I’m always surprised when I feel like this again: like that moment of inexplicable terror, as you realize all at once that despite your most sober calculations (about it/them) you have somehow missed a step on the figurative stairwell of your life. And though it has happened before and will almost inevitably happen again you are no less sure this time than the time before or any time to follow that You will most certainly not survive, at least not unscathed.

I’m still trying to make sense of what I just experienced and what it all means. I was just at a restaurant in the Virginia Highland area of Atlanta, enjoying dinner with my cousin. This spot has a special where the burgers are two dollars every Tuesday, the only reason I’m there. While eating, I notice someone in my peripheral. I turned and was confronted by the image of an older African-American man; His hair was a salt n’ pepper grayish white; His skin was a deep weathered brown, like the color of the well-worn mitts in the Negro league. Like those mitts his skin wore plainly but proudly the memories of his rough handling. He was homeless.

Hand extended clutching one dollar, the salt n’ pepper senior asked in hushed tones if I would order a burger for him; I guess the cheap prices brought him too. He waited across the street and I knew why. It turned out that there was a strict no take out policy concerning the special, which placed me in somewhat of a bind. I signaled him from across the street. On his way over the solution occurred to me: Why doesn’t he just join us? He reluctantly accepted the invitation, confirming our comfort.

The waitress appeared moments later with our order, somewhat surprised to see a new guest. As she set the last plate in front of me she got a glimpse of Mark (as his name turned out to be). “Now Mark, you know you can’t be here,” she patronizingly cooed at him, “you know you can’t be here.” I immediately asked why his presence was a problem since he’d done nothing wrong. “Why Can’t he be here?”  I insisted. She looked at me wide eyed, almost through me really, as if to say: you know perfectly well why He cannot dine Here.  Again, I did know why; I also knew it wasn’t right. “He just can’t eat here,” is what she actually mumbled. Before I could protest further, Mark thanked us for the kindness but insisted it was okay. She threatened him with the manager anyway, and strode off to make good on her promise. He grabbed his burger as he left.

The other patrons continued to dine as undeterred by Mark as before, including the full table of the only other black people in the establishment. I think that may have bothered me the most about the whole ordeal, their unapologetic silence. I suppose racial solidarity cannot be demanded of the individual but when one is faced with a lack of human solidarity you grasp at what you can, however unlikely.

I’m bothered by the fact that a person can be made to leave a restaurant when he’s not doing anything and no one feels compelled to say anything. I’m even more concerned that this man’s homeless or unemployed status seemed to signify a right to deny him service. I suppose he may have panhandled there before, I don’t know. I know that I had ordered his food, so having money or begging wasn’t an issue. I suppose he could have “caused issues” there before, but he behaved with the utmost respect dealing with me, so I would be surprised. Overall I’m bothered by an establishment classifying a certain group of people as unfit to dine on arbitrary standards. There was no cause for him to be put out. Withholding access to discounted food based on class is hypocritical and just plain wrong.

The sheer number of indigent people I encounter day to day in Atlanta is astounding. It’s never easy to see but you simply cannot help everyone. The idea that their already financially limited access to food might be being further inhibited due to, at the very least, classism is a major part of the root issue and enrages me. I’m very seriously considering finding Mark and rounding up some other poorer people that could use a meal and returning with cameras to record the discrimination and call them out.