Tell Me Your Story- I'm Dying to Know

Sometimes I think I have this written on my forehead. Granted, many times I'll seek after it. I meet people and ask questions, make eye contact and listen attentively. I want to know what their struggles are, where they've come from, what they hope for.

But there are some people out there that offer their story without any invitation. This happened twice the other day when I was downtown.

I had been craving McDonald's for a few weeks (don't judge me...I know you are....) and sat down next to a woman reading. Before I take my first bite of processed, fried chicken shaped like a nugget this man rams into the back of me. He's a larger man, scruffy with a loud laugh. He says "Watch out! Chunky guy coming through!" and sits next to me. Until I finished my last french fry this guy talked. I asked no questions, made no eye contact and still he continued with his slurred speech and trucker jokes. He told me every scary story from driving a truck that I never wanted to know. One involved a woman pulling up next to his truck one night in a parking lot, acting like her car didn't work, climbing into his truck with nothing but an overcoat on. Apparently she was a "hooker that was wanted by the law." Others were about wanted killers. Who tells these stories the first time they meet someone? They continued until the bits of cheeseburger stuck in his scruff and spewed on my arm were too much for me. As I was leaving, he told me to always have my cell phone with me on the road. Thanks. And then told me we'd see each other soon, because "You never know where I'll turn up. We might see each other real soon." Awesome.

Then I walk past a woman sitting on a ledge asking people for a meal. I walked by her like I do many of the people on the street. Don't they know I am only living off a stipend? I don't have a salary either. Then I realized that she wasn't asking for money, booze or time. Just a meal. Easy enough. So I went back thinking, I'll run into Potbelly and get her something and still make my train. Instead, she tells me that she can only eat certain types of food because she has no teeth and a sensitive stomach. Her story continues all the while I'm thinking about my train. I didn't have time to walk 6 blocks to the nearest whatever restaurant to get her whatever type of food, so I thrust $5 at her, apologize and run to the train. Then I wonder how many people she does that too? Everyone's in a hurry- so I doubt anyone agrees to walk 1/2 a mile to the restaurant. I'm mad at her- beggar's can't be choosers- right? Somewhere in the midst of our conversation I forgot she was capable of having an opinion- I don't even like Potbelly's. But all I could think was "She should eat whatever I give her, because she's lucky I even stopped." Oh brother. In my mind, she's not even a person. Just an annoyance that took up too much time and my $5 (which could get me a fast-n-fresh pizza that would last for 2 meals)! Who have I become?

People and their stories. I suppose everyone you meet has one, but we're too busy to hear them. I blame it on technology and our equating time with money. Maybe. Or maybe we just don't want to know that people can't afford to eat or that truck drivers have no one to talk to (so when they do have someone to talk to, they have to tell them everything). I don't know.

But I do know that I need to practice genuine listening, because I obviously have forgotten how.