When class finally got out, I packed up my things and walked out of the moot court room. I headed down the stairs, out the building and across to the library. I had to go to the library to meet Tracy. She had been there since 11:00 am. I figured she was exhausted and ready to get the hell out of there by 9:30 on the dot - the time my class was supposed to get out.
I open the doors of the library and step in a few feet, without crossing into the censors. She's waiting there patiently by the front desk. She's ready to roll, as expected. It's late. There are a few people still hanging around the library, most of them ready to leave and most of them women. Tracy steps through the censors and towards me. We greet, turn around and head for the door. We're tired. It's 9:45.
As I reach for the door, something catches my eye on the other side of the glass door. It's a hand that is also reaching for the door. It's a face I've seen before, but not in real life. It's a face I've seen only in movies, or more accurately, in Michael Jackson's Thriller music video. It's a zombie.
I quickly pull my hand back. I look over at Tracy. She sees him too. We both stop dead in our tracks. We mumble something unintelligible to ourselves, turn around and instinctively head back, away from the doors.
With the new distance, we look back over toward the doors. It's not a zombie, but a homeless man who is white, rail thin, unkept, and psychologically in another orbit. His mouth is wide-open and gnawing at the air. He's wearing a blue windbreaker and jeans. It's not sure what he wants, but he clearly wants to access to the limited-access library. We don't know what to do. Tracy and I don't say anything to each other, but just stand there in the limbo between the door of the library and the censors.
A young woman comes up from behind us, walks through the censors and towards the glass doors. Before we can say anything (what would we even say?) she blasts through the doors. At this point, a few more women have walked through the censors and are standing next to Tracy and I. We all watch as the man takes advantage of the open door.
He wobbles in. We all watch, unsure of what will happen next. What does he want? What is he going to do? Is he dangerous?
He stands just inside of the doors, looking at us. He wobbles. And then...
They're off!
They're around his ankles in a heartbeat. His jeans are dropped before we can realize that we're all getting an eye-full of this man's package. The women audibly gasp.
Then, a second later, he trips over his ankle-wrapped jeans. Both he and his junk come flopping wildly to the ground. Boom! The women shriek. He flops and falls on his back like a fish just reeled in from sea. Bang! His head crashes into the ground. He lay there on his back, flayed out across the floor the whole width of the doors, jeans still around his ankles.
There's about six of us law students standing in the lobby. We don't know what to do. We look over to the people who work the front desk, assuming they will know what to do. There's a man and an older woman working. The woman gets on the phone and calls campus security. The man seems to be about my age and close to my size. I look around and realize that we are the only two men around. I kind of notice that the women are looking to us. We both look at each other. I can sense that we're both thinking the same thing. No, I'm not picking him up. No. No, I'm not either. No, we're not! I ignore that feeling, ignore that the women are still looking to us. Everyone just wants to go home, but the man is blocking access.
One woman doesn't seem to mind. She's steps over him, balls and all, and walks out the door. The rest of us can't do that. I overhear someone say that campus security will be there soon. Tracy asks out if there's another exit. There is. We sneak out the back.
As we exit through the emergency exit, I stop once we're outside. I'm on Fulton street and can still see through the glass doors. I see the man. He's on his hands and knees and trying to stand up. His jeans are back on. We keep walking. The campus security pulls up as we cross the street.
I'm still not sure we did the right thing. But at the same time, I don't even know what the right thing to do would have been. At least we didn't step over him. And better yet, at least his pants were back on.
**Note: I was conflicted over whether to share this story. But I decided to share because of the complexity and conflicting emotions I felt as a result of those few minutes. The tension between the sadness and comedy of the episode was excruciating. Most things are usually distinctly one or the other; and most often when the homeless are involved, it tends to waiver toward the sad. But throughout the whole episode, the look on everyone's face conveyed this sort of conflict and tension. It was so sad, but dear God, oh so funny. I hope you were able to experience that while reading it.
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