Tests

So this is going to be kind of a weird and self-indulgent post and for that I apologize.

I feel like the universe tested me today, and I failed. Not only that, but the universe tested me, and I failed, and the universe said "Is that your final answer?" and I said "Yep" and then the universe said "Really? Final?" and I said "Yeppers" and the universe said "You can still change your answer" and I said "Nah" and the universe said "OK" and backed away quietly.

This story starts out with a sandwich. I've been doing really well bringing sandwiches to work. I don't every day, but pretty close to every day. Many's the week that I don't buy lunch once. And it really has helped -- my deficit is shrinking. However, a place opened up right near my office, a sub shop that came with a fair amount of advance acclaim. They were open for a few days, but for their official grand opening last week they were having half-price sandwiches all day. It was like the sky opened up and sandwiches started falling out. These sandwiches, to start with, are HUMONGOUS. The "small" is close to the size of a Subway foot-long. The large is twice that. The small subs are $5.50 and the large are $7.50. The bread is also very delicious, which is a big thing with me. I went and got one of my favorite sandwiches of all: prosciutto, fresh mozzarella, tomato, basil, olive oil, balsamic. I got a large so I could have it several times. So I paid $3.75 for an extremely delicious sub with prosciutto on it. I probably could have gotten away with cutting it into four, but I did thirds instead. Super super delicious. And a hell of a bargain -- worked out to $1.25 per meal.

For this week, I decided to make yesterday my out-of-office-lunch day and went there again. No half-price this time, but for Harvard Square the prices are still pretty excellent, especially considering the sizes. This time I tried the chicken parmesan. I only got a small because I wasn't sure how it would keep. Now, I LOVE ME a chicken parm. I once wrote to b.good asking them to put one on the menu. This chicken parm, though, was not my cup of tea. Everything was delicious EXCEPT the chicken. The chicken was not breaded, which is my preference. It was just plain chicken breast with the sauce and cheese on it. It was a nice chicken breast, and there's no law saying the chicken has to be breaded. That's just how I happen to prefer it. I ate half of my small (which was still a massive amount of sandwich), and it was all right, but I decided I wouldn't get it again. No big deal. We laughed in my office about how the leftover half of a small was still gigantic.

Today I had planned to eat the second half for lunch. But as lunchtime approached I had a massive craving for Chinese food. The Chinese-food craving, like the pizza craving, comes on fast and at the drop of a hat, and will not let go. I'd been fighting it off for a couple of days. Perhaps a little in loss-of-control mode after having been so disciplined about the sandwiches and then getting a taste of takeout again, I decided to go for it and have the leftover chicken parm later instead. I walked to the Chinese-food truck on Oxford Street and got some glorious lo mein with a (humongous) Peking ravioli for only an extra 50 cents. Hit the spot.

I figured I'd eat the chicken parm for dinner. Of course, I was full from the Chinese food and sort of not really in the mood for an underwhelming chicken parm. But I didn't want to waste it, and dinner is dinner. Tomorrow we're having an office lunch, so I am done with scoring myself lunch for the week. I packed up my leftover lo mein and my remaining chicken parm and got ready to head home. My family knows a song by Greg Brown called "Rich in Daughters," and we often quip that we're rich in one thing or another. I had the thought "I'm rich in leftovers."

As I did an errand I thought again that I wasn't really in the mood for the chicken parm. But I figured I would eat it anyway.

As I was heading to the T I got stuck in the crowds of early-evening St. Paddy's Day revelers, behind a man walking very slowly, obviously homeless, with a shopping cart. In the front of the cart was a round aluminum-foil tray, like the kind leftovers are put in. He had some food in it, some meat on top of some rice. I got past him and approached the T entrance. Another man was there, standing at the top of the escalators. He was holding a cardboard sign. I didn't catch all of it because I was going fast; I just saw the words "homeless" and "ill." As I usually do, I swept by quickly. As I often say, if you stop in Harvard Square for everyone who wants something from you -- people asking for change, people handing you flyers, people soliciting charitable donations -- you will never get anywhere. I'm very good at keeping my eyes forward and walking by.

