The Panhandlers

The average panhandler never rises above the level of being a common nuisance. They loiter outside of convenience stores, hangout in front of sporting events, and walk up and down busy intersections during a red light. Usually, they just shake a cup and hope you’ll drop in some change. Sometimes they’ll verbalize their request, “Can you spare some change?”

But they don’t really expect or require you to respond. It’s basically a rhetorical question. You can stare straight ahead and ignore them and it doesn’t really bother them. They make you uncomfortable 2 or 3 seconds, but that’s about it. You move on with your day and forget them completely.

But then there is the confrontational panhandler… the one who picks you out of a crowd and confronts you directly. Perhaps you made the mistake of making eye-contact or fit some general description of the kind of person they deem likely to fork over some money. This panhandler will walk up to you, make eye contact, and usually give you a hard luck story. There is no, “look straight forward and ignore,” option; if you want them to go away you’re going to have to look them in the eye and say, “no”.

It’s a strategy that probably works more often than they passive aggressive change cup method. People have a hard time telling someone “no” when they’re standing in front of them. I however, have no qualms or moral dilemma saying, “no”. In fact, I almost enjoy it.

There is nothing more satisfying than pulling off your earbuds with a pained grimace on your face, (as if you were a surgeon being interrupted in the middle of an appendectomy) and then interrupting their bullshit story midsentence with a curt, “No” as you turn and walk away.

But last week I was actually thrown off my game by a confrontational panhandler… In my defense, it was five o’clock in the morning and I was trying to catch the train on my way to work. The girl who confronted me was in her mid-twenties. She wasn’t dressed in stereotypical panhandler attire. She was clean. She had a genuinely apologetic look on her face. And although her story wasn’t anything special, it felt genuine. She said her car had been towed and she was just trying to get back home to Frederick… That caught my attention because Frederick is where I grew up.

I asked her what part of Frederick, and she told me “Jefferson Street, next to McCurdy Field…” That wasn’t far from my old neighborhood in either geographical location or social status. The same rowhouse and duplex lined streets… The same rundown liquor stores… The same working class people who flash toothless smiles and are quick to offer you a story or a beer.

At that moment I felt like I knew her. Had I stood there and talked to her for a couple of minutes I’m sure I would have known some of the same people or traveled through the same schools as she had… But I didn’t stand there and talk to her.

What I did was explain to her, as sincerely as possible, that although I wanted to help her, I didn’t have any cash and I was running late for work.

I apologized profusely but the truth was, I was actually a little early and I had forty dollars in my pocket.

“That’s okay,” she responded. “I understand completely... I’ll be okay.”

She didn’t say it in a sarcastic or disappointed tone. Her tone was actually one of a reassuring nature. She really didn’t want me to walk away feeling guilty for not giving her any money… but of course, since I knew that I was lying to her that’s the exact feeling I walked away with... Guilt.

And it stayed with me for quite some time… I can’t completely explain why I didn’t help her. I knew she was telling the truth. I felt genuine sympathy for her story. And it wouldn’t have hurt me to give her ten or twenty dollars… I just didn’t do it.

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Yesterday, Moe Greene was eating his lunch in a Burger King parking lot. A girl approached his car. She wasn’t dressed like a panhandler. She was in her mid-twenties. And she had a genuine story about how she had come from Virginia in search of work and an escape from an abusive boyfriend… but things hadn’t worked out and now she had no place to stay.

When he asked her, “What do you want from me?” she started crying.

He told her to get in the car, drove her to a motel, paid cash for a room, and then let her keep change so she could get something to eat.

It coast him sixty dollars and he ended up coming back late from his lunch break.

These girls were both in our age group… both had genuine stories… and both were asking for help. Moe had no real personal connection with his girl and her problem was both complex and more expensive… My girl grew up maybe 15 blocks from where I grew up, and could have had her problem solved with a twenty dollar bill...We both had the money to help. But only I really had the time.

And yet Moe stopped his day to help, and I just walked away.