It was 20 minutes past 2am on the first day of my professional career and I was not in the preferred situation.
The preferred situation would involve being blissfully unaware of such temporal parameters, tucked safely into the cavity between my duvet and my mattress.
Instead, I was feeling gravity constrict my movements as I processed out of London Liverpool Street station adorned in my luggage.
I only had thoughts of the maze of buses that was going to get me across this metropolis to the flat of my brother Rich who was kindly hosting me at such a horrific hour. I had searched the transport for london website and the quickest journey involved numerous buses at a number of different stops. This could take some time…
But among my midst of selfish thought we met Wayne. And if there was anyone to make you think about the scale of your own problems, it was Wayne.
Wayne was homeless and was not looking for cash. He was simply wanting someone to enter a local restaurant and purchase some food for him because they wouldn’t let him in, in the state that he was in.
He always remained apologetic and persistently wanted to give us reference numbers with homeless charities to prove he isn’t trying to scam us. Usually I don’t give money to people on the street because I like to know where my money goes. But something felt different about Wayne. Maybe it’s because he didn’t ask for it that I felt compelled to give him money.
I enquired further about his life and what he would really like. He offered a story about how he screwed up when he found out he was adopted at his father’s funeral. Now this screamed rubbish at me but I considered, is it not as bad to presume to blindly deny a story as completely fall for it?
Anyways, he said that a nights stay somewhere where he could get a warm meal would be amazing. So, taking him to a cash machine, I gave him enough for 3 nights accommodation and 3 meals and said fair well to him.
I deliberately was not going to get a photo with him or mention how much I gave him because that doesn’t matter. The kindness to a stranger is what matters.
Furthermore, if I was sold by a sob story doesn’t matter either. Chances were that my random act of kindness was going to be to someone in a far better situation than Wayne.
Finally, I called this article karma. Why? Well, after shaking his hand and walking away, I came across a bus stop offering me a surprise bus directly to Clapham Junction in 3 minutes time. My other option involved a 20 minute wautand changes. That’s karma right?
Image may be NSFW.
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Image may be NSFW.Clik here to view.
