My Life in Argentina and Beyond

Friday, August 14, 2009: Soup Kitchen, 5 P.M. Sharp: The line was already long, mostly men. I asked James, the volunteer supervisor if it was still Ladies First policy. Yes, he said, going inside. I took my place a foot or two from a man wearing brown/white military-type pants, a white T-shirt and black L.A. Gear-like shoes. “Get back to the end of the line,” he told me in a loud voice. “No, I answered.” James just said it is Ladies First.” “Get back to the end of the line, or I’ll kick you in the face,” he told me, his voice becoming louder. “No, I repeated. “Go ask him if you don’t believe me. It is Ladies First.” Again, he told me to get to the end of the line. I looked at the other men and knew I’d get no help from them. I walked up the wooden plank to the cafeteria door and, once inside, asked for James. After I repeated what the man had threatened to do, James said: No, he won’t. He, another volunteer and I walked outside. “The Coalition policy is Ladies first,” he told the guy.” Just so she doesn’t stand next to me”, was the man’s reply. I had not been standing next to him. James went to the cafeteria and brought me his folding chair for me to sit on. I was very grateful and I felt protected, something I have not felt for a long time.

I walked by the Waldorf Astoria Hotel on Park Avenue late yesterday afternoon and saw lots of cops and people near it. The cops were talking to passers by and the people were holding up their cell phones to take pictures. President Obama has come to town to give a speech to the NAAPC at the Hilton. I had a strange sort of thought: Wouldn’t it be great if he could stand in line with me and the other people at the soup kitchen on 51st. between Park and Lexington? He could share one of our white plastic bag meals and talk to us, listen to our stories. Maybe Mayor Bloomberg could join him and give him a tour of the church. The St. Bart’s soup kitchen is only a block away from the Waldorf. I know the NAAPC is important, but when will our turn to be seen come? We are sometimes paid a little bit of attention, but not much. Many of us have been homeless; some are still homeless, pushing carts all over town with large plastic bags full of Pepsi and Coca Cola bottles to trade for a few dollars. Even if you have been without a home for a short period of time, it’s still a bad and horrible thing to go through. The experience leaves a mark that, in many cases, cannot be erased, even if you later are lucky enough to get back on your feet.

Monmday, July 14, 2008: I saw him standing over me. Here, Miss, this is a subway ticket, he said. Something in me didn't believe him. I sat on the steps of St. Bart's on Park Avenue and 50th. Quickly checking my purse, I discovered that my wallet was missing. The man ran away and I chased him down Park and then over to Lexington and the subway station. Police! Police! I shouted. Who would hear me at 3 in the morning? But I persisted and went after him. On one of the steps going to the trains, I saw my brown leather-like wallet open, face down. By some miracle almost everything inside it was still there. The thief had been a small time, cowardly thing.