Sir can you please spare a few bucks to help a guy get back on his feet? How about some change? Maybe just a little beard oil? Sir? Sir? Oh, you’re turning up your nose at me? I get it. There was a time I thought someone begging on the street was beneath me too. I guess it’s true what they say about walking a mile in someone else’s shoes. Though I wouldn’t be caught dead walking 10 feet in your Skechers.
Can I let you in on a little secret?
I wouldn’t trade my life for yours.
I have complete freedom, you are a slave to the system. You work all week to pay your taxes so you can have your four walls, your Netflix, and your Tupperware, but they’ve got you fooled man. You can just hang your food in dirty old socks and not only does it stay fresh, the rats can’t get at it. Boom. Sustainable, plastic free life hack.
And the food situation can be pretty sweet out here if you know what you’re doing. The dumpster behind the 5 star restaurant three blocks over is a goldmine. Sure, you have to sift through the diapers and stuff from the daycare they share the dumpster with, but the other day I got a pretty nice chunk of foie gras out of there.
When you look at me, you don’t even notice my sign is handmade from organic, recycled materials. I pity your lack of awareness. You paint all of us with one brush. We are all individuals, with our own names and identities. Do you walk through your whole life this blindly?
You see Old Whiskey Jim down the street begging for change to buy whatever rot gut swill he can afford and you see me as the same? Sorry pal, you’re going to have to pull out the folding money, I really prefer a nice peaty Scotch. Single malt. I know they’re doing great things with blending these days and there are some smaller craft distillers really pushing the flavor envelope, but what can I say? I’m a traditionalist. Now this isn’t a hill I’m willing to die on, if you want to bring a few different bottles by my spot I have some nice artisanal wheat crackers hanging up in my homemade Tupperware for palate cleansing, we could have a proper tasting.
That brings me to my next point, you assume that every penny we ask for is going towards drugs. While that might be true of Old Methy Jim up the street, I can assure you that my turning down your offer to share your lunch has nothing to do with lying about how hungry I am, and everything to do with your low culinary standards. I’ll tell you what, if you don’t believe me, why don’t you follow me to the farm to table bistro around the corner, give me the $33 for a sandwich (this week’s feature is a capicola, dry aged 24 months in ex sherry casks, with smoked gouda, pea shoots, and a roasted garlic aioli, served on hand made focaccia) and we can sit on a bench and eat together? Just promise to keep your Subway cold cut combo away from me or I’ll probably lose my appetite.
Oh, I bet you think I’m being a snob, and if I were a little less particular about some things maybe I would have a place to live. Well I would ask you this, how can you use sheets with a lower thread count than the handmade recycled paper I sleep under?
I’m sorry for lashing out like that, sometimes I worry that the streets have stripped away the last vestiges of my humanity. Have I slipped too far down the slope of despair? Am I destined to snarl and swipe at passers by like Old Stabby Jim across the street? I hope I never lose that much of myself, he uses a piece of broken glass wrapped in a handle of rags for his stabbing. I would like to think I would at least have a nice blacksmith knife, maybe forged from a reclaimed railroad spike.
There was a time when I would fear for my lost humanity and decide to dip into my trust fund and spend a few nights in a nice hotel and pamper myself. But I think I’m too far gone now, I’m more wild animal than man these days. I hardly recognize the creature staring back at me in this Tiffany mirror. No, from now on this makeshift shelter is my five star hotel room, these old socks hanging here are my bidet. I am of these streets and there’s no going back. So why don’t you just give me whatever you can spare and run along back to your capitalist rat race existence. I’m sorry, did you just offer me beard oil from the dollar store? Ugh, you disgust me.