The Wretched and the Reached of the Earth

The Wretched and the Reached of the Earth

Every time I’ve eaten outside in the past six days, between two and six individuals have come to my table and tried to sell me something useless.

It’s annoying but also demands our empathy.

I don’t know if it happens all over the city, but it sure as shit happens every fucking day in La Condesa and Roma Norte.

Usually, I say, “No thank you,” or “I don’t have any cash” (always a lie).

While I say these things, I’m avoiding saying, “Dude, fuck off! I’m trying to eat a meal here. Who the fuck asked you to show up?”

Which….if I wanted to twist the knife, I could add, “do you know how many other assholes have already tried to sell me a piece of bullshit in the past thirty minutes? Please go the fuck away.”

Apathy and entitlement aside, three days ago, I heard a woman trying to offload some mini chocolate bars on other patrons at a place I was eating lunch. I pretended to be on the phone until I thought she was gone. As soon as I put it down, she pounced. Her spiel was practiced but pained. I could see it on her. She said she didn’t have a job right now and tried to supplement her income by selling these little somethings on the street.

I was annoyed and didn’t want to accidentally show her how stuffed my wallet was with green, red, and blue bills by looking for the smallest denomination I could give her for the thin, off-brand pieces of chocolate she had just started lining up on my table. So, I brushed her off: “I don’t have any cash! Sorry.”

She left without a fuss, but I haven’t forgotten what she looked like: mid-40s, thin wrists, stressed, sleepless eyes, and a gaunt face that would have been pretty in better circumstances.

Her clothes didn’t help either: loose jeans and a yellow polo shirt that was surely not made for a woman. She looked like she was fired by the Best Buy Geek Squad two weeks ago but refused to change out of her uniform as a point of pride.

She was a particularly iconic scene of the class struggle of this city, and I wish I had taken a god damn photo!

Last night at sidewalk dinner with my friend Sahil I wondered aloud how many informal vendors would approach our table. Sahil expressed how grateful he was to be at the table in the seat and not with the candy in the street. There but for the grace of God go I.

Sahil is temporarily living in Mexico City, and I will be in London for the rest of the year come July. We’re both fucking stoked on life, free as birds to be wherever we want, and live comfortably at that!

Our first solicitor just showed up: a well-fed, bespectacled father with his toddler son. He’s hoping we can help him out with a few pesos for a handful of strawberry lozenges. I tell him that I’m a writer and I’ll buy some if he lets me take a picture of him for a story (this story). He agreed, I snapped it, and he handed us the bag saying, “take as many as you want.”

Pretty soon, we’re sharing seven different rice and curry dishes. Hatim has just joined us. For the last thirty minutes, he had been on the phone with his seventeen-year-old sister, discussing her future. She has to decide on one of two excellent universities to enroll in this Fall. Essentially, Sahil and I were talking about how we had no problems. And Hatim is helping his sister maneuver through one of the best problems anyone can have. 

Like clockwork, the next peddler comes along. She is four feet tall, she’s selling mini bouquets of white roses, and she’s….she’s like seven years old, she’s an unaccompanied minor. Luckily for us both, she was willing to be photographed in exchange for a flower purchase. (Something about that line just sounds awful.)

There’s an UPSIDE to the prevalence of these poor bastards! I’ve seen very few homeless people in this hulking city. I haven’t seen anyone talking to themselves on the sidewalk, and I haven’t seen/heard anyone screaming angry nonsense, pushing a shopping cart, and putting today’s meltdown on display for the innocent public.

Other than the terrible air quality and children being used to sell candy to strangers, this place is a utopia compared to downtown Los Angeles. (Jesus Christ!)

My point is that these candy sellers, these rose and toy sellers, they’re trying. They’re offering something of some small value. I’m rooting for every one of these underdogs putting forth a sincere effort.

As I finish this piece, I think of the woman in the yellow shirt. I wish I could hand her a rose, give her a hug, and tell her everything’s going to be “OK.” I don’t know if that’s true. What I do know is that the state of life each of us considers OK is subjective. For her sake, I take comfort in that.