A Penny for Your Burger
Call me a hard-hearted person who left my compassion at home, but I am tired of being panhandled.
It happened this week at a gas pump on Veterans Parkway. My mind was somewhere else while I was putting gas in my Honda. My back was turned to the road when I was brought back to reality by the sound of a man's voice behind me, begging for money. When I said not today, he mumbled something under his breath and walked away. I checked over my shoulder to be sure he kept walking.
Was he homeless and down on his luck? Was he a junkie or a drunk? Was he mentally ill? I don't know. He didn't tell me his story and I didn't come to the Spectrum to hear it either. I am not one of those people who would tell him to go get a job. I know circumstances in our lives sometimes alter the course we've planned to follow. I know there are people out there on the street who never intended to be there.
And yes, I know it could be you or me.
It's callous, but I did not pull into that service station looking for someone to help. I was in my space and I don't appreciate it being invaded. Sometimes it's even intimidating. I feel the same way when someone forces me to participate in a conversation on their cell phone.
Just as it was during the years of the Great Depression, pandhandling is something we face, just as soup kitchens and flop houses are part of our daily lives. But while some call me their token liberal friend, I am not so liberal that I think I can save the world with a single dollar bill. I can hardly buy a guy a hamburger for a buck. The stakes are up to a 99 cent burger plus tax.
Streets around Georgia's State Capitol are prime territory for people bumming money. You run a maze of them to get to the Gold Dome. Two or three years ago, one of the more inventive ones had staked out his own personal corner in the area. He wasn't pushy. He was courteous and upbeat when he smiled and said good morning. One day, he caught me off guard. He said his good morning, then explained that it was his birthday and that he wasn't going to be able to celebrate out there on the streets without some help.
Ah, it's birthday, I thought.
I pushed a $5 dollar bill into his hand and wished him a happy birthday. You would have thought I had made a friend for life. He thanked me and offered me his hand. He told me I had made it a happy birthday for him then he asked God to bless me. I felt like I had done my good deed for the day. I felt good.
Next morning. Same corner. Same fellow. Same smile.
Apparently I wasn't such a close friend after all. He told me good morning. Then he said it was his birthday.
Abe Lincoln never left my pocket.
2 comments:
You may not have gone on your own to Spectrum (Circle K) to hear someone's story or to help them, but did God send you there as an angel to help someone? Could it be a coincidend that the same man was in the same spot the next day for God to test you and see if you would obey?
I too am sick of being pan handled. I was in a bookstore and watched a man ask a soldiers father for money. He said his car had broken down and was at a garage across the street. The soldiers had just graduated from Basic Training. The "man in need" said he too was here for his sons graduation. The father of the soldier asked him what company his son was in and he couldn't answer. The soldiers father gave the man some money ($50.00). The "panhandler" gave him his address and phone number and promised to repay the man for his good deed.
I was intrigued so I followed the panhandler outside just to see if his car was really across the street. No, it wasn't. He got on a bike and strolled over to his next victim. He had a different story now.
Post a Comment