I walked down to the grocery store to watch Big S practice the art of panhandling this morning with the intents on practicing said art. I was desperate for a few dollars in my pocket. I have almost exhausted my spare change.
There was a cool breeze on the air with bright shafts of sunshine lighting my way through the trees as I walked. Atypically cool for this time of the year in the South. You could almost feel fall encroaching upon the southern, humid Bermuda high that has persisted through most of this summer.
I went in to purchase my morning Gatorade and went back outside to sit with Big S. His first subject he solicited was an elderly black lady who was very nicely dressed. She looked like a sweet little old lady; like someone’s grandma.
“Watch this,” Big S said as he left me to sit as he walked up to her.
She looked surprised and accosted as Big S stood in front of her.
“Ma’am, you couldn’t spare a dollar for a hungry man, could you?” Big S asked towering ominously over her.
She meekly reached into her purse to pull out a dollar bill and gave it to him. It was a clear case of intimidation and made me feel uncomfortable just watching it.
“God bless you, ma’am,” Big S replied as he came over to sit back down next to me with a big grin on his face.
He snapped the crisp one dollar bill with his fingers and kissed it.
“Ah, money, there is nothing like it,” He said. “It is like taking candy from a baby.”
“Don’t you have any conscious about what you are doing?” I asked him. “That poor little lady was obviously intimidated by you.”
“Hey, I just ask for dollar,” Big S replied. “They can give or not give. It is their choice.”
I could no longer watch Big S continue with this process. It was revolting and to think I even entertained the idea. Am I that desperate for money? To stoop to the lowest dregs of society and damage what little pride I have left just for a few measly dollars? I would rather go hungry I then decided. My pride and my sense of well being were just far too important.
I live in a vastly rich country. A country in where a listless homeless man can sit and blog all day and still get something to eat and a place to sleep at night. Even the poorest of the poor here have far more than dreamt of by the poor of less wealthy countries. Yet, that wealth seems so intangible and unreachable to me. Will I have to go to work to support myself once again? The option seems far less damaging to my pride these days although I will have to subjugate myself to the whims of another employer at minimum wage which I find distasteful. It is just weeks like last week that scare me in that I may not be able to handle it. I was gripped in the throes of my illness last week and it was not a welcomed or pretty sight to behold. I awoke from last week a mess.
“Another day, another dollar,” As Big S is fond of saying.
I guess it’s time I rejoined the workforce and started earning my keep and regaining my freedom as well. I will have to whore out my being to the capitalist behemoth that marches ever forward trampling over those that can’t or don’t wish to play by the rules. The only other option is becoming that despicable man of a panhandler like Big S.
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