It finally warmed up enough after last night’s wild blizzard to walk a little bit. I noticed a young man walking near the church. He was wearing loose, baggy pants that were dragging on the ground and wet up to his knees. I shook my head, “kids these days..” that style of clothing irritates me.
He stopped us by asking if there was a priest he could talk to at the church. As we searched, he told us his story.
He was driving to Arizona when the blizzard hit suddenly on the interstate. The temperature dropped 40 degrees in an hour and his car died. He spent the night in the car with his two dogs. The temps dropped to 10 degrees.
This morning he walked about 6 miles in the snow with only a parka, no gloves or hat. He had left the dogs in the car in search of some kind of help. He was broke and near tears.
He was so grateful for a couple bowls of soup I had in the crockpot and a sandwich. We helped him get a hotel, get his dogs, gave him some canned goods.
Was I apprehensive talking to someone I didn’t know? Yes.
Was I nervous with someone in my house that I did not know? Yes.
Was I intimidated by his age, manner of dress. Yes.
Was I altruistic? No.
I saw desperation in his eyes.
Desperation is a dangerous, dangerous predator.
On a 10 degree winter night, I am more afraid of a desperate man than one with a roof over his head and a stomach full of soup and tortillas.
This was Hurricane Sandy for my little town. And I thought of all the risks those people took.
And I was a little less afraid to take a little gabmble on a single soul.
We booked him in a little old hotel appropriately named,
The Sands Inn.