As I went down the stairs the obvious thought finally occurred to me. I had a sandwich that I was planning to eat for dinner mostly out of obligation. There was nothing wrong with it -- it just wasn't to my particular taste. It was only a day old. It wasn't half-eaten; it had been cut in two at the sub shop, and I had wrapped it up right away and put it in the fridge after extracting the first half. Most of all, I didn't really want it. There was a strong possibility it would sit in my refrigerator at home while I made excuses not to eat it, and then get thrown out when it was old enough to justify doing so.

I thought about this while going down the stairs in the T station. I thought about it while going down the second set of stairs. I thought, "I could go back up and give it to that man at the top of the stairs." I didn't. I went into the bay where my bus comes. I heard a bus coming around the corner and I thought "I bet that's my bus and I'll have to get on and the decision will be made for me." It wasn't -- it was a different bus. I thought again about going back upstairs. I didn't. I thought, "Maybe if I said it was a chicken parmesan he would expect breading and be disappointed." I thought, "It wouldn't be very good cold. I don't really have any way of warming it up for him." Mostly I thought, "He might be weird and I would be shy to talk to him. People would be looking at us. Maybe he would be hard to understand. Maybe I'd say something that offended him. Maybe he's mentally ill and he would yell and I'd be upset." And I thought "I can just get on the bus and go home, like I always do."

I'm shy, and I'm very routine-oriented. New things and new people, while not anything I can't handle most of the time, tend to sit outside of my comfort zone. My brain, sometimes, is sluggish about waking up and breaking routine, about steering me down paths I'm not used to. I tend to get the same thing every time at a given restaurant. It often doesn't occur to me to stop watching a TV show that I'm not really enjoying anymore. It sometimes takes me, oh, four or five years to realize that I don't have to read every word in The New Yorker if I don't feel like it. I didn't really have a reason not to go and give the man my sandwich. I had many reasons to do it. The only thing stopping me was my brain keeping me on the usual track.

I stood waiting for my bus. I thought "Maybe I'll go back up." The man was clearly homeless -- he had a sign that said "homeless." He was unlikely to have moved from his spot in the few minutes since I'd seen him. If he had moved, there were sure to be plenty of other homeless people within a few feet -- there always are. I thought about all of these things. My bus came. I got on. I thought "Maybe I should have gone back up." A woman sat next to me, with a bunch of bags. The bus drove up the tunnel and stopped at the next stop, still well within the Square. I thought "I could get off right here and walk back." But the woman next to me would have been annoyed to have to get up. The bus went another stop. I thought "It's a beautiful day. I have nowhere to be. I could get off here and go back. I have lo mein still. I would still have leftovers." The bus kept going. I had my New Yorker out. I would read a bit and then stop. I thought "I could get off, go across the street and take the bus back to the Square." But it was rush hour and that would probably have taken forever. The bus kept going. I got off at my stop. I walked home.

The universe gave me a sandwich that I didn't really want but there was nothing wrong with. The universe put a homeless man with leftovers in front of me. Immediately afterwards, the universe presented me with another man who had a sign that said "homeless," was standing in one spot, and was looking at me asking for something. The universe waited for me to complete the equation. There's really not much more it could have done. I went down the stairs and into the bus bay. I waited for my bus, got on it, and went home. I felt sad. I felt angry at myself. I felt paralyzed and useless.

When I got home I made a donation to the Pine Street Inn. I hope that helps to ameliorate somewhat my failure to give away the sandwich when it seemed obvious to me -- even at the time -- that I should do so. I'll eat the leftover chicken parm for dinner and it won't go to waste. I won't have thrown money away on it; I also need to eat.

We all tend to get wrapped up in our lives and our problems. I know I certainly do. I don't want to spend every minute of my life feeling guilty that I have certain things and other people don't. I won't do that. I work and I pay my bills and I am careful with my money and usually not wasteful. I deserve to live my life and be happy. But I think it's important to be popped out of our bubbles once in a while, to remember and appreciate our good fortune, to be shown the world without the usual filters that we put up to get through our days. I'm glad it happened to me today, I wish I had responded more quickly, and next time, when the universe is suggesting that I do something, I will try to do it.