DECEMBER 26, 2025 HOMELESSNESS decided to bring that day. Depending on the forecast, he CARSON WURSTER U-M student contributor Author's note: The man who I am writing this about wanted to remain anonymous, so he is just referred to by his pronouns in this essay. His smile was the first thing noticed; his tired eyes were the second. His face showed exhaustion, but he still greeted everyone with warmth and an inviting smile. As a dishwasher at the restaurant where we worked together, he cleared mountains of dishes each shift with the kind of effort most people bring to their dream job. But washing dishes wasn’t all he did. He bussed tables when servers fell behind and jumped in to help deliver meals or refill drinks without being asked. He even chatted with guests when he got the chance, not for tips or praise, but simply to feel seen. For two months, I honestly just thought he liked to stay up late or had another job to get to after ours ended. I never imagined he was homeless. I assumed he went home after his shifts, like the rest of us. I had no idea “home” meant wherever he could remain safe from whatever weather Michigan walked between 25 and 45 minutes to the restaurant every day, rain or shine, snow or humidity. He left early to make sure he was always on time. And he didn’t just work one shift. After finishing a 12-hour day in the back of house, he would sometimes stay overnight for maintenance, cleaning the entire restaurant or fixing equipment, not for ambition or overtime, but because staying at work meant protection. The restaurant was comfortable. Outside wasn’t. He was homeless the entire time, and so many others, like myself, didn’t know for months. He never asked for pity. He never acted like a victim. He treated everyone around him with respect and kindness, even while carrying a burden none of us could see at a glance. That realization hit me the hardest. He was struggling to survive, yet still made sure others felt supported. One night when I was annoyed with a difficult customer, I complained to him about it. He didn’t roll his eyes or feed into my frustration. Instead, he politely told me, “You never know someone’s story. Treat others the way you want to be treated.” I brushed it off then, but now I understand. He said that because outside of work, he was treated as if he were invisible simply because he had no roof over his head. And yet he was doing everything society tells us to do: get a job and work. In his case, he was doing the work of two or even three jobs all within one workplace. His life was proof that hard work doesn’t always secure stability. There’s a belief many people hold: if you work hard, you’ll be fine. Hard work guarantees a home, a bed, air conditioning, heat, clean water and safety. But he worked harder than anyone I knew, and he still spent nights solely trying to survive. His determination within the workplace revealed the uncomfortable truth we all need to come to terms with: hard work does not guarantee housing. National estimates show that 25-40% percent of people experiencing homelessness are employed at any given time. Many hold demanding service jobs while earning too little to cover rent, transportation and food. In Michigan today, a full-time minimum-wage worker cannot realistically afford a typical apartment without working far beyond standard full-time hours. A paycheck doesn’t always equal a pillow or a nice bubble bath. His story proves that. He was doing GROUNDCOVER NEWS My favorite conspiracy theory: working hard = success 7 everything right, and it still wasn’t enough. That changed how I see the world. It taught me that compassion cannot be conditional. You never know who is fighting a silent battle just to get through the day. You never know who is walking for nearly an hour in freezing snow or blistering heat just to reach their shift. You never know whose hands are numb, not from dishwater, but from sleeping outside the night before. We like linear stories: the hardworking succeed, the lazy do not. His life told a much different story, one far more honest, especially within the economy we all live in now. When his shift ended, he didn’t drive home. He didn’t step into a cutely decorated living room or crawl under comfy blankets. He walked back into the unpredictable elements of Michigan’s night, hoping he could find enough hope to make it to the next day. Hard work doesn’t guarantee shelter. Only humanity does. So the next time someone says people experiencing homelessness just need to “work harder,” think of a man who did and still had nowhere to go.
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