A Man. A Cart. A Pineapple.

The last few nights outside of my apartment gate, I've seen a man. He stands maybe 5'5" with skin that matches the clay roof tiles atop every house around here. Rummaging through a wire trash bin on the corner of my block, he takes breaks to nibble on the edible pieces. Alongside him sits a shopping cart overflowing with what looks like garbage to someone like me living a different reality. But I'm guessing there's meaning and significance, or he'd have no reason to move all of it from place to place. Cans, plastic bottles, and bags--all waiting for a use or redemption to be transformed into the day's lunch money.

On top of his head rests a worn straw hat, contrasting his dark sun-beaten skin. He squats on the street to tear apart a discarded grocery sack from inside the trash bin. Here in Aracaju I've rarely seen metal dumpsters, and instead people place household garbage inside large bins made of rusty rebar or small steel containers that look like rest stop grills. He must be under 30 years old, but his face tells a different story. A mustache combined with his tired skin make him look at least a decade older.

The first night I noticed him, he noticed me as well. Either out of nervousness or practicality, however, he decided to grab the plastic rope attached to his cart and begin pulling it down the street. He walked barefoot, his feet pointing outward as he went.

Tonight, here he is. Rummaging, snacking, and repeating. And here I am. Fresh off of a trip to the grocery store with bags enough to line both arms. Is it guilt? Or is it more of a realization? Maybe the realization already existed; yeah, I think it did. So what it is it? I feel something.

I see a reversal of roles. Tonight I'm playing the ashamed, and he's playing the confident. He hasn't moved. Not only does he know I see him, but he knows I'll be walking by. It's my route. It's my home. It's not moving anywhere. In that he has the advantage on me. Every night he knows where I'll be. But what about him? Could I ever find him if he weren't rummaging?

I feel a little sick at the thought of walking by with arms overflowing with food and drink. His cart overflows with the unwanted materials of others; mine, on the other hand, overflowing with goods in such high demand that people will travel from all over the city, wait in lines, and exchange money earned by their own labors to acquire. I can't do it. I can't walk by pretending I don't see him. He's there. He's really f---ing there. I can't close my eyes to that. I can't ignore it. He's there.

For a second my mind skips to the idea of my ground beef getting warm. What am I doing? Am I serious? Why do I care about the temperature of my meat right now?

I try to put the scenario into perspective. I imagine myself sitting on the curb right in front of me. The ground is white with snow and more falls heavily in the wind. I sit without a coat shivering and pale. My back is bare. To my left a man walks down the street, the snow crunching beneath him. His skin is red like clay but smooth. He looks a little older than me with a thin well-groomed mustache and nice clothes, especially his coat. A thick brown coat covers every part of his upper body. I can't tell if it's fur or synthetic. It must be fur. The warmth is enviable.

He nears. Step by step. God, I'm cold. I need something. Isn't there anyone out here? This guy! What are the chances a man with such a fancy coat would cross my path when I sit in such dire need? Here he is. He's almost upon me. There must be something bigger playing here. He must be sent from somewhere high up in the...

He walked passed? Did he not see me? I have no coat. It's snowing. I'm freezing. He passed me by?

I find myself back in the 84 degree evening heat looking in the rear view mirror once again. He's still there. What am I doing? I'm wasting time. What am I doing? I didn't buy anything he'd like. Did I really just think that? He's digging in the trash.

"We could give him some of those cookies you have inside," Laís says. "You didn't really like them anyway."

"What do we have?" I ask. "I'm trying to think. Maybe that pineapple?"

"The pineapple? How much was it?" she asks. Her face appears unsure.

"Well, it's not really a matter of how much," I reply. "The guy is eating out of the garbage right now. But it was probably 3 or 4 reais."

"That's kind of expensive."

"We just spent 80 reais on shit we don't really need, and we're debating whether or not we should give him a pineapple? Will you ask him if he wants it?"

Laís walks slowly in his direction. His back is turned to us now and he's hunched over the frame of the trash bin.

"Sir? Sir." she says in Portuguese. He turns to face us. She's too far to hear the conversation now, but I see her motion to the car.

He nods. We have confirmation. I grab the pineapple and walk in their direction. I ask to make sure he really wants it, and he confirms he does. With a quick thumbs up, he places the fruit in his cart.

"Obrigado, senhor." He seems unsure. This may not happen every night.

I grab my grocery sacks, fumbling with a small case of beer I'd bought for the weekend. With my left arm loaded I walk slowly past him, extending a boa noite or "good evening" his way. Another thumbs up.

___________________

And here I sit. A moment of reflection. One pineapple down and thinking.

I feel even ashamed the want of a pineapple came over me for a moment since I've come inside. Evidence of the hierarchical structure of society being engrained in us even when we don't want it to be. It's mine. I bought it. With money. And I earned that money from hard work. That guy just doesn't work hard enough for a pineapple. If he wants it, he can truly have one. That's society. That's us. Even those of us that don't think it's us, it's us--just in varying degrees.

Now the guy has a pineapple. And tomorrow his pineapple will be gone. Hopefully by mid afternoon, it's the best time of day for a pineapple. I'm left to examine what actually resulted from this quick exchange. 

On the one hand, I think he'll be without a pineapple tomorrow, the next day, or at least some day in the near future. He'll either eat it, give it away, or let it spoil. Regardless of when, there will be a day when that pineapple is gone. And therefore, my thought of providing any assistance will disappear with it.

WIshfully thinking, however, maybe he was so moved by the presentation of a pineapple that his confidence in humanity and brotherhood increased by 100%, hoping it wasn't at zero already. In fact, maybe he takes that pineapple and marches his pineapple riches to his friend with no pineapple and alternates slices. Or maybe he presents that pineapple to a man in need of a pineapple and receives the man's sandals in return. And then perhaps he walks further this Saturday as a result of his new sandals which leads to a greater number of beer and soda cans collected for recycling redemption. From those extra cans, he receives a little extra money with which he buys a couple pineapples. 

So the struggle continues. Almost all of us have been unfortunate enough to have our societal norms and the importance of personal desires burned into us--something we may never be able to move apart from. I think it's possible for anyone, but they have to truly want it. And when I say truly want it, I mean want it beyond our understanding of wanting it. I'm not there. And if you're reading this, you're not either. It's not a bad thing exactly. I'm not pointing my finger at anyone. I'm only saying that each of us has work to do. Each of us has a goal to fulfill every day when we wake up. And I'm here to remind both of us that the biggest goal for the day, month, or year doesn't always have to be for ourselves.

We're bound by recognition. Some more than others; some almost none, others almost always. But each of us has some of this desire. It's only natural. But forget it as much as you can and begin doing things for the sake of doing them. Begin doing things because you feel happier making someone else happier. That doesn't make you selfish. That doesn't make you wrong. It's make you human. And it makes you truly alive. When your life and happiness is bound up and knotted into the happiness of humanity, you're truly alive.

We have a long way to go. Hell, I should have given every grocery bag to the guy. I have pasta in my cupboards. It would have sufficed. But I didn't. Do I regret it? Yes and no. But what will I do about it? I guess I'll ask you:

Where will you put your pineapple today?