Stepping in to help — is it ever a misstep?

Our block was virtually empty when I had no choice but to literally step over a fellow human being passed out on the sidewalk. My baby was asleep, strapped into a carrier with his perfect little cheeks sweating against my chest. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and I didn’t know what to do.

We live in a pretty residential section of San Francisco’s Mission District. Our block consists of a number of families, many of whom have lived here for generations. And while we occasionally find that someone has set up camp somewhere along our little street, I’ve never had to step over someone. If I’d been desensitized to the homelessness around me, the act of physically crossing over someone mid-struggle temporarily snapped me out of it.

Despite my house, job and family, I’m less of a stranger to this passedout gentleman than one might imagine. I’ve battled the power of addiction. My mind can flash back to moments where I struggled in front of strangers, when my illness was exposed in frustrating, ugly ways. Save for a number of lucky privileges and a lot of support, I could be passed out on a sidewalk right now.

I called 311, San Francisco’s all-purpose help line. I explained the situation in the hope that some sort of team trained for this all-too-common circumstance could handle the case. I mean, this guy wasn’t going anywhere any time soon. We must have some sort of response in place for “unconscious human on sidewalk.”

The 311 operator told me to call the San Francisco police, which I did not do. It felt unfair to call the cops on someone who needs inpatient care, and it felt unfair to burden law enforcement with a mental health and medical issue.

So I left the man on the sidewalk and I walked to my house, five doors away.

Situations like these, where solutions seem elusive, have been popping up a lot lately. For example, I was recently driving home from Burlingame, cruising down El Camino Real listening to show tunes, when I came upon a serious car accident that had clearly just happened. A dazed woman attempted to open her car door and squeeze past a deployed air bag. A pair of people

on the sidewalk looked panicked. Cars like mine slowed. What do we do?

My window was down, and I could hear someone say, “Call 911.” I let that phrase be my permission slip to keep going. They probably had it under control and didn’t need any help from me.

It’s best to stay out of the way. At least, I think it is. There’s no handbook for these situations other than, “Let somebody else handle it.”

Not everyone sees something alarming and passes the buck. An older woman confronted me in the pasta aisle of Target to let me know that my baby was unsafe. I’d placed a package of toilet paper on my son’s lap. I felt he had plenty of space and he seemed to enjoy patting the plastic with his baby hands. But this woman believed she saw a potentially dangerous situation and unlike my reaction to stepping over an addict or coming upon a car crash, she decided to intervene.

“You really shouldn’t have that there,” she said, referring to the package of toilet paper on top of my kid.

Embarrassment emerged in the form of anger. “You clearly know better than me,” I snapped, all forced smiles and crazy eyes. “Please tell me how to care for my child.”

This exchange went back and forth a few times, tense and pointless. I bet we both walked away feeling defeated. Maybe this woman wondered if she should have said anything at all. I spent the rest of my shopping trip trying to avoid her and dragging a package of toilet paper with one hand while pushing a stroller with the other.

“See something, say something” is a lot more complicated than it sounds. How much of the community we try to create relies on us to help strangers, and how much needs us to mind our own business?

If I could do it over, I would have placed a bottle of water next to the man on the sidewalk. I would have pulled over by the side of the accident to make sure help arrived. I would have thanked the woman in Target for caring and explained that I’m still learning.

I’ll try to do better next time.

“See something, say something” is a lot more complicated than it sounds.