Do Gooders

“Hey! You look like a person that’s nice enough to not just walk by!” she said, flanked by a legion of youths in matching t-shirts and clipboards outside of the Skylight Books. There was no way to avoid them, they were taking up most of the sidewalk. I contemplated pretending to be a deaf-mute or saying I didn’t speak English, but only managed to muttered under my breath, “No thanks, I already have one…” and despite my looks, just walked by. “Love your hair! Can you talk for just a minute?! Don’t you want to help people?!” Her knuckles whitened as her grip on her clipboard intensified. It was an obvious and slimy move to try and butter me up with fake compliments since my bangs were currently crooked from a regrettable trip to a Supercuts, but I didn’t look back for fear of making eye contact, the millennial’s kryptonite. I heard her deflate, as I, yet another curmudgeon, dismissed her assault of philanthropy.

It was a busy Saturday morning at Figaro Bistro, but I didn’t mind waiting for a bit. It gave me time to contemplate if I chose to be a bad person. All they were trying to do was make the world better...but why did it have to be so annoying? Street harassment just didn’t feel like something I want to support in the world. A white man sporting cornrows and crocs interrupted my thoughts with loud complaining about his 5-minute wait for a table outside. He was clearly getting a sunburn. Serves him right I thought, he clearly sucks. I'm so condemning. Maybe I was a bad person? Maybe I was just hungry? We can be truly awful people when hungry.

A man in his late 50’s approached, dressed in pants that can only be described as a very expensive pair of black trash bags made of linen with ties at the ankles, overly bleached blonde-grey hair, and a permanent sunburned complexion that suggested he had a very good friend who let him spend as much time as he pleased at their pool after his second divorce. “Yo are you waiting for a table?” he asked. My immediate guard went up. Was he with the clipboard assailants? “Yes, I am.” I nodded with a slight Larry David-esque suspicion. He nodded and went back to where he was waiting with his friend. 

I watched him for a bit, curious, until to my delight I heard him utter “Oh…Actually she was here before us!” when the host tried to seat them, and insisting that I should, of course, get the table. Touched and delighted, my hope in humanity soared, this man, this garbage bag pants man was making the world a better place! This radiance coursed through my veins until I was brought to my table seconds later. I saw just why this “do-gooder” was advocating so heavily for my placement. It was, the worst table in the whole restaurant. Directly under the host stand, in the middle of all traffic, noise, and guests crowding around who would try reading this over my shoulder, one assumes. "Good thing we waited, I hate sitting where it's so busy!" I heard him tell his friend through the crowd. I guess good people don’t exist in LA. Everyone's trying to better themselves but only themselves. It’s like we think the sunshine is enough for everyone to live on. No, today it was just rude white boys with cornrows, grown men with alarmingly billowy pants to throw you under busses, and people who guilt trip you about not donating to feline aids before you’ve even had breakfast.

I ate my breakfast, pouted, huffed, and puffed, about how this was supposed to be my special day and everyone was ruining it! I was treating myself to breakfast…this was my self-care day…um, it’s ACTUALLY good for ALL of us if I’m good to me, I have important essays to put on blogs, Ok, bro! My silent rage-screaming into the vortex of my mind was then interrupted by the sound of two women, elderly but still eager, bravely battling the technology of an iPhone to take a selfie together. They couldn’t figure out how to flip the camera around and were getting the giggles with each failed attempt to get both of them in the frame. They’d been friends a long time, you could tell. The way they acted together indicated what age they became friends, they must have been young girls together. They didn’t see each other that often, from what I overheard. I wondered how many more times they would see each other in life, maybe 2 or 3? I was glad they were spending their time together so well though. I asked to take their picture for them, they gladly handed me the camera and posed, hugging each other. I tried to take a really good photo because I wanted to make them feel like babes. I told them “Work it! Get it girl! Ok Vogue!” They laughed more and thanked me as they looked through them. They didn’t care if they looked hot, they were just happy to be with their friend, that’s why they loved the photos.

I went back to my breakfast and immersed myself in writing it all down. I guess this wasn't a waste of an outing after all. “Have a nice day!” I heard but didn’t look up because my brain hadn’t registered where it came from; I kept writing. A moment later I was suddenly aware when I turn to see the beaming face of one of the women looking at me, clearly waiting so that she could say goodbye. “I hope you have a nice day!” she said very sincerely. It was as warm as a hug. An effort made twice, so it must have mattered. It was pure good. I was ok with supporting that. Hope again restored in humanity! So I immediately wrote it all down so I could harness the universal goodness and sell it on the internet so that I could have shinier things, and be more popular! Oh Los Angeles.

written at Figaro Cafe, Los Feliz, California