Today was an interesting day, to say the least. I just got back from my lunch and noticed a 30-something lady walk into the entrance of the Aliso Viejo Library. She caught my attention because of two things. First, I could hardly see her face, as she was head down obviously wallowing in misery. Her posture was one of dejection and resignation. Second, she was clutching a somewhat see-thru grocery bag full of clothes and a hair dryer. My curiosity was piqued that I observed her just a few feet away pretending that I was reading some materials on a table. I waited a few minutes in silence watching her. She stood quietly looking down at the floor – looking past it. I finally asked her, “Is there anything I can do for you? You look like you’re in trouble”. She then looked up and said, “I lost everything”. Those words carry with it such force for those who've experienced it that I knew exactly what she was feeling and opened up to her. “I’m homeless, too” I said, making the assumption she was preoccupied with finding a place to sleep for the night - an interesting situation magnified by the fact that it was drizzling outside.
We then went into short discourse about our life complications, a common denominator that only people in our situation can comprehend. “I’m trying to get to Dana Point so I can have a place to sleep for the night”, she said. I attempted to tell her about the bus route that she could take until she told me that she had to be there at 3:00PM. I didn’t have my watch on so I craned my neck to find the wall clock in the library, which said 2:05PM. If she took the bus, she wasn’t going to make it. “My gas needle is in the red and I only have about $10.00, otherwise I would drive you there". I said to her. "I could give you a couple of dollars", she replied. I calculated in my head how much it will take to get me there and back and decided that a couple of bucks will fall short. Finally, she said she can give me $10.00 and so off we went.
Our stories converge at the most basic of all levels. We both used to derive our income from the mortgage industry. Like many of the professionals in our field who invested many years in developing the skills and knowledge to be successful, she found her income dwindle to virtually nothing when the capital markets dried up. We didn't have a chance to talk at length but she struck me as someone who is smart but got blind-sided by the financial tsunami that has since rearranged everything about the mortgage industry.
In no time, she had my car gassed up and we were on our way to Saint Edward’s Church - notable for the “pedophile priest story”. I had been there a couple of weeks ago, right after I got my food stamps and had welcomed the opportunity to once again see the “three wonderful ladies” who every Wednesdays welcome the struggling masses like her and I and try their best to bring cheer to those who come through their doors.
She had called earlier and was promised a voucher to a local motel room. After a brief interview, she was handed a check written in the name of the establishment. Before leaving, we both took some canned goods that were available only on Wednesdays. They call this the “Open Pantry” which literally means a pantry full of foodstuff. It had anything from baby formula to canned goods of every kind.
After saying our good-byes to the “ladies” we were off to the Marina Motel where I dropped her off. We promised to stay in touch and even agreed to find the first opportunity to do business together, perhaps fund a deal together. I was told many times by people who’ve helped me out to “pass it along” – vernacular which means to help someone in the future. If that was all it took to pay into the piggy bank of the broke, that was easy!
The thing to remember is that we are not poor, just broke!
