Real Money
There a ‘real’ need to carry it.
It would only be a four-minute stop, too short to get off and stretch my legs. I was returning to San Francisco from St. Louis. Most of the journey had been under grey skies with drizzle. I got up, went to the carriage door, lowered the window, and stuck my head out.
It was then I heard a voice from behind me.
“Hey, pretty boy!” came over my shoulder.
I didn’t respond. It wasn’t a call aimed at me.
“Pretty boy,” the voice shouted again.
I pushed the window up to return to my seat, and behind me was a thin African American in his late thirties with a scraggly beard, wearing an LA Lakers T-shirt and a fashionably ripped pair of blue jeans.
“Yes, you,” he said, looking directly at me.
“Do you have any spare change, a dollar, even fifty cents?” he asked. He followed me a few steps to my seat.
“I’m sorry,” I replied.
“I’m starving,” he said, disappointed. “Well, thanks anyway, and God Bless you.”
As the man turned away, something happened. While I had people ask for money, there was something gracious about this man. He asked God to bless me despite asking for money and getting nothing.
“Wait a minute,” I said, “I don’t have any cash, but we could go to the Dinner Car; I’ll use Apple Pay,” I said, bringing out my iPhone.
“I’d appreciate that, man,” he said.
I realized I had never asked the man’s name when I arrived in San Francisco.
I wonder if tech has made us less charitable. I rarely travel with real money in my pocket anymore.
Do you carry a few real dollars?
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