A few days ago, there was this person. You know the type the one everyone in the neighborhood whispers about, crosses the street to avoid, treats like they’ve got something contagious. Not a good reputation, to put it mildly. She had a problem, a real one, and someone who was there, someone who knows what I do told her, half-joking, half-serious, “Hey, Alex can fix anything. Talk to him.”
Up until that moment, I’d never exchanged more than a “hey” or “see ya” with this person. That was it.
So she sit down at my table. I’m at a terrace, having a drink, minding my own business. She lay it all out. The whole situation.
I tell her, “Yeah, I can do that.”
First thing she ask: “How much?”
I say, “Let’s fix it first. Then we’ll figure it out.”
She shake her head. “No. Whether you fix it or not, time costs money. I’m paying for your time.”
I look at her for a second. “Alright. When I’m done, pay what you can.”
The smile on her face I’m not exaggerating it was like I’d just handed her a winning lottery ticket. And then I found out why. It wasn’t just that I agreed to help. It was that I let her sit at my table. That I didn’t flinch, didn’t look around to see who was watching, didn’t act like being seen with her would stain my shirt. Other people? They dodge this person like the plague. Can’t risk being spotted in public. Might ruin their image or something.
This person doesn’t have money. Barely gets by. But here’s the thing people like that? They value help more than the rich assholes who think a favor is just another tax write-off. They offered what they had. It wasn’t even close to my usual rate. Not in the same universe. But they offered it upfront, no games, no “I’ll get you back later” that never comes.
She told me, “When you need something, I’m here. I’ll answer immediately.”
Two days. That’s how long it took me to sort out her problem. But that’s not what this story is about.
This story is about the shitstorm I walked into.
Every single person I know came at me. Why are you sitting with her? Talking to her? Don’t you have standards? You’ll just sit with anyone?
I told them the same thing every time: “To me, that’s a person who needs help. That’s it. I don’t care who they are, what they are, if they’re crazy, if they dress like shit, if they smell. They need help, and they’re paying. End of story.”
But what really got me what I can’t shake was the happiness on that person’s face when I said yes. And how she kept asking, every so often, “Is it okay that I’m sitting here? I’m not bothering you?” And I kept telling her, “No problem. Stop worrying about it.”
The next day, I’m at the same terrace. Same group of “friends” rolls up like they always do. One of them looks at me and says it straight to my face: “Come on, Alex. Seriously? You’re sitting at the table with that piece of trash?”
I looked at him. Nodded. “You’re right.”
I stood up.
He asks, “Where are you going?”
I said, “I listened to you. I can’t sit at the table with a piece of trash.”
He didn’t get it at first. Then he did. And oh man, did he lose his shit. Screaming, cursing, the whole theatrical performance. I let him yell himself out, then I moved to another table.
That was a few days ago. People are still coming at me. How can you associate with someone like that? Nobody wants anything to do with her!
To some of them, I said it half-joking, half-dead serious: “That person has more value, more dignity, more respect than all of you combined. You think you’re so smart, so superior, so well-off. You’ve got money, nice clothes, reputations to protect. And what do you do? You come to me with your problems, you try every trick in the book to squeeze my skills for free, and you can’t even say ‘thank you’ when I’m done. Not a cent. Not a word. How many of you are living better because of me? How many problems did I solve when no one else would touch them?”
This person? She paid for the attempt. She paid for the time I spent, the two days I invested, whether it worked or not. She understood something you people never will that time is the only thing that actually matters. Once it’s gone, it’s gone. She respected that. She respected me.
And here’s the kicker: If tomorrow I’m in trouble and I call this person, I know one hundred percent she say yes before I even finish asking. You? You’d hang up. Or you’d “think about it.” Or you’d ghost me.
I’ve never understood this. I never will.
Truth is, I’ve always caught flak for this. “Alex sits with anyone.” “Alex lets anyone at his table.” That’s how I got the nickname, if you want to call it that The Man of the Desperate. Because when everyone else has slammed the door in your face, when every bridge is burned, when nobody wants to hear your name, there’s one door still open. Mine. And they all know it.
So here’s where I’m at now.
Every single one of you who spent the last few days “preaching” to me, pulling me aside, acting like you’re doing me a favor by telling me who I should and shouldn’t help? You’re cut off. No more advice. No more favors. I don’t care how desperate you get, I don’t care how much you offer to pay. You’re done. Because life has a funny way of coming full circle, and when you end up at my door and you will, my answer is going to be one word: No.
We get so caught up in being cruel, in looking down, in protecting our little social bubbles. We never stop to think that tomorrow, or in some other room, we’re the outcast. We’re the one nobody wants to be seen with. And when that day comes, we’ll be begging for someone to just let us sit at their table.
Think about that.
