Happy Wednesday Bear

Every Wednesday I take the 14 Mission bus to 9th and Mission Street. Actually I take that bus about 4 times each week, but we are only talking about Wednesdays. At Mission Street, I get off and begin the few blocks’ walk up 9th, passed Howard and Folsom, to my job at 9th and Harrison. The first few weeks, I brought my lunch with me. Then, I started waiting until I got to 9th to stop along the way and pick something up with my coffee. Regardless of holding onto my sack lunch or shopping for it, every Wednesday after I exit the bus, I am greeted by the same homeless man with his homeless dog, who looks at me and says “Happy Wednesday.” He’s a clean-looking homeless man; a bear with dark hair and beard and blue eyes. He always wears a trucker hat and jeans or shorts, though the shirt varies each week.

At first, I thought he wished it to all who passed by. Then, after watching him for a few minutes each week, I realized he didn’t. He sits in front of one of the little corner stores or the Burger King or Starbucks, dog curled up beside him, and he reads. Every so often, he looks up from his book and as someone passes by and, if they make eye contact, he says “Happy Wednesday.” I just happen to have been lucky enough to catch his eye each week so far. Though, pessimist that I am, I did think “he can’t be reading, he looks up too often.” That was until my partner bought me a new book a few weeks ago.

I love to read, but I don’t really have a great attention span, so I often read short story collections. It satisfies my craving for the written word and still allows me to get up every few minutes to get something from the kitchen, look out the window, watch TV, run to Walgreens, go to the local thrift store 4 times per week ‘just in case,’ people-watch at the local coffee shop – but not Four Barrel on Valencia: I don’t wear fedoras and scarves in 85 degree weather, I’m too fat for skinny jeans, I don’t own a dog, and I’m not that hip. My point being, once I realized how I read, I realized my Happy Wednesday Homeless Bear was doing the same thing.

With the passing weeks, I started to wonder what’s his story? Is he crazy? Does he say “Happy Wednesday” every day? Does he go to other parts of the city and bid “Happy Tuesday?” Are there a group of people who have “Happy Thursday” on Polk Street or “Happy Sunday” in Pacific Heights? Where does he get his books, and what does he do with them when he’s done with them? Is there a homeless book-exchange program? Maybe he started the homeless book-exchange? Maybe he’s an up-and-comer in the homeless community. Maybe 9th and Howard is the homeless equivalent of Four Barrel Coffee; it’s where all the hipster homeless hang out. He would fit in at Four Barrel, he has a dog, reads quite a bit and has un-ironic facial hair…add yoga into the mix and he might as well just hang out there instead of 9th.

I usually give “Happy Wednesday Bear” a dollar. After all, I am only able to stop at Starbucks for coffee because of a gift card I won at a company Christmas Party 2 years ago. Not like I have been holding onto it for that long; I had lost it somewhere in my apartment and just came across it a few weeks ago. So this week, I thought I would use my Starbucks card and buy him a sandwich. I am pretty poor these days, and those dollars are adding up. And judging from his array of t-shirts, I think he actually might make more money than I do.

I got off the bus as usual and walked toward the Starbucks. There, sitting in front of the Burger King was my homeless bear reading. I could not make out the title of the book as the cover was very warn and facing down away from me. The homeless book-exchange probably rejected this one, and he just picked it up for a lark before deciding whether or not to throw it away…er…recycle it. Homeless hipsters recycle. HWB looked up, caught my eye and said “Happy Wednesday.” I walked into Starbucks, ordered my coffee and two sandwiches. Starbucks has these “low-fat” breakfast sandwiches. They’re egg-whites, turkey bacon and some kind of low-cal bread I think. I got that for myself, and thinking HWB is probably not THAT concerned with his figure, I got him a full fat, egg-sausage-cheese sandwich thingy.

The wait for my coffee and sandwiches seemed so much longer than normal today, as I was anxious to surprise my Wednesday morning-maker with a treat. Finally, my name was called and I was on my way. I checked the bags to make sure I got the bland sandwich (blandwich), and HWB would get something hearty. At this point there were a few seconds spent in my head of “ketchup or no ketchup,” which I dismissed with the knowledge that he was homeless and has probably eaten out of the garbage, thus, not that picky.

As I approached him, he seemed engrossed in his book. I wasn’t sure if he would make eye contact with me this time. And, if he did, would he recognize me from a few moments ago, or would he again wish me a “Happy Wednesday”? If he didn’t look up, would I say something or just set it down next to him. What if his dog growled and bit me as I tried to set it down? Charity and good karma-baiting are sometimes fraught with danger. HWB looked up at me, the sun shining in his eyes causing him to squint hard and lift his hand, still clutching the book to his brow, the title now visible: “The Big Book.” I smiled at my own chagrin.

“Hap….oh, hey again.” he recognizably said to me.

“I got you a sandwich.”

“Oh, wow…thank you so much.” he smiled.

How is it that some homeless people have such perfectly white, straight teeth?  I didn’t want to engage him, didn’t want to ruin the story I had created in my head with the reality of how sad and terrible his life might actually be, or worse with how much better than mine his life is. As I started on my way, I smiled and said “See you next Wednesday.” Sandwich and book in one hand, and leaning down to pick up his dog with the other, he looked up and said “Hey, have a Happy one!”

He walked into Burger King, and as I walked away, I heard him say to the clerk “Can I get some ketchup?”

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