An Interesting Encounter

Last night I met a young man named George. Of course, that's the wrong spelling, but I wasn't really wondering how he spelled his name. I was wondering how I was going to get out of the encounter with my dignity in tact, because I had no intention of giving him my money. I was wondering when he was going to go away, but was too fascinated to tell him to shove off.

I met him on the bus as I was speaking to a friend in English. He sat near us and said, “It's branza. Cheese is branza. I speak good English.” We had been discussing Mexican food of all things.

George had a feral look about him. He was dressed in sweats, with dirty jogging shorts worn over them, and a hoodie over that, with his arms out of the sleeves and tucked against his middle. He pulled the neck of his hoodie up over his nose and mouth and stared relentlessly and talked about how I could help him with money, that he was living on the streets and that it was a very sad situation. I agreed that it was sad. But so many people here ask for money. It is a constant. He was at the very least the eighth or ninth person that day who had approached me asking for money. He just happened to have been the boldest, and the strangest.

George asked if I liked Jean-Claude Van Damme movies and if I thought he resembled him at all. He is a great fan of fighting movies, and perhaps a great fan of fighting, as he revealed he had spent some time in jail a few years ago. It was an odd conversation. I wondered if he was trying to intimidate me. It wouldn't be the first time someone had tried such a thing, in exactly the same way, though it is the first time I have experienced such a thing here. It was also possibly the single most uncomfortable encounter I have experienced in Romania. For a moment, I thought I might have been transported right back to Augusta.

I don't know if George is actually living on the streets or if he simply spends time there. He isn't thin. In fact, he looked pretty strong. There was something odd about his speech and the way he looked at people, as though there was something...artificial...at work in his mind. I suspected he didn't exactly want money for food.

He said he is 25. I thought he was probably telling the truth, unless he had lost track of his age at some point. He looked weathered. He didn't look desperate. He looked cunning.

From time to time, he would smile by closing his eyes tight and opening his mouth, letting his head loll a bit. Then he would resume staring. Like I said, something artificial at work. He seemed coiled inside.

We left George behind soon after that. He didn't follow, as I'd half expected him to. I suppose many people tend to give him money in hopes he will go away. Perhaps he spent last night on the street, perhaps not. Whether he was telling the complete truth or not, there probably is a sad story there somewhere. He wasn't warmly dressed and it was quite cold. While the city was hanging lights and preparing for New Year's Eve, he was asking strangers for cash on a bus. Most likely to purchase something interesting. I can't imagine friends are flocking to share his company. I will probably never see him again, but there will be others.