Hello readers,
I realize it’s been nearly two months since my last post, so let me recap what’s been happening in the store: not much. Summer brings slow business so there isn’t much to talk about. More than half of my conversations with customers include one or more of the topics: football, weather, homeless people, and how much we wish school would start up again. I think it’s fair to assume that school is in high demand with everyone who stayed in Eugene for the summer.
However, one major benefit of working in a convenience store in a densely homeless-populated area of town would be getting a better understanding and empathy for the less fortunate. While walking home after the Vampire Weekend concert with my friends, I ran into a frequent customer of the store whom I believe to be homeless. We made the usual small talk as if I was behind the counter like all of our other encounters. Later in the walk, I ran into another familiar homeless customer and we, like the previous man, talked to each other as if I was at work. When we got back, one of my friends commented that I know a lot of the homeless people in the area. My first -internal- reaction was “Of course, I work at a convenience store.” But my job doesn’t dictate my environment. There are plenty of clerks who see homelessness on a much minor scale. Little’s just happens to be in an area with a lot of homeless patrons. Many people reading this might be thinking it would be better to have customers with better reputations. True, that would make my job friendlier and easier, but that kind of mindset seems ignorant to individual needs. I usually enjoy taking an interest in stories that my customers have to tell.
There is a fine line between homeless and not. In the Little’s region, a disheveled appearance does not necessarily constitute a lack of home. And I’ve been wrong in my judgment before. Pointing out the similarities between homeless people and people like ourselves, who are sitting inside with internet access, is the first step in building solidarity within socio-economic classes. There is a notorious woman in the neighborhood, I’ll call her Katy, who is the most recognized and hated woman within earshot. The other day Katy was loitering outside the store, which is a popular hangout spot for the local transients. My boss told me that when people congregate outside, I should immediately call the police non-emergency number and a patrol car will come by shortly to tell them to clear out. Well I did what my boss wanted and called the police, who said they’ll send a car. The car never came. I stepped outside during my break to find Katy sitting against the side window. She wasn’t wearing any pants and was holding part of a wooden curtain rod. I asked why the curtain rod. She replied that it was for protection from a man who was stalking her. I told her the police station is two blocks away, and that they would be better protection than the club. But she seemed genuinely scared of an attack. I ended the conversation because I could tell I was talking to someone who wouldn’t listen to what I had to say. The point of this story is not that homeless people are crazy, desperate people, but that it is possible to connect with them. This woman causes the most frustration and anger to people who come in contact with her than any other person I’ve met. But when she showed genuine fear for her safety, we connected briefly in a shared thought of helplessness in a situation, which I’m sure every single person has experienced at some point.
As a clerk, I get frustrated when a patron pulls out a pocket full of change. As a person, I get sympathetic that a fellow person lives his or her life with nothing but a satchel and pocket full of change. Homeless people are people too, even though it might take more effort to notice.
