A Sandwich, A Question, and Eleven Quiet Revelations

Today, I ran a little social experiment—not in a lab, but outside a Starbucks on Nicholasville Road in Lexington, Kentucky. I go there often. And almost every day, I see the same homeless man sitting quietly outside. He never begs, never bothers anyone. He keeps to himself, his worldly belongings tucked into a large, worn rucksack at his feet. If you didn’t look closely, he might blend into the background—an invisible part of the city’s scenery.

But I’ve noticed him. I’ve spoken with him. He’s soft-spoken, clean, and unfailingly polite—just a man caught in hard circumstances.

Today, I watched as dozens of people walked past him. Not a glance. Not a word. As if he didn’t exist.

So I wondered: what if people couldn’t ignore him?

I went inside Starbucks and bought an assortment of sandwiches and pastries. Then, one by one, I approached random customers as they exited and said something simple:
“Hey, they gave me a free sandwich/dessert—would you like it?”

Out of eleven people, every single one accepted. They smiled, thanked me, and took the food.

But just as I handed it over, I added one more line:
“Oh—there’s a homeless guy sitting right there. Do you mind if I give it to him instead?”

What happened next surprised me.

Of the six people who were driving brand-new vehicles—Tahoes, Volvos, shiny diesel trucks worth well over $50,000—none of them agreed. Not one. They hesitated, frowned, and kept the food for themselves.

The other five, whose cars were clearly older—scratched-up sedans, compact models worth under $10,000—all gave their sandwich away. Two of them even walked back inside and bought the man a bottle of water.

I’m not saying your car defines your character. But I couldn’t ignore the pattern.

It made me wonder if those who have less are more attuned to what it means to need. If they remember what it’s like to be overlooked, hungry, or tired—and so their hearts recognize those struggles in others.

It also made me think about the illusion of abundance. That having more might sometimes make us feel like we need to protect what we have—even if it’s just a $5 sandwich.

But we’re all connected. We all have days when we’re down, invisible, or struggling to carry what life has handed us.
And in those moments, how much did a single act of kindness mean to you?

That man outside Starbucks didn’t ask for anything. He just sat there. But five people saw him today. Five people gave him something warm to eat. And maybe, for a few minutes, he felt remembered.

And for the rest of us? Maybe it reminded us that we’re not here just to collect, consume, or coast by.

We’re here to see one another.
To pause.
To care.
And maybe, just maybe, to share a sandwich when it matters most.