You know the lie, it’s the well intended lie of wishful thinking.

When one door closes another door opens. No it doesn’t. All it means is you’re out there in the cold. It’s an Oprah Winfrey Lie. It sounds good when Oprah says it, “When one door closes another door opens.” But it’s not true, which is why all too often you dance the shame dance and beg your way back in the door.

Back in the door to the wife who stopped noticing you. Back in the door to boss who stopped listening to you. Back in the door to the abusive family of your past instead of letting go and searching for the loving family of your future. When being alone is more frightening than being abused, maybe it’s time to drift.

I was at an open mic recently where I told a story about dealing with a homeless guy at work. I used to work at Max’s Deli, in what seems like another lifetime but was really 7 months ago. Early one morning, before we opened for business, there was a homeless guy sitting at one of our tables in front of the restaurant. I walked past him and went inside, pretending he wasn’t there. I’m sure this was nothing new to him. Everyone pretends he’s not there.

Talk about being out in the cold. This guy was literally out in the cold. Every door in his life had slammed shut and now the door frames were Gorilla Glued. But this wasn’t my problem. I had a restaurant to run and I knew the customers weren’t going to like the sight of a homeless guy.

So what did I do?

I picked up the phone to call the police. But then my thoughts drifted and I hung up the phone. This guy didn’t need a prison cell. I knew prison wasn’t the answer. It might have been a short term solution but it wasn’t a long term answer. So I poured myself a cup of coffee and gazed into the mug. I found no answers but the coffee tasted good.

I walked outside. I asked the guy his name. His name was Gerard. I asked Gerard if I could buy him a bagel. He wanted an everything bagel with chive cream cheese. I ask if he wanted the everything bagel toasted. “Yes,” Gerard said.

Next door to the restaurant was Jenny Craig. A few hours later, I would get a visit from the woman who runs Jenny Craig. Her name is Regina and Regina was pissed off.

“Don’t be feeding the homeless guy,” she yelled at me. “His name is Gerard,” I said. “I don’t care what his name is. I don’t care what your name is. I’ve worked here for 2 years and I never bothered asking your name. You know why? Because you’re not a customer and so I don’t need to know. You’re just an asshole selling bagels. In fact, that’s how I think of you. That’s your Indian name, Asshole Selling Bagels. I always thought of you that way and it turns out I was right,” she said. “Don’t feed the homeless guy. Got it?”

At this point in the story, it should be clear Regina doesn’t care about me or Gerard or doing the right thing. At the open mic, as I told the story, I could feel the room in my corner. High on a surge of confidence, as I described Regina coming at me, I put my hand out and motioned downward as if to slow down her verbal assault. This is what I said, “Bitch! Easy does it.”

“Oh Hell No,” I heard someone say in the second row. I stopped the story. I could feel something in the room: a door slammed shut and another door did not open. But instead of panicking, instead of justifying my point of view, instead of lashing out at the injustice of being misunderstood, I slowed down, taking-in the cold, allowing myself to drift into the uncomfortableness.

I addressed the comment.

“You’re right,” I said. “I shouldn’t say what I said. In fact, I didn’t say it, I thought it.” Half the room laughed. “I didn’t even think it,” I said.

Then I turned to the MC, the woman hosting the open mic. I told her I was sorry, “Half sorry,” I said. She asked which half and she had an excellent point. The part of her that’s a woman? Or the part of her that’s been called a bitch God knows how many times for no greater sin than being smart or ambitious or funny or a word I can’t believe I’m about to say…opinionated…as if anybody isn’t. Opinions are like assholes everyone’s got one and they all smell like a homeless guy sitting at your table but the most important thing to remember is be nice.

There I was, in the cold, which is where we are right now as country…

…where Desmond Marrow has the teeth knocked out of his face for the crime of being black…

…where Rashon Nelson and Donte Robinson are arrested at a Starbucks for the crime of being black…

…where rich kids shot at Parkland get a march in Washington but poor kids shot at The Waffle House get a GoFundMe….

…where Colin Kaepernick takes a knee and loses his job in the NFL but Laura Ingraham eviscerates a child and gets to keep her job on Fox News…

…where a Porn Star has more credibility than the President…where the First Lady has Stockholm Syndrome…

…where Michelle Wolf kills at the White House Correspondents Dinner but instead of everybody in the room having a laugh and then getting back to work on solving the water contamination crisis in Flint, we’re having another useless debate in split screen. The Correspondents Association is on the record as saying, “Michelle Wolf’s monologue wasn’t in the spirit of the of our mission.” If your mission is to get to Mars, call Elon Musk but don’t ask him to explain what’s over your head. If your mission is to win an election, call Vladimir Putin but don’t confuse fucking other people with fucking yourself by hanging out with hookers on a pee-pee bed. If your mission is to get a laugh, call Michelle Wolf.

Mission Accomplished!

Listen.

It’s freezing out here. I know for sure because I’m out here between doors with no idea where to go or what to do next. And it’s okay. My mission was never to work a fancy job live in a fancy home drive a fancy car golf at fancy club send my kids to a fancy school shoot fancy skeet downward dog in fancy pants pretending not to see.

See?

I did call the police on Gerard. I asked to talk to the social worker. We spent a few weeks going back and forth, trying to help Gerard. He refused the help. Then one day he was gone. He stopped coming to the restaurant. I like to think he changed his mind and decided to accept the help. But I don’t know if it’s true. I suppose I could tell you it’s true and it would certainly be nice to hear, like closure.

But closure is another lie. In this story there is no closure. Sorry Oprah.

A few weeks later, I went next door to Jenny Craig. As a peace offering, I handed Regina a bag of bagels. I told her I was sorry we had words. She accepted my apology even though I didn’t swear at her and she was the one who swore at me. But it didn’t matter. I pushed her buttons and she was reacting. I own it.

Just like I own this and I don’t know what it means or where it’s going or how to solve all of the problems I listed besides saying until we talk about it, until we acknowledge what’s going on, until we face the madness, we’re leaving good people out in the cold.

Sorry Gerard. I could have done more and the next time I meet another Gerard, I’m going to treat him the way I wish I had treated you.