Tuesday, 30 January 2007 | New role

A couple months ago, my friend Amy asked me whether I'd like to spend a cold January night counting homeless people on New York City streets. She works for a nonprofit that was planning to volunteer for the Homeless Outreach Population Estimate, and they needed extra counters. Yes! I told her, and made tentative plans to take a vacation day for the event.

I don't like that my relationship with the homeless community is mostly limited to low-profile financial dealings and train aroma. I wanted to get better acquainted, and I'd already imagined a series of bizarre exchanges I'd have, and photos I might take, if they let me. I figured all of it would make me sad (even the moments that would make me laugh would eventually turn on me), but I wanted to witness it all anyway, and to see a new face to my complicated town. Everything here is so different at night.

However, a few weeks ago, Amy's nonprofit unfortunately ended up backing out of the endeavor, so I crossed that off my list and half-heartedly entertained the idea of wandering around on my own one night. (just kidding, dad!)

...

Close to midnight, I was walking along Fulton Street in Brooklyn when I was approached by a cluster of people wearing name tags and bearing clipboards. They looked safe and eager, and I wasn't in a hurry, so I stopped and waited several seconds for their pitch, figuring they needed directions or a signature or something.

The block was unusually empty because of the cold, and we were all exhaling visibly. The girl who spoke first was friendly and uncertain. She stammered part of a question, and then looked back at her supervisor for support. "I need a questionnaire?" she half-asked her leader.

The supervisor, who seemed well-meaning but clearly wanted the reigns, took over. "Don't worry, you can do it. Like this," she said to the girl. And then she turned to me and said, "Excuse me, do you have a place indoors that you call home?" Um, yes. "And do you have a place to sleep tonight?" Yes. "Have you been asked these questions by anyone else yet?" No. "Thank you." And then, addressing the girl again, she said, "See? It's easy." Homeless people aren't so scary, she probably wanted to add.

As soon as they wandered off, I looked down at myself to remember what I was wearing. A bulky fake fur jacket, thin cotton gloves, loud pants, cowboy boots, and a thrifted knit hat with robots on it. Hm.

A few minutes later, when I met up with Todd, I asked whether he thought I looked like a homeless person. "Well now that you mention it, you kinda do, actually. Why do you ask?"