The Plight of the Poor Man

A story of change.

By: David Cornett

"Open the door boy," the rich man demanded of the attendant.

"Yes sir, I'm sorry to disappoint you Mr. Winston,” the attendant said in a cowering tone.

The rich man proceeded to walk through the door of the headquarters and towards his Escalade limousine. The driver then opened the door for him. He struggled to get in due to the sheer size of his belly. If you didn’t know any different you’d think he was a king.

Finally, he manages to shift himself into a comfortable sitting position.

“Where to Mr. Winston?” the driver asks.

“Take me to the nightclub; I need some scotch on the rocks,” the rich man replied.

While passing a closed down strip mall a few homeless walk close to the window, begging for money.

“Ugh, what is this filth doing in downtown Jakarta on a Friday night,” the rich man said with disgust. “They should just be sent back to the slums like the filth they are. They are just rolling around in garbage all day. They are lazy scum,” he continued. “I on the other hand would make it out of the slums. I have real work ethic. I have a successful business with stores around the globe. I do not care where you are from; someones environment has no effect on what a man will accomplish. I am great and they are weak,” he finished, pridefully.

When the rich man finished his exuberant speech, they had arrived at the nightclub. He ordered his scotch on the rocks, gulped it down, and asked for another. He drank booze like normal people drink water.

Drinking glass after glass, the rich man becomes unaware of his surroundings. In his alcohol induced haze he doesn’t even notice the men glaring at him from across bar. Five intimidating Indonesians just stare at him, hardly looking down to sip on their drinks.

The rich man felt the urge to use the restroom and gets up from the bar stool. While walking, he noticed the line to the restroom was almost to the front entrance. He made a quick move out the front door and around the corner into an alley. Unbeknownst to him, the five sauntered toward him, following him out the door and slinked around the corner.

Right as soon as the rich man is about to relieve himself, two of the mysterious men seized him and made him drop to his knees.

“What the hell is going on here. Unhand me this instant!” the rich man said furiously. “Who are you?” he questioned them.

“You know who I am Mr. Winston,” the man said firmly. “I am Rio. The man who sold you the good stuff the other night. You said you’d have my money, with insurance. Now where is it!” Rio said frustratingly under his breath.

“I only have about $200 dollars on me right now. I don’t have it with me!” the rich man exclaimed. “I swear I’ll get it for you tomorrow,” he finished.

“I do not think you are a wealthy man Mr. Winston,” Rio said defiantly. “Take care of him,” he said to his henchmen.

Before the rich man has time to react one of Rio’s cronies hits him in the head with a lead pipe, knocking him unconscious.

The rich man woke up and was soaked from head to toe in murky, trash filled canal. Everywhere you look there is nothing, but trash. The aroma was so putrid that he vomited on himself, while wading in the water. After the initial confusion of what he was doing there, he gets his wits about him. He noticed immediately that everything he owned of value was gone. Even his polo shirt was gone. The only articles of clothing left were his underwear and khaki shorts. Now that the initial shock is over, he tried to find a way out of this canal.

He turned around and slowly swam through the trash. He tried to climb out of the canal which is guarded by a large heap of garbage. As he clasped down on the concrete portion of the canal wall, his footing gave way and the trash fell like a landslide, but he was able to keep hold of the wall. He pulled himself up, triumphantly.

He looked around to see where he was. This was the least familiar site for him in his life. Run down shed-like houses were everywhere. They were practically just boards with duck-tape and nails in them. They were practically sitting one on top of the other and they had basically trash dumpsters lips for roofs.

“What am I doing in a place like this?” he said to himself, almost stunned. “Is this the slums?” he finished.

He looked around and all eyes were on him. He was the only white man in the slum. Doing his best he tried to avoid all eye contact with the people. We kept his head upright and focused on the path ahead. But, he oozed fear. Shouting came from one of the houses and three men began jogging towards him. He immediately ran around the corner and down another street and then hid behind a house.

A young boy walked around the corner house and found the rich man cowering and sobbing in a corner. He held out his hand, beckoning for the rich man to get up. At first the rich man was very frightened by the presence of one of the slum people, but since it was a little boy it was different. The boy had no malice towards him; he is just a boy. Understanding the child’s innocence, he trusted and walked towards him. As the boy extended his hand to him the rich man confirmed the gesture and held his hand. The boy then proceeded to lead him.

The little boy brought him back to the men that he fled from. At first glance, when he saw them, he was nearly petrified. But he trusted the boy, so holding his hand, he continued to follow. To the rich man’s surprise they treated him with warm embrace. All three of the men gave him a firm handshake and a hug. It was almost like a celebration. A celebration of a new member. They bring the him inside their shack and introduced him to their family. The rich man didn’t quite know what to say. He had never, in his entire life, felt so much love before.

Sitting on a torn blanket and huddled close to the family, the rich man tries to communicate with them. The only correct exchange of words that happens is of names.

“James,” the rich man said to the family, while pointing his finger at his chest.

“Ahmad,” said the most vocal out of the group of three men.

“I need to get out of here,” James said, while pointing towards the skyscrapers in the distance.

While speaking in Indonesian, the three men appeared to be formulating a plan. As soon as they help James up, they beginning walking speedily down the road holding his arm, almost hurting him.

“Why are we going so fast,” he said hesitantly.

“Bad,” Ahmad said, while pointing at the areas around them.

Quickly James realized what he meant. Men were staring at him; and not with benign eyes, but that of malevolent ones. These men weren’t just curious, they were looking at James like he was prey. He could feel them peering at him. James felt like glancing, just out of terror, but he kept his head forward with the guidance of Ahmad and the two other men.

James rolled his eyes to his left. He felt a familiar presence. There he was; Rio was standing and facing away from him about 10 yards to his left. Rio was sharpening his machete on a sandstone. James immediately gazed forward, avoiding all eye contact with Rio or his henchmen.

After an eternity, James and the two men made it past the violent area of the slum. Ahmad and the others shook James’ hand as they walked away and back towards there home. His heart sunk. Although he had only been with these people for a few hours, they had almost become family to him.

“I will come back and help you,” James said to them, as they waved goodbye with wide smiles on their faces.

He walked a ways down the street to catch a taxi and rode all the way back to his villa. He went into his home and picked up some money and continued to give him 300% of the tab.

“I am a changed man now,” he said to the driver. “And I am never going back.”