A Slice of Pizza

Phil and I don't eat out a lot; it's rare that we treat ourselves, but after a long day of work proceeded by an extra hard climbing session and a late night, we decided that we could use the convenience of comfort food - that only pizza can deliver.

We called in our order and then cruised down our wind hill, five minutes into downtown Arcata. Giddy with hearts set of cheesy goodness, we arrived at the pizza deli and collected the aromatic pie. As we departed the establishment, heading home with our treasure, a man called out to us from a dark alcove of a closed business, asking if we could spare a slice.

"Sorry, dude, all accounted for," Phil said.
"For other folks, too," I lied.
"Do you have any money you can spare," the man tried again.
"Sorry," we replied.

We got in the car and started driving down the road.
"I feel bad for lying," I blurted out. "Why do I feel so guilty about not sharing our pizza and why did I lie to him?"
"I lied to him too," Phil admitted. "I said they were all accounted for."
"Why did we feel it necessary to do that?" I asked.
"It is our pizza, and this is a big deal to us."
"You're right, this isn't an everyday thing."
Phil added, "Yeah, we paid premium price for it...with good money."
"But, I still feel bad."
"It was the way that he asked," Phil answered.
I wondered aloud, "how are you supposed to ask for food...the right way?"

Forgetting we needed to pick up a few things, we pulled into the Safeway parking lot, still mulling over the discussion we were having.
"Well, if he would have come to our house and asked us for help, I would have helped him - but not like that," Phil tried to justify.
"Would we help him?" I asked. "Truly? I mean, I want to believe that we are the kind of people who would help someone if they came to our house to ask for help, but I don't know if we would."
"Well, it is just hard. You can't just give all of your food away," Phil refuted.
"True, but maybe you do give what you can. And, yeah, that probably means you get less. But, if we are the kind of people who believe truly in wealth equality and community, then shouldn't we be okay with getting less?"
"So, does that mean that we help each person who asks for it?"
"Yeah...maybe it does," I said.

Making our way through the checkout and getting back to the car, Phil decided, "We need to drive back and give that guy a piece of pizza. If we don't, all of this is for nothing."
"I know," I agreed and we retraced our path back to the pizza deli.
When we saw the lights of the establishment glowing, Phil pulled up next to a guy on the corner, but it wasn't the same guy.
"Is this the same guy?" Phil asked.
"No," I fretted. "It was that guy back there." I motioned a little ways up the block.
Phil made his way to circle back.
"See, that's the problem!" I lamented.
"That it is compounding?"
I laughed at myself. At laughed through my embarrassment. Shaking my head, I grappled with my feelings. "No, that's the problem." My reaction of selfishness is the problem. Our greed is the problem. Our not looking other people in the eyes is the problem. Our isolation is the problem. Our demonization of others is the problem. Our not seeing people as people is the problem. Our reaction is the problem.

"You don't have to give your whole pizza away, but you have to give what you can, when you can," we concluded as we found the original guy and pulled up next to him. He was still standing against the building when I got out of the car and started towards him with the box of pizza in my hands.

"We circled the block and had to come back," I lamely explained. "I would like to offer you a piece of pizza."
Phil, now standing next to me, helped hold the box open as the guy graciously helped himself to a slice.
"Thank you," the guy said. "Smoke a lot of bowls; I hope you get to smoke a lot of bowls, guys."
"Take care," we replied as we turned to get back in the car.

Buckling up, I looked over to the guy, who had just been confronted by the other transient man on the corner - the one Phil had mistook as the original guy. What happened next, we weren't prepared for. As we looked back, we saw the original guy rip the slice of pizza in half and share it.

They shared it.

Phil and I, after experiencing a roller coaster of emotions and feeling moved by the conclusions we had reached, felt physically sick. This feeling of distress seemed to surge through me, choking my throat and making me unable to laugh or cry. We held each other and talked about the few blessings that have provided us with a life where there is a roof over our heads and food on our plates. We empathized with the feelings of distress over not having anywhere to go. Not too long ago, we were there. Knowing how similar our path might have been to that man's, I experienced an almost debilitating sadness that I have only now come to understand as shame. I was so deeply embarrassed by my actions and my thoughts, so filled with the anguish of shame over realizing my hypocrisy, then horrified by the juxtaposition of someone giving away part of his piece of pizza so willingly, that it overwhelmed me. It was profoundly moving.

So, for the last couple of days I have been struggling with this truth, only comforted by the realization that seeing what I have seen, in the way that I have seen it, does not allow me to go back.

I say that the man willingly shared his pizza, but I can only assume. Maybe he went through the same struggle as I, grappling with the same decision calculus. I believe that we are all struggling and that we go through that struggle each and every day. I will never know what he is thinking, but I do know, that for me, I have my answer:

We do help, when we can and with what we can. Every time.