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A homeless downtown dweller sounds more like an oxymoron than an actual person. How can someone with so little make a life living in one of the most expensive areas in San Diego County? For many who have zero dollars in the bank account, or no account at all, calling 7th Avenue and the hills of Balboa Park home is not a question. Surrounding oneself with foot traffic is essential, relying on a few cents from passers by to stay afloat day to day.
I am a new import in San Diego, having made a large leap from D.C. just a month ago. Living in the heart of downtown, I have already seen a stark contrast between the less fortunate in our nation's capital and this SoCal city. For one, I like their tenacity and determination here. While D.C.'s beggars tend to be rather lazy and stagnant on the streets, here they aren't afraid to vocalize their woes and ask for a helping hand. My most recent proof of this has occurred in two of downtown's 10 Starbucks.
Earlier this week, as I was typing and sipping a venti iced coffee on 4th and Island Avenue, a 40-something woman entered the store and asked if she could use my phone to make a call. Startled, I thought about it for a second and then agreed. She called a 1-800 number and left.
Just today I was approached by another woman in her early 30s at the Starbucks on 10th and Market Street, who introduced herself by asking me an admittedly "awkward and uncomfortable" question: "I have no money to feed my children and we were just rejected food stamps," she said, "but would you like to buy one of these bracelets my children and I made in remembrance of domestic violence?" About a dozen braided purple bracelets draped over her fingers, putting the visual into my head: her children weaving away, probably asking few questions about their currently dire situation. "We have had a bad day," she simply said. A bad day to the rest of us is defined as a flat tire, milk that spoiled in a refrigerator, a fender bender.
For me, surrendering the last of my coinage in my purse (a dollar bill and a few nickels and dimes) was nothing. I have been stressing about my own financials, having still not locked down a job in San Diego. But I have the support of my boyfriend and father in case my savings are depleted faster than when I can find a job. What support does this woman have? A stranger at Starbucks, that's who. More to come on my experiences and observations of the people living in downtown San Diego who aren't afraid to ask for help.
A homeless downtown dweller sounds more like an oxymoron than an actual person. How can someone with so little make a life living in one of the most expensive areas in San Diego County? For many who have zero dollars in the bank account, or no account at all, calling 7th Avenue and the hills of Balboa Park home is not a question. Surrounding oneself with foot traffic is essential, relying on a few cents from passers by to stay afloat day to day.
I am a new import in San Diego, having made a large leap from D.C. just a month ago. Living in the heart of downtown, I have already seen a stark contrast between the less fortunate in our nation's capital and this SoCal city. For one, I like their tenacity and determination here. While D.C.'s beggars tend to be rather lazy and stagnant on the streets, here they aren't afraid to vocalize their woes and ask for a helping hand. My most recent proof of this has occurred in two of downtown's 10 Starbucks.
Earlier this week, as I was typing and sipping a venti iced coffee on 4th and Island Avenue, a 40-something woman entered the store and asked if she could use my phone to make a call. Startled, I thought about it for a second and then agreed. She called a 1-800 number and left.
Just today I was approached by another woman in her early 30s at the Starbucks on 10th and Market Street, who introduced herself by asking me an admittedly "awkward and uncomfortable" question: "I have no money to feed my children and we were just rejected food stamps," she said, "but would you like to buy one of these bracelets my children and I made in remembrance of domestic violence?" About a dozen braided purple bracelets draped over her fingers, putting the visual into my head: her children weaving away, probably asking few questions about their currently dire situation. "We have had a bad day," she simply said. A bad day to the rest of us is defined as a flat tire, milk that spoiled in a refrigerator, a fender bender.
For me, surrendering the last of my coinage in my purse (a dollar bill and a few nickels and dimes) was nothing. I have been stressing about my own financials, having still not locked down a job in San Diego. But I have the support of my boyfriend and father in case my savings are depleted faster than when I can find a job. What support does this woman have? A stranger at Starbucks, that's who. More to come on my experiences and observations of the people living in downtown San Diego who aren't afraid to ask for help.