Poverty and lies, I am not a stranger to either. They seem to go hand in hand. I hate them both. Yes, the poor we will always have with us – and apparently the lies.
“I just need a little gas money.”
“They could help themselves if they would”
“Can you give me some money for a burger?”
“He is only asking for money to spend on alcohol”
“They just need to stop begging and get a job.”
When I lived in Texas, I was no stranger to poverty myself. I was not homeless, I did have a roof over my head, but for an extended period of years, there was no money for food, no money to pay bills. When headed across the parking lot in the course of my weekly venture to downtown Dallas, I was often met with an appeal for money, “please, can you spare some change so I can eat?” In those days, it was no lie for me to respond, “I am sorry, I have nothing.” The part about being sorry was just as true as the part about having no money. I am a fixer. I am a caretaker. I wanted a solution to world hunger – mine and theirs. From my meager food supply, I began to carry cans of food in the car so I could share with others in need. The first time I handed out a can, the man cursed me, “I asked for money,” he spat, “what am I going to do with this?”
Over the intervening decades, some panhandlers have grown more honest.
There was the placard of an intersection beggar in Denver, “I won’t lie, I need a beer” And spoken requests, “do you have a nickel or two? I need a drink.”
I too, have grown. I am more self-sufficient, financially stable. I still want to fix and care and solve. But more importantly, I can no longer look the other way. I can no longer say, “I have no money.” If I am to remain honest, I must look them in the eye and either give or refuse. No lies. No excuses.
I have moved on from carrying canned goods in the car. Rarely, rarely will I give cash or coin. Usually my help consists of an apple or banana from groceries just purchased, a cold bottle of water on an extreme temperature day.
Since moving to Northern Arizona, I have experienced yet another type of panhandler. While traveling through Kayenta, I have had jewelry vendors wedge themselves between me and the gas pump trying to sell me a necklace. Another, refusing to take my first no for money, thrust his head in the car door with mine when I leaned in to get an apple and continued with a fabricated story about being hungry because his friends left him in the desert without a ride. Exasperated I said, “You need to get yourself some new friends.” I handed him the apple. I don’t stop for gas in Kayenta anymore.
The same role that supports me and makes me financially stable, also requires that I be able to say no on a regular basis. I am the buyer of merchandise for eight stores, each with a specific theme. I must be friendly and firm. “Nice product, but it does not meet our interpretive needs.” “Creative book title, I can tell you have put in many hours. This will not pass the approval process.” “Thank you for your time today, but, no, I do not want to buy your product.”
As much as is in me, I want to be honest. And I expect, in return, honesty from my vendors. When you find a large, nationally known company has misrepresented and played you false, you simply cease to do business with them. The same goes for local artists. A sad story may hit a soft spot with me individually, but it must not make me waver with company money. It will do a vendor no good to pressure me, “you said you would buy from me this time.” No. I did not. The approval process is still the approval process and you have just proved yourself a liar. Once, I heard this plaintive request, “Can’t you just buy something? We would like to go out to dinner before we go home!” So would I, jewelry vendor, so would I.
Have I grown crusty? Last Tuesday midmorning I ran an errand to Walmart for store supplies. As I stowed the bags in the back seat, I was approached by a clean-cut man in neat T-shirt, jeans and sneakers. “Please ma’am,” he began, “can you help us out with a little money? My wife and I, we’d like to have a bite to eat at Jack in the Box before we head out of town.”
“How are you getting back home?”
“Hitch hiking.” Fair enough. We are right on the highway.
“I see. Why Jack in the Box? It’s across the highway. MacDonald’s is right there, at the edge of the parking lot.”
“Tell you what,” I continued, “I’ll drive over to MacDonald’s and get you a burger and bring it to you at the edge of the parking lot.”
“Okay,” he said, “I’ll watch for your car.”
I ordered two quarter pounders and a tall cup of water. I paid at the first window. I picked up at the second window. I handed the bag and the water out the window 20 feet later where the couple stood waiting for my curbside service. I returned to the office, to my work of selling and buying.
Three hours later a jewelry vendor entered the store asking for me, “You said to come back this week.” What I actually said was I was not making appointments until this week. Nevertheless, I arranged to see her wares immediately. There was nothing of design or quality I needed and I told her so as courteously as possible. She countered with, “That woman who was here before you used to buy from me.” I still said no.
At least she could not opine, “But we are hungry, can’t you just buy something?” It was the woman of the same couple I had fed a few hours earlier.
