...and I'm going to throw on a nice pair of slacks

The surgery was pretty intense, even for a relatively fit twenty-something apprentice electrician in the prime of life. So just before being wheeled out of St. John’s Hospital in Santa Monica, California, my surgeon reminded me to stay off my feet for at least the rest of the week.  Once outside, the hospital orderly asked about my ride and looked about for an awaiting vehicle. “There’s nobody here” I announced, “I’m planning to just take the bus or a cab.”   

I was able to hail a yellow taxi and gingerly entered the backseat for the 8 or so mile ride back to my apartment on Beverly Drive just south of the Beverly Hills’ line (you could live pretty well if you managed your money wisely as an IBEW apprentice). Once at my apartment, I slowly got out of the car and made the painful walk up the blacktop driveway and climbed the brick stairs of the four-plex to my 2 bedroom flat on the front bottom floor. It was an epic April post-rainstorm spring day  in Los Angeles, and the abating  showers left behind streams of morning sunlight, beautiful blue sky, billowy white clouds and palm trees swaying in the light warming east breeze. As I stuck the key in the #1 door, I remember thinking how sad it was that I had to spend such a beautiful spring day off work, lying on my back on the couch of my apartment in pain.

Once inside I flipped on the TV. I can’t recall what I watched, but I’m guessing I was eagerly awaiting the noon hour so I could catch up on Erica Kane, before getting an update on the goings on with the Lord’s in Landview and ultimately the latest from Port Charles at 2pm. As I laid there lamenting my condition, I do distinctly remember asking myself what good it could possibly do me to stay home lying on my back. As I often did at that point in my young life, I remember starting to wonder what some highly recognized and seasoned doctor could know about my health and well-being that a third-year IBEW apprentice like me wouldn’t already know. I started thinking to myself that if I followed his advice, I’d probably start looking like him before long (not a desired outcome) so I may as well call on the wisdom that accompanied my electrical training and get off the couch and go out for a short walk.

I remember putting on some torn light blue UCLA sweat pants from my alma matter, a frayed old red and white flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and some ratty old running shoes. I hadn’t shaved while in the hospital and I even remember my hair wasn’t really combed all that well. I was eager to get outside though, and reasoned that the fresh air and activity would serve me well. I shuffled north up Beverly Drive toward Pico Boulevard, and then turned left and walked westward up the hill towards Beverwill. It was painful and slow, but I remember feeling better as I moved and feeling validated once again that I knew more about post-surgery recovery than my stupid physician. On top of that, I’m guessing my doctor probably couldn’t do any electrical work either.

There was a Ralph’s grocery store at the time on the southeast corner of Pico and Beverwill, and I remember cutting through the two-story parking structure to make my way to an alley that ran east-and-west on the south side of the market. Once in the alley, I paused along a chain link fence and glanced onto a serene scene in the backyard of an older house that was adjacent to the store and fronted Beverwill. The house was older, and the elements in the backyard garden; the fencing, the trellis and vegetation made for an idyllic spring setting. I lingered there glancing and resting up for my walk home, when I could feel the presence of what felt like someone approaching me from the store parking lot. Before I could really turn to put a face to the approaching footsteps, an open hand filled with coins jutted in front of my face and a woman’s voice said “here…take this.”

I’m admittedly not the sharpest tack in the box, and I really had no idea what was happening. I turned toward the attractive young woman (she was older than me at the time) and recall saying “what?”

“Take it” she responded… “just take it.”

I stood there a minute, my eyes alternating between hers and the money, and still recall being totally lost.

“You’re too young to live like this” she said compassionately… “just take the money and get yourself something to eat.”

Bam…it hit me. I knew what was happening now.

“I’m not homeless” I replied… “I live right here in Beverlywood.

“I’m sure you do” she said nicely, “but please…just take it.”

At this point it was kind of frustrating.  I had no identification or anyway to think of that could prove I wasn’t living on the street, so I essentially just started to plead my case.

“Ma’am, I live at 1523 Beverlywood in an apartment. I work as a union electrician and I’m fairly compensated for my work. I must look worse than I realized but I just had surgery so I’m out for a walk trying to feel a little better.” Then it dawned on me that I had my house and car keys, so I held them out and added “see…these are my keys…I even drive a Cadillac” (don’t be too impressed, it was an old ’76 Seville).  

At that point I recognized the first horrific look of embarrassment on her well-intended face. “Oh my god” she said… “I’m so sorry. I’m so embarrassed.”

“You’re embarrassed?” I responded… “imagine how I feel? I’m going to head back home and shave.”

“Comb your hair too” she said (not really…I made that last line up).

She apologized again…and I told her not to sweat it. I hid my face a bit for the rest of the walk home. When I got home, I remember going into the bathroom to better assess how bad I really looked. I should have taken her money.

I read the other day that actor Richard Gere was moved by the generosity of a passerby that mistook him for a homeless man and offered him money. Initially it made me feel a little better about my own similar experience, but as I read further the article revealed that Gere was made up to look homeless as part of a role he’s playing in an current movie. Apparently, they were on break from shooting and he wandered away from the set…only to have someone offer him a handout. Gere was playing a role and had the benefit of costume and makeup folks. I was just being myself and wearing something right out of my closet.

What’s the point of all this? Not sure really. But if you’re headed out in public today, you may want to ditch the torn sweats and run a comb through your hair. Especially if you’re headed to the airport for a cross-country flight (leave your nasty pillow at home too), but that’s another story for another day.

Have a great weekend.

 

...ain't no need to go outside