Wheel Chair Guy and death at the transit station

Wheel Chair Guy had taken up a spot on Lake Street between Humboldt and Hennepin Avenues near the entrance to Lund's grocery. There was no way I could pass him up guilt free without peeling off a couple of ones, especially since I was heading into the grocery to pick up my spendy deli-counter lunch and a French roast. When I approached Wheel Chair Guy I was struck by two things; his emaciated legs and his crushingly sad and vacant look. He never made eye contact with me. When I handed him some money, he didn't bother with the cliched "thanks, God bless" spiel that you often hear from panhandlers. His thoughts seemed to be a million miles away.

Accutely aware of my privilege, I exited the grocery through another door to avoid Wheel Chair Guy, Then I continued with my day — first, lunch near Lake of the Isles, then an errand further north on Hennepin.

Lunch and errand complete I found myself at the stoplight at Hennepin and 28th Street, heading South towards home. My car was front in the queue alongside the car in the lane to my right. When the light changed, the other driver and I both took off like bats out of hell and barreled towards the bus transit station further down the block. In an instant, people at the transit station started pouring off the curb, flailing their arms and shouting. Like the driver alongside me, I jammed on the brakes and slowed to a crawl as I neared the transit station.

When I was close — just several car lengths close — to the transit station I saw Wheel Chair Guy. His chair was tipped over near the curb, he was

lying near the right edge of my lane. He was rolling his body further into the lane, dragging his emaciated legs along. He was, I imagine, trying to kill himself and he was using the traffic on Hennepin as his suicide method. When the driver alongside me and I came to a stop, Wheel Chair Guy continued his sickening roll into the northbound lanes. Then, people at the transit station on the opposite side on Hennepin began pouring off the curb to stop the northbound traffic.

Ultimately, all the cars stopped and the street was filled with people. Wheel chair guy was facing my car just feet away. Out my open window I could clearly see his face and his legs draped over each other like limp noodles. He had the same vacant stare I'd seen perhaps an hour before outside the grocery — just blocks from the transit station. Drivers behind me were honking their horns, obliviousl to the horror in front of them.

Since Wheel Chair Guy had made his way to the northbound lanes, the street was clear in front of me. There were many people on the scene, so I figured that someone would help Wheel Chair Guy and that there was nothing I could do. I needed to get out of the way to open up the traffic jam that was causing even more problems. I and the driver alongside me inched forward and the people on the street starting directing traffic to get the southbound cars past the transit station safely.

Now, I'm left with the vision of a man so tortured that he tried to end his life under the wheels of my car. I've decided to process in this way: Whenever I'm in a funk, I can thank my lucky stars that my life is not like the life of Wheel Chair Guy. And though I'm not immune to hardship, mostly I wash down spendy deli lunches with French roast, drive a car not a wheelchair and walk on two sound legs.