My Life in Argentina and Beyond

A fat man with a well-fed face wearing a three-piece suit walked by our double line at the soup kitchen. He gave us—the women first and then the men—the once over and asked: What are these people waiting for? No one in the line answered. They probably thought ignoring him was the best thing to do. Food, I said. The man walked on with his group of friends. I smiled because I envied his luck. He’s probably never seen a soup kitchen line in real life. The only time he’s come across soup kitchens is in the movies.

Soup kitchen in the Rain: 5 P.M: I went early to the soup kitchen on 51st. between Park and Lexington. There were already at least 10 people ahead of me. The sky was grey, but it didn’t look too threatening, though it had rained hard earlier. Then, at about 5:15 P.M. it came down with a vengeance. People in their cars gawked at us and the guy behind me was pushing his transparent plastic bag to the side. It had all sorts of empty cans in it. A lady walked up to me out of nowhere and handed me a sandwich. Thank you very much, I told her. Then, she moved on to another person and gave him another sandwich. I couldn’t wait to get inside, get somewhere out of the rain. Somebody down in front got testy and started yelling at the woman behind him. He accused her of pushing him. The man in charge of the church volunteers went up to see what was going on. He motioned for the woman, me and another woman to go in and get our food. In the cafeteria, the guys had our soup, orange, milk and bagel in the bags. After we got them, there was another guy offering cheddar cheese and broccoli pies. The guy moved down to the other end of the table where we choose from croissants, pieces of brownies and Balthazar bread loaves. I walked out and thanked the church volunteer supervisor. The food came in very handy. The rain wouldn’t stop pouring. I opened my umbrella I went to the subway down the block.

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.