My challenges with the business I'm trying to conduct here in Washington DC this week have given me a collective range of heartburn, anxiety, and disappointment-- but I'm confident the week will end with a high point that will erase all memory of the week's numerous aggravations. A man I met, casually, here in DC will not be so fortunate.
Yesterday I took a cab from the Mayflower to the Wardman. The cabbie was a Yemeni man, polite but in no particular hurry to rush through traffic dangerously. After a few folks behind him issued the traditional 'you're not moving fast enough for my Type-A personality' salute, he drove still safer and we exchanged remarks about life being too short to have a heart attack over rush hour DC traffic. He was pleasant, if not quick, and I tipped him well as he was courteous with me through the duration of his return salutes to other cabbies.
Today I made the same trip and, once again, the Yemeni man was the cab I drew from the taxi queue. He spent almost the entire trip speaking on his cell phone in partial English and mostly his native tongue but it was clear he was unhappy-- no... he was scared. I discerned the words "scam," "house," "children," and that he had worked for 23 years to own his home and that if he worked 24 hours a day every day he could never make the new payment.
With moments to go in our second ride together he hung up his cell phone and we spoke. He remembered me as the kind man that didn't press him to rush dangerously during traffic the day before. He explained that last year he had been injured, spent time in the hospital, and refinanced his home to lower his payments (since a non-driving cabbie is a hungry cabbie). The mortgage he was placed in obviously had a teaser rate and, more obviously, had a rapid escalation back to market rates. He "thought" he was lowering his payments from $1800 a month to $1100 and that the refinance was a godsend to help him during difficult times with his health. This week he learned that his "new" payment was being adjusted to $3300 a month and that he will likely soon lose his home-- after 23 years.
As I wished him well and encouraged him to not give up hope and to seek someone reputable to help him consider his options, he burst out in tears. I tipped him as well as my conscience could allow without making him feel worse.
Today, my aggravations seem small and my life seems especially joyful.
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