221) Level Fivers

The office at which I'm currently freelancing is located on the 6th floor of an 11 or so story building. Almost every morning, I share an elevator ride with a person that one of my co-workers and I have come to call a "level fiver."

On the 5th floor of the building is the AIDS Service Center NYC's main program office. They offer free HIV testing and counseling services. Sensitivities aside, there is an ominous sense of dread and curiosity that comes over me when someone gets off on Level 5. Granted, not everyone who visits the center has AIDS. But observing the types of people who're going to a free clinic, you can tell their lives aren't easy. Mostly, they're older, possibly homeless or equally marginalized individuals.

When we think of AIDS, we think of epidemics in Africa. Unless you know someone personally, there aren't many places where we can identify those living with the disease, much less encounter them up close and personal.

I don't mean to sound unsympathetic, or talk about patients like they're rare wild animals. And surely, there are those who don't share my limited exposure and knowledge, those who interact with HIV+ people every day. I consider myself a tolerant person, but out of ignorance and inexperience, I can't help feel a wave of pity mixed with a tinge of Denzel Washington's character towards the beginning of Philadelphia. ("Would you take a client if you were constantly thinking, 'I don't want this person to touch me,' 'I don't even want him to breathe on me.'")



My goal is to talk to at least a couple level fivers, if only to break down some of the stigma for myself. It also might be worth stopping by the center to see what kind of work they do. And when I step off at floor 5, I'll wonder what others in the elevator are thinking.