Brother, Can You Spare a Blessing?

Living where I do, I now regularly meet with a most pesky form of individual: the panhandler. Especially on our street, but often also on walks, I will be approached by individuals asking me for money, with cigarettes being the second most favourite request.

There is always a pattern when they approach, such that, anytime now when I hear the phrase "sir, may I ask you a question," my internal dialogue responds "here we go again." Before any mention of money is made, I am given the first story. This story establishes why the person is in such dire straits. The variety of stories I have heard on this front are quite remarkable; this is the basic story, meant to engage. They may not have eaten in five days. They came to the city to visit family, but their family was gone when they got here. They are gathering money for a sick family member. There are many initial stories.

The interest always comes with the details. It may just be perverse curiosity, but I always listen. No. That is not quite right. When it came right down to it, if I was genuinely convinced of the person's situation and honesty, I would probably give them something. On the other hand, if the person is a liar and shows persistence in trying to get something, I would prefer they have to engage with me, rather than wait around for Mutti, Dogmeat, Jacqui, John, or Emma to walk past. The more reluctant they are to go about their business and let me go about mine, the more certain I am that I will see them leave. As it stands, I am yet to be convinced of the virtue of the asker, and that in large part due to stage two.

Stage two begins with me denying that I have anything with me to give, a detail which is always true, as I never carry cash around with me. This does not deter them. Their first question after that is always whether I could go to the house or bank and get some. I always improv the answer of that one based on where I am and my situation. My eventual denial always leads to a next round of stories, upping the ante.

The tone of these stories is never quite so desperate as the first round, and often goes back to the hardness of humanity and their inability to catch a break, the obvious implication being that I do not want to join in with that sad tradition. The details begin to pile up at this point, and I count the contradictions as the come. It never takes long.

This morning, story one had him having arrived from Alabama to find his family, who he was supposed to be staying with, was evicted from their rental property. He now needed money to get back to Alabama. His family he could not find a trace of. I had seen him on his cell-phone, but apparently he did not know the phone numbers of this family he had been coming to stay with.

Never call attention to the unbelievability. Never voice doubt. Keep your tone perplexedly helpful. But they always catch themselves in their own net, and multiply their own discomfort by the obvious incredulity of the story.

Later, during story editing and expansion phase, he had just got off the greyhound from Indianapolis, where he had been for the last nine months. The details he gave me about that stay--or supposed stay, as I already had reason to believe, from information evinced from him by trickery, that he as indeed a Fort Wayne native--are tedious and typical and need no repetition. The key detail is that he was, according to him, in Alabama and Indianapolis at the same time.

The last line after this usually involves lots of religious talk and bargaining with air. Firstly, if I bless them, then God will pay it back to me twice. And furthermore, they will also pay me back twice, once --insert opportunity here--pays off for them. It only gets less believable as time goes on.

If this person stops me in front of my house, as happened earlier, my preferred approach is to allow them to make their pitch as I walk them away from where I frankly do not want them. Walk with me toward Rudisill, my love. And, when it turns out they are lying, I play my part and insinuate the idea I want them to get: you will have more luck elsewhere and should probably leave.

I have become pretty darn good at getting this last one across as innocuously and clearly as possible. The one time it appeared that someone intended to hang around and wait for others after I got this across, I just sat and watched him, pointedly. He then took off and we lived happily ever after.

Being constantly outside and walking around, I am exposed to this more than usual. It probably also stems from living in one of the nicer hoods in the hood. Modest property values. People have something to give, but it isn't like walking into Old Mill where you will get Jupiter and Mars sicced on you.

Anyway, I know there are truly desperate people in this city, and people that need help, but it is not these people that I am running into. The people I run into have the delivery of experienced salesmen and often wear expensive shoes, they openly tell you that they would be as happy with a check as cash, as they take another draw on their cigarette. Sometimes you find them chatting up someone else days, or weeks, later. No joke, but the story had changed.

My last issue is purely instinctual. Some of these people are like amusing nuisances, but others make me uneasy, and I am seldom uneasy for no reason.

In the end, do I have trouble with people asking for money. No. But if you are going to ask me for money, either 1) I better know you, or 2) one of my good friends or family members better have recommended your cause to me. And lastly, and most importantly, do not give me any bullshit.