Spare Change?

It's bad enough to have to wake up and go to work, but there's one part of my day that I loathe, and that's running the homeless gauntlet when I get coffee in the morning. I have a grand idea for helping the homeless, which I'm sitting on for a later post, but in the meantime let me tell you why this messes with my day.

There are now four homeless varietals at my local Starbucks.

Helpful Guy is my favorite, and I feel that if I'm going to have to be assailed for change, I'd rather it be him. He's a black man in his late 40's or 50's, bundled up with a coat and beanie, and is the main occupant on the corner. As you come down the street he'll wave you on and point out where the open parking spaces are in the tiny crowded lot, which I think is nice, considering he could just stand there asking for change. If I have a coin I'll give it to him, and sometimes I'll buy him a coffee if he doesn't have one yet. He's friendly and personable, and probably a veteran, since a good chunk of the street peeps use the nearby VA. I think he may live in a car that I see there once in a while, with another homeless white woman.

Mrs. Helpful Guy doesn't show up too much, but I do see here sometimes on weekends or on the odd day here or there. I've seen her mostly sitting in her car or driving it to or from the lot, rather than out on the street looking for money, but I recognize her nonetheless. Perhaps she has a different territory to cover, but they're rarely together for more than a moment or in front of the Starbucks. If she is there, she won't ask for money or direct traffic, but since she's also on that happier, harmless side of the spectrum it's not terrible to see her around.

Crazy Guy worries me because he's fairly young, but totally batshit. If he's around, he'll most often just stand against the wall, staring off into space. He doesn't ask for money, he just zones out and let's you feel the weight of his presence. There's been a few times he's been on a tear having a seriously heated yelling match with his invisible demons, and that's not so much fun to be around. He doesn't look scruffy or dirty, so I think he's a drug user, which makes him both unpredictable and dangerous, especially if he's having psychotic drug related breaks. It's not too often he's there, but it's unnerving when he is since I've seen him in high gear.

Today, number four arrived. His name is Lazy Hippie. Sitting cross legged in front of the door, he just drones with on his mantra, "spare some change...spare some change...spare some change". Whenever I see a young white guy with a dreadlock basket atop his head and a tour length beard, I am immediately suspicious. Phish don't tour anymore and I'm not in Berkeley or Santa Cruz, so the sight of a hacky sack flipping, patchouli stinking hippie in an urban setting is a big red flag. I can only postulate that Jeff hated his middle class upbringing and parents, changed his name to Eagle Tree, and decided to give a big middle finger to the man by skirting the system.

If you are a young, healthy, able bodied adult, go march your ass off to work. Now, before you bleat about how I couldn't know if he had a problem, I can tell you this. He wasn't there before today, so that means he's mobile and his legs work, plus he had neither a wheelchair or crutches. He held his cup out for money, which means his arms work. He could see me coming and going and was able to beg, so clearly his eyes, mouth, and brain function. His clothing, while unfashionable, where clean, as was he (save the picnic basket sized dread sling and nappy beard).

I may not like euthanizing baby koalas and bunnies, but every day I get up, go to work, and make sure the killing floor is ankle deep with blood. You don't have to like what you do, but goddammit, get up and do something. That overpriced coffee I drink to cope with the murder of hundred of defenseless creatures is a small sliver of happiness in an otherwise grey day, and I'll be damned if some dirty hippie panhandler is going to steal my sunshine because they'd rather put their hand out and go to a drum circle while the rest of us work.

I've got to give credit to Henry Rollins, who told a tale of running into a gutterpunk who was healthy and able but wanted a free buck. After sizing him up and delivering a verbal battery of questions that established the kid was completely fit for work, Rollins flashed a wad of cash and told the dirtmuffin that he could have it if he could take it from him. Physically. Of course, the passive, lazy urchin declined, but it reinforced the beauty of the dilemma -- perfectly apt folks wanting something for nothing. It would have gained his respect if the kid tried to roll him for the dough, but if you're able to jack someone, you're able to go to work, and the effort for both still proved to be too much.

If you want something, you've got to earn it or take it. Sitting and waiting earns you nothing.