Fuck homeless people dawg

 As you know I have been saying to everyone and I mean absolutely everyone I meet that I will be a millionaire one day. It’s like my conversation starter. When I meet someone usually the conversation will go like “tell me about yourself.” and I’ll answer with “I’m gonna be a millionaire.” I think about that a lot. I want to leave behind something good. A little bit of change into the world. I have a giant list of topics that have kept me up at night. Topics ranging from exploitation of child stars, cartel violence, and the most important and most conflicting in my mind…. Homelessness. I feel like this issue is very personal to me and it drives me back and forth from hate to empathy. I have a brother who’s homeless. He lives in a cycle, first he’ll stay at our house for about 2-4 weeks, then everyone in my house will get fed up with him, he’ll go on the streets for about the same time, then he’ll go to jail for another 2 weeks, and then he’ll repeat the cycle. For years and years my father kept having hope that he’ll change. He still does. I’ve always been very empathetic about homeless people, I’ve always heard people say “Get a job!” “They’re just lazy, they don’t want to work” “it’s because of drugs” and my mind always thought… well they don’t have a permanent address, they’re not clean, they don’t have the environmental stability to get a job. However the more and more I’ve observed my brother, I’ve seen how people can start to think this way, and most of the time I do think this way. Especially after working in fast food. I think I’ve spent more time dealing with homeless people than actually serving people. My coworkers always treated them like they weren’t people, sure they’d get high, shower in, and dirty our bathrooms every day but, as someone who has dealt with it first hand you remember every now and then when they show a little bit of soul that they weren’t always like that, they are a product of their community and bad choices. I don’t throw around the word hate very often but I will loudly admit that I HATE my brother. He’s lied, used me and others, stolen, and manipulated for his own gain, but I can’t help that I have a heart. When he walks in and says “hey sister” or gives me a stolen chocolate bar I remember that he’s still my brother and I can go around and tell people that he’s not… but he is. Even though he has planted this hate in me, there’s moments that I see as a reminder from God that my heart is bigger than the shadow behind it. Working in an environment where you have your peripheral vision set on these people at all times and security on speed dial, you kind of get to know them. I had my regulars, but I didn’t know their names. There was a girl who would come in every Wednesday for Whopper Wednesday, the mail man who never changed his order and told me he loved my smile, the woman in the drive thru who swore she was allergic to onions but really she just didn’t like them, the guy who always passed through right before closing to exchange his stack of one dollar bills to big bills (100% a pimp) but then there were the real regulars. The ones on the streets who came in dumping handfuls of pennies and nickels on the counter counting them usually to buy a 70¢ ice cream or a $1.78 kids drink. After a while I stopped counting the coins to see if they were exact. I just trusted them and threw them in the register. Who cares if we’re a couple cents short I have real customers waiting on me. I knew their names. A lot of them were dishonest, intoxicated people, but they remembered if you turned them away or served them even just 10¢ short. In return they would ask you what you needed most and steal it from Walmart to sell you for a cheaper price. They would buy you alcohol when you were underage because you slid them a cheeseburger now and then. We as workers sometimes don’t treat them as people but when cops show up next door because a body turned up in the arroyo across the street, we all pray that it’s not one of ours. I think the moment I remember the most was when I went out into the storage shed to restock drink trays. They were in a box with a thick strap and I had left the box cutter inside. Rather than go all the way back inside I went around the shed where I knew these people would be, sitting in a blunt rotation, and of course there they were with a large pizza they had all pitched in to buy. I asked them if I could borrow a knife and one of them handed me a small pocket knife with no questions asked. They even offered me a slice of pizza when I came to give it back. Despite how my coworkers had treated them in the past they were still there like nothing mattered. I could have called security or my manager, they could have attacked me or negotiated food in return but instead they asked me what time it was and told me to have a good day. To this day I’m still very mentally hostile to homeless people with unreasonable anger. I think about the people who are capable but would rather be out there panhandling like it’s a real job. But when it gets too much I remember that moment, a casual, insignificant moment that would’ve never existed in my mind, and it levels out my hate and anger and that’s my reminder. My reminder of one of the 100 reasons I want to leave the earth better than I found it. One of the reasons I need to stay focused and keep my eyes on the bigger picture. So that at least one other person in this world has a chance. My brother may be beyond saving but there’s someone out there who isn’t, and who wants to do better. Someone who actually wants my help.