Last Saturday morning, I decided to try out this little local coffee shop called “Starbucks.” It was a way to enjoy a new coffee experience while killing time while before I went to my weekend job as a salsa instructor at the neighborhood Y. As I was walking into this quaint java joint (And, really, if you’re ever in the LA area, do try to find it -- take a chance on local businesses!), when I almost bumped into a super skinny (skinnier than rock star skinny -- I could tell due to his lack of shirt) homeless-looking man who asked me for some change. I had none, so I apologized and entered the surprisingly-slick-on-the-inside coffee shop.

While I wasn’t lying to the guy about my lack of paper or coin money, I felt guilty. Here I am, a human marshmallow, and this poor guy is practically a skeleton. I was jealous. No, wait -- that’s horrible. I mean that I wanted to help him. Luckily, this mom ‘n' pop coffee retailer accepted credit cards and sold food, so I purchased a turkey sandwich for him. It looked pretty good and healthy. As my coffee was being prepared, I went back outside, feeling like a decent human being for once.

“Are you hungry?” I asked the emaciated man who had asked me for money I didn’t have just moments earlier.

He didn’t seem to recognize me. I offered him the sandwich.

He looked at it, frowning a little. “Naw,” he replied. “Did you get an iced coffee?”

Taken aback, I kind of chuckled. It was a little bitter for some reason. “Uh… no. I thought you might be hungry.” I pressed the sandwich/hunger issue due to his ribs looking back at me under nothing but a thin layer of skin. “So. I bought you this sandwich.”

“Did you get a receipt?” he asked, suggesting, I gathered, that I exchange the fairly healthy sandwich that I purchased for him due to some middle class guilt/human kindness thing for an iced coffee.

Bitterness irrationally growing, I chuckled again in disbelief and went back into the Starbucks, sandwich still in hand, to drink the White Chocolate Mocha I’d purchased for my spoiled self. I also got some sweet coffee cake. And I ate and drank my sugary goodness, all the while eyeballing that turkey sandwich and wondering why the guy didn’t want it. Me? I’m not rich, but I have a roof over my head and money for food. So, I can afford to eat sugary crap (not from a health standpoint -- from a monetary one), but if I were all super hungry and skeletal, I’d think I’d want something more substantial. Like a turkey sandwich.

When I was done guzzling caffeinated syrup and inhaling cake, it was time to get to the salsa instructing. Outside, I noticed the skinny iced coffee lover was gone. It was only 10:30 in the morning -- too early for me to wrap my mind around eating a turkey sandwich, but if I were in his place and had no food or money, I really would’ve taken it, dammit.

As I walked to my car, another guy, older but still skinny, and seemingly homeless or at least very down on his luck in a “hasn’t showered in a good long while” way, stopped me with a grunt. He motioned two fingers toward his pursed lips.

“What the hell does that mean, you silly old -- oh,” realization struck me like a cold shower after a salsa lesson. “Sorry. I don’t have any cigarettes.”

That was when I remembered the fine turkey sandwich in my book bag that I didn’t want to get all warm and spoiled as I tore up the dance floor with my students. “But do you want this?” I offered him the sandwich.

He shook his head dismissively. “Do you have any change?” he whispered in a hoarse, gravelly voice.

“No. Just this fine, fine, healthy, delicious, recently purchased, freshly made turkey sandwich that I am offering you no strings attached.”

He waved me along, in search of smokes and/or change.

Defiantly, I went to my car and opened the sandwich’s container as I drove to the YMCA. In righteous frustration and dismay, I scarfed down the sandwich I clearly didn’t “need” but couldn’t seem to give away, unable to shake the feeling that I, for some reason, was a bag of douche…