salvation à la mode and a cup of tea

So I’m walking to the McDonald’s earlier this week — you know the one on Market somewhere around 2nd — to purchase a delicious Sausage Egg McMuffin with which to get the horrible taste of that crappy Wendy’s sandwich out of my mouth, and what do I see but this crippled hobo with his crippled hobo wheel chair parked right in front of the door.

“Well that’s just great” I said to myself as I began to ponder whether rolling him into the street would be less taxing than just dumping him out of the chair, but before I could decide he grabbed the door handle and, with the grace only a crippled hobo could muster, rolled his chair backward in a half-circle and opened the door for me.

“Thanks” I said to him as I walked past, holding my breath so as to avoid the smell, and inside I went. But as I stood there waiting in line and trying to check out the cute Asian chick next to me as discreetly as possible, a strange thing happened: I heard the jingle-jangle of change as my hand brushed against my pocket, and suddenly I was overwhelmed with love and compassion. Or maybe it was gas. Tough to tell so early in the morning and two time zones away from my comfort region.

So feeling all gassy, I reached into my pocket for the change, removed the quarters and that one shiny new nickel with the big Jefferson head on it because it’s far too pretty and new for a hobo and especially a crippled one who would just dirty it up with hobo grease anyway, and gave him everything else as I left McDonald’s. Something like 83 cents in total.

It’s like I’m Gandhi and Bono all rolled up into one tight muscular package, irresistible to the ladies and also the gays but I’m not into that. I bet I get a key to the city, probably.

And I know what you’re thinking, Internet. You’re thinking that me giving that crippled hobo money is only going to encourage him, that he’ll continue stinking up the McDonald’s and opening doors for people and maybe you’ll feel obligated to give him a few cents tomorrow morning when you go for your Sausage Egg McMuffin and the cycle will never end and you don’t like it because you’re nowhere near the philanthropist I am.

Well guess what: I came home yesterday, so it’s really not my problem. In your face, San Francisco!