Heart Checkup

I had an appointment this morning with my cardiologist. He likes to see me now and then to run an ECG on my heart. After I spent a half hour in the waiting room watching The Price is Right, they put me in the exam room.  His cardiac technician entered with the equipment and ran the test. She left; I put my shirt back on and a minute later the doc came in. We talked a little bit, he listened to my heart, and that was that. I asked for a printout of the ECG and the technician brought me one.

I drove my Jeep down Boulevard a short way and pulled into the Martins store parking lot. As I exited my Jeep, an old black man approached me and asked me if I could help him out. He said he needed some money to buy a meal at the Burger King across the street. He looked like he had maybe one tooth left in his mouth. I told him, “Sorry, but I don’t have any money. I only carry plastic.” He looked disappointed and started turning away. I started walking toward the store. But then I thought: we’re all brothers and sisters, and if this man is hungry, I can’t ignore him. So I stopped and turned and told him if he would come into the store with me, I’d buy him a sandwich.

So we went to the Martins deli, and he picked out a sub, and a small bag of chips, and a 20 ounce drink. As we waited in line at the checkout, we talked a little. His name was Roy and he was passing through town. He had been waiting in the parking lot, he said, for his ride to show. He wasn’t staying in town because “there’s not much here.” He was on his way south – next stop, Miami.

I swiped my plastic and the bill was paid. I shook Roy’s hand, wished him luck, and he walked toward the door with his meal. I turned the opposite way and walked toward the salad bar.

I have a rule about giving pan-handlers cash: I don’t. Because, I don’t want to help them feed whatever addiction has gotten them so far down in the gutter. But if you’re hungry, I’ll buy you a meal. I’m not heartless. (I have a printout from my doctor to prove it.)

When I got back home, the thought occurred to me: maybe the real heart checkup didn’t happen at my doctor’s office. If so, I hope I passed.