My Wyoming Reminiscences (part one: Cheyenne)

First of all, I just want to say that I haven't forgotten about the Philadelphia story or the series of stories about shitty jobs. However, I have had no interest in writing them lately because there honestly doesn't seem to be much point in writing things like that for this site, seeing as most of you are illiterate, or at least refuse to read anything that isn't in list form. Whatever. Fuck you all, really.

All that aside, I have a question: what is it about me that makes homeless people want to shake my hand? I sympathize with the homeless and I tend to give them more than I can afford to, but I would really prefer not to touch them. Today, some guy asked me for money, but all I had was a twenty. He was very understanding and nice and everything, but as I started to walk away, he introuced himself as Jojo and held out his hand, which I instinctively shook. And in the two hours between then and arriving at my apartment, I could think of little but how badly I wanted to scrub up.

Meanwhile, I would have gotten home sooner, but as I was walking from my car to my building, an old black man and an old white woman stopped me and asked me to help them move a refrigerator downstairs from the second floor. I'm still not sure what the appropriate response would have been, but I quickly agreed to help. It didn't take very long and it wasn't very difficult, and both of them (I think the man was the building super or something, and I guess the woman was moving out) were nice enough, but I couldn't help resenting them. I would never think to ask a stranger to help me move a giant refrigerator down a flight of stairs. Then again, I'd never think to move a refrigerator down a flight of stairs, so maybe I'm making assumptions that I can't possibly make with any real accuracy. Whatever the case, I'm sick of being nice to strangers.