved it, but you are unaware of this.”
A three-year-old date and the name “Lucy’s Café” appeared beneath the message.
I almost let the clothing slip out of my grasp. Before it closed, I frequently ate lunch at Lucy’s.
Suddenly, I was filled with vivid memories of that day. A lot of people sought cover in the café during the thunderstorm.
A man had entered by accident. His clothing was saturated, and I could tell by the expression in his eye that he was in more than just a food crisis. For another reason.
I was the only one who even glanced at him. The waitress nearly pushed him away, but I heard my grandmother’s voice again just like the day before.
I thus got him a croissant and coffee.
I smiled my biggest smile and wished him a good day. I felt it was nothing extraordinary.
My heart ached once more when I saw that same man. His life had obviously not improved, but he still recalled my generosity. But was it sufficient to have food once every few years?
The thought kept going through my head that night, making it impossible for me to fall asleep.
I left work early the following day.
Fortunately, he was tucked in a corner, holding his dog, near the shawarma stand. The cute puppy waved his tail when he spotted me.
“Hey, there,” I said, grinning. “I read the message. It’s unbelievable that you can recall that moment.”
The man flashed me a brittle smile as he looked up, startled to see me. “You’re a bright spot in a harsh world, child, and you’ve saved me twice now.”
“I didn’t,” I said with a headshake. “That was merely some food and common sense. I’d like to do more. Will you actually allow me to assist you?”
“Why would you do that?”
“Because everyone deserves a second chance—a real one.”
I told him to follow me after he nodded.
He needed a lot of help getting back on his feet, and since my husband is a lawyer, I thought we might be of assistance. I wanted to know him better first, so I asked him to a café, gave him a full introduction, and found out that his name was Victor.
Victor talked about how he lost everything over two cups of coffee, a cherry pie they shared, and a puppy treat for his dog, Lucky. He had a wife and a daughter and had worked as a truck driver.
A motorist swerved into his lane one rainy night. He suffered a broken limb and crippling medical debt as a result of the accident. His wife took their daughter and left when he was unable to find another job.
His employer declined to provide disability compensation in spite of his injuries. And finally, he was completely consumed by depression.
“That day at Lucy’s,” he admitted, putting his hands over his coffee cup, “I was going to cut everything off.” However, you gave me a smile. regarded me with human decency. I was granted one additional day. Then another. Then another. I eventually discovered Lucky alone, but I persisted. I felt less isolated.
His cheeks were wet with tears. He concluded by saying, “And now here you are again.” “Just when this rough weather had me wondering if I should let someone adopt my dog.”
Tears filled my eyes and I shook my head. “No, that is not required of you. I’m present. Without you, Lucky is not going anywhere.”
I got in touch with a nearby shelter that evening and got Victor and his dog a place.
For new clothes and necessities, I also created a GoFundMe page. The social media posts were created with my kids’ assistance. Furthermore, Tom’s colleague, who was interested in taking Victor’s case pro bono, was an expert in disability benefits litigation.
After everything was resolved, we assisted Victor in replacing his identity and other critical documents that had been taken from him while he was dozing off on a park bench.
Finding him a suitable room to rent close to the shelter took us an additional month. He got a job at a factory warehouse with a new address, and his boss let Lucky in. The dog soon became the unofficial morning shift mascot.
The next year, my doorbell rang on my birthday. Victor was standing there with a chocolate cake from the neighborhood bakery.
His smile exuded a confidence he had never experienced before, and he appeared well-groomed and clean-shaven. Lucky even had a new red collar on.
“You’ve saved my life three times now—at the café, at the shawarma stand, and with everything you’ve done since,” he remarked, his eyes gleaming with appreciation. “I will always remember that. It’s the least I could do for the hero who was born on this day, but I still wanted to offer you this cake.”
I invited him inside with a grin, determined not to cry again.
As my family and our buddy chatted and ate cake, I reflected on how nearly I had passed him that chilly night, too preoccupied with my own issues to be sensitive to his suffering.
What was the number of victories waiting for someone to notice them?
Therefore, I frequently reminded Amy and Derek of my grandmother’s advice to always be kind and to seize any opportunity to make the world a bit less cruel.
You never know who might use it as a lifeline.
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