... even homeless guys.
I was filling up at the Shell at 63rd and College in Broad Ripple this morning, and I noticed a rather disheveled gentleman perched on the footbridge abutment smoking a cigarette. I immediately figured him for being homeless, and, given how dirty he looked, I’m pretty sure he was. After the tank was full, I pulled ahead into a parking spot to record my mileage (“*geek!*” cries the crowd) and while I’m writing, this guy starts walking toward me. My immediate thought is that he’s looking for a handout or a ride or something, as that’s happened to me at that station before. I shake my head “no” and start to pull away (hurriedly, and I’m sure I was as obvious as a horse in a dog park) and I hear him yell something. I’m not sure why, but I stopped and he repeated himself. “I said, what kind of car is that?” Crikey. Here I am, basically running away from him, and he’s wondering what kind of car I’m driving.
“It’s a MINI Cooper”, I reply.
“A what?”, like I’d told him it’s a jersey cow
“A MINI Cooper.”
“Looks kinda foreign lookin’. I haven’t seen many of them around before. Kinda small.”
“Well, it’s a lot of fun to drive!”
“Just don’t get hit by anything big.”
“They hold up better than the big cars!”. Lame. Can I go now?
And I’m off. And kicking myself for stereotyping and jumping to conclusions. I feel about two inches tall. Where’s the love? In my defense, out of the last six times I’ve filled up, this is the third time I’ve been approached by someone, and the last two by people looking for a handout.
So, I think I’m going to keep a couple of “handout bucks” in the glove box. The next time someone comes looking for money, I’ll give him one, and stop with the stock response “I’ve got no cash on me”, which nobody, including myself, really believes. Then, provided I don’t feel like I’m going to be attacked, I can stick around and let some otherwise-innocent guy compliment me on my car and not run for the hills, making him feel like a leper.
