"Can I borrow 50¢, please?"
There's one Berkeley bum who uses that line a lot. Always he says please, and puts the tiniest extra emphasis on 'borrow', as if anyone believes it's a loan.
Usually I'm stingy and cheap, but a few times I've said yeah and handed him a few quarters.
I wasn't in a good mood, and had already decided I wasn't giving that bum the 50¢ I knew he'd be asking for. Why I'd ever given him anything is a mystery, but he wears a fraction of a smile and a hopeful look and sometimes it's cracked my uncaring urban armor.
Not today, though. I steeled my defenses. He wasn't getting a dime out of me. I only had four dollars in my wallet, barely enough for the groceries I needed, and anyway, I am poor, damn it.
As I approached the store's door, the bum pulled his hand out of his pocket, the literal enactment of hoping for a handout. I looked the other way and waited for the words, but they were what I'd expected.
"This is for you, mister," he said, and I noticed there were two dollar bills in his hand.
"For me?" I asked, trying to figure out what scam he was pulling.
"Yeah, for helping me out when I needed it, man. Four times you've given me 50¢."
Wordless, I gradually grokked that he was repaying the 'loans'. Does this guy keep a ledger?
It's probably a calculated part of his routine, and I'm supposed to refuse the two dollars. Like I said, though, I'm poor. And not proud. I needed the money almost as much as he did, so I took the cash, stuffed it into my pocket and added, "Thanks."
He'd probably complain, I thought. His whole ploy was supposed to get money out of me, right?
But instead he said, "Don't be thanking me," either sincerely or as a well-delivered part of the pitch. "I be thanking you, for helping when I was broke."
Past tense? Like, you aren't broke now?
But I didn't say anything, only nodded, and walked into the store. With the extra two bucks, I treated myself to a can of Nine Lives and a small jar of mayonnaise, in addition to the ramen and cheap bread I'd come for. Yeah, I'd be eating good tonight.
The bum was still there when I came out, so I handed him two quarters. Call it a karma investment. And I smiled at him, and it felt like a genuine smile.
From Pathetic Life #22
Thursday, March 14, 1996
This
is an entry retyped from an on-paper zine I wrote many years ago,
called Pathetic Life. The opinions stated were my opinions then, but
might not be my opinions now. Also, I said and did some disgusting
things, so parental guidance is advised.
No comments:
Post a Comment
🚨🚨 WARNING 🚨🚨
The site's software sometimes swallows comments. For less frustration, send an email and I'll post it as a comment.