There’s a homeless guy I’ve seen sometimes on the buses, after first noticing him when I worked at Seattle Sprocket. Most mornings, when I stepped off the bus for the too-long walk to that job, he was at the bus stop, not waiting for a bus, but sweeping up.

He’s a white man, looks about 50, with random bald splotches on his head, and always he has a broom. He’s either sweeping the sidewalk, or the broom is in the wagon he pulls, along with his blankets and water jug and everything else he owns.

I’ve seen him sweep that bus stop immaculate, and then sweep the walkway under the Spokane Street Viaduct.

He gets around, too — I’ve spotted him along Ambaum Way in Burien, and California Ave in West Seattle, always sweeping, or riding the bus with his broom in his wagon.

He carries no dustpan, though. He finishes his work by sweeping piles of debris over the curb and into the street. Which is logical. The city has huge street-sweeping machines that come by early mornings, to suck up everything on the street.

But the city never sweeps the sidewalks. Just one man takes care of that, and he’s good at it. The city should pay him. When he’s finished, his stretch of sidewalk looks like it’s ready for a politician’s photo op.

On the bus yesterday morning, he boarded at his home base, that stop at Spokane Street, almost under the viaduct. The stop, of course, was spotless.

He sat in the sideways seat right in front of me, and yup, his broom was in the wagon, which he politely parked out of the aisle like a wheelchair.

When I see that guy, I usually say, “Good morning, sir,” and that’s what I say to him yesterday. I’d love to know a little about his story. Why he sweeps. And it’s autumn, maple leaves everywhere, which must he hell on a man with a broom but no rake.

So let’s talk about it! Same as every time I’ve said howdy, though, he glanced at me but said nothing. There was no hostility in his eyes. Just, no comment.

And I certainly understand that. Most days I’m not talkative, either.

♦ ♦ ♦

Later that same morning, I was walking toward the Monorail downtown and saying “Good morning!” to people passing on the sidewalk.

See, I don’t like talking to people, but it’s fun saying good morning to strangers, just because it isn’t often done, and certainly isn’t done downtown. Get a load of people’s faces, as I smile at ’em and they decide whether to ignore me, noncommittally nod, or gamble the fate of the universe by saying good morning back at me.

Two white women were walking together, mid-40s and early 20s. Mother and daughter, was my guess.

“Good morning, ladies,” I not quite shouted. They were both startled, which was of course my intent. The mom grimaced at me like I’m a monster, but the daughter semi-giggled and said a halting good morning.

They kept walking, but I’d reached an intersection where the sign said DON’T WALK, so I slowed and stood, and heard the older woman say to the younger, “Ladies don’t say good morning (pause) and probably shouldn’t.”

11/11/2024

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