I Need a Beer

A tiny old man steps up on an inverted milk carton as he flips back the dumpster's lid.  The lid thuds against the cinder block wall of the convenience store as he stands on his tip toes to reach inside the big bin of rubbish.  He digs around, evidenced by occasional trash falling out, and continues with his rummaging. 

Expired donuts, with a variety of other expired food items, that are thrown out by the convenience store attract the homeless to the dumpster like token feedings.  The intersection is sprinkled with a homeless population who knows the day, time and exact employee responsible for the food's disposal.  They patiently wait in the alley's shadows, quietly watching for their next meal to be pitched. 

The little old man stops momentarily and looks down within the dumpster as if evaluating what kind of treasure his hands had secured.  It must not have been worthwhile as he resumes his foraging.  Occasionally, to reach deeper, a leg comes up and off the milk crate as he stretches and strains further into the bowels of the dumpster.  He works his belly up to the edge and folds over into the dumpster with both feet now off the milk crate.  His feet flail around as his legs kick and then, he starts to inch worm back out of the opening.  Standing on the crate, he evaluates his captured prize and steps off the crate to slowly walk, with a slight limp, down the alley.

He disappears between 2 dumpsters and I walk up to offer any help.  There, in the small gap between the dumpsters, his treasure rests in his lap.  He looks up, and from his wrinkled face, a nearly toothless grin develops as he says, "Hijo!"

"Hi Ramon," I say in recognition.  His age and hard living has taken its toll on his body where I did not initially realize the frail figure in the dumpster was him.  Ramon is 75 years old and was raised in a Spanish community on a small farm where he enjoys reminscing about his parents, multiple siblings and harvesting the garden.  He is not truly homeless since he lives with a neice about 12 blocks away, but he prefers the intersection.  He has friends, enjoys meeting strangers and looks forward to the social life the intersection offers.  Ramon has lived at the intersection for nearly 15 years, with sporadic breaks only when he stays with family elsewhere in the state. He's a happy man that cackles when humored and never speaks of how life was unfair to him.  He's very content with his life and snickers when the police drive by as he hides his open can of beer.

"What are you doing this afternoon, Ramon?  Have any plans?" I ask.

"Yea, " he starts, "I think I'm gunna go to work...need some beer money."

Ramon looks down in his lap at his prize from the dumpster.  He removes a huge black marker from his pocket and begins to scribble on the cardboard.  He was very critical when scavanging for the perfect size piece of cardboard.  Years of experience has Ramon a master of making a street sign asking for money from passing motorists or pedestrians.  Carefully, he crafts the appropriate sized letters when I ask if he needs anything.

"Nope," he replies, "I'll be working soon enough."

With that, I leave him to his artistry and later see him on the sidewalk, with his engaging smile and raised eyebrows straining to reach out to passing motorists.  Squinting, I read his sign.

"WHY LIE,  I NEED A BEER"

I wave to Ramon and admire that he doesn't script the typical, over-used sob stories seen on cardboard signs that always end with "God Bless."  His sign was straightforward and honest.  No wonder why I like him.

Months later, Ramon was found frozen to death behind a dumpster. 

Rest In Peace my little friend.