A Transaction Of Trust

It was cold February day and the rain finally stopped. It had been pouring especially hard this past few weeks. Typical west coast winter weather. I got off the bus and was walking on my way to work in the downtown Eastside on Powell Street. A smartly dressed woman in and about the skids looked somewhat out of place. But then again the core was filled of all walks of life.

The bundle of kraft paper towel was broken open and scattered a full two blocks long down the sidewalk and in the gutter. The sheets were absolutely saturated and stuck down tight. The rain had all but reduced it to pulp, which then seemed to morf right into the concrete. It bothered me to step in, on, and through the mess. Right outside the downtown eastside mission church no less.

It was still there on my way home at 5 o’clock. I stopped and was scraping up some of the pulp fiction with the edge of my boot, but at the same time anxious not to miss my bus.

A middle aged drifter passed by in torn clothing shielding him against the cold. He didn’t have a toque, gloves, or several of his front teeth. I shouted out, “Hey wanna make $2?” His eyes lit up as though I’d said $50. It seemed a fair price to the task at hand and I could see him assessing and calculating. He set down his crumpled bag of wares anxious to get started and asked if he could have the money now. He asked twice if he could have the money now.

I nodded and looked to see if my bus was coming, then back at him. I made eye contact to see if I was going to be duped for two bucks. I reached for my wallet as he made his first trip to the dumpster with a double batch of soggy roughage. He truly was in earnest. The job wasn’t too bad after all, they sort of all stuck together like a wet blanket. As I went into my wallet to make good on my part of the deal, it just so happened I had a brand spanking new two dollar bill (back in the day when we had two dollar bills). It was earmarked for this guy I swear.

As I snapped the crisp bill into his hand, the man genuinely nodded his approval. That he earned something on his own, no handouts, perhaps for the first time in days or weeks. This street fellow with wrinkled clothes and ice blue hands resonated pride. It was truly a business transaction. As I looked down the street at my oncoming bus, I extended my hand to quickly seal the deal and express my appreciation to him for keeping our streets clean. We shook hands in earnest.

There was an unpretentiousness about him that made me respect him more. He was on the level, regardless how he looked on the outside. He emphatically assured me he would get the job done. It seemed like years since anyone trusted this guy, looked him in the eye, or treated him with any value at all, let alone a wholehearted handshake and an unbent two dollar bill.

I walked by the next day and true to his word not a scrap was seen, not even the usual litter from the corner store.

It might have been only two bucks and a sincere thanks but its value was right up there with the widow’s mite.