Around these parts, at least, most panners have their basic needs covered, and it’s not the homeless that hold their hands out.
A sig line from another forum I frequent: I don’t do handouts but here’s a finger.
I was accosted by a guy wanting busfare to get to a doctor’s appointment. I had a bus pass that my employer gives me as a vanpool user. It is about the 10th and the pass is good till the end of the month. I offered him the bus pass. He told me to fuck off and spit at me.
While driving a vanpool, I would see the same guy at a freeway offramp many days. On those same days, behind a Texaco next to the offramp, was a nice looking El Camino. One day I called out to no one in particular (and loud enough that Mr. Shaggy as we called him) could hear me, that is was too bad that the nice red El Camino behind the Texaco was being towed away. He took off on a dead run. The next day he gave me a single finger salute, I just waved and smiled.
A version of this appears in Arther Hailey’s novel Hotel. A shoeshine boy (hey, it was New Orleans in the sixties - stereotypes abound) bets Peter he can tell him where he got his shoes. Peter agrees and the boy says (more or less) “You got them on your feet!”
picker I love street players, and always pay for the entertainment. I receive entertainment, and enjoyment, and pay for it.
big difference between that and “Do you have any spare change?”
Dreams Underfoot: the Newford Collection, a collection of fantasy-realist short stories by Charles De Lint, features several stories that involve busking. I still miss the copy I loaned to a friend and never got back during high school.
I love street musicians, and even have a soft spot for street preachers, the crazier the better, but I seldom give anything to panhandlers. They’re everywhere in Austin, from the gutter punks on the Drag by the UT campus to middle-aged guys holding signs by street corners.
I am SO grinning from ear-to-ear right now. Ellen was my first boss in the game industry and is still one of my good friends, and she introduced me to Mercedes.
I take that as a hallmark of sanity.
Of course it’s not enough.
Expecting it to be enough is not necessarily insanity - just poor business sense, or lack of initiative - which really isn’t indicative of mental illness in these trying times.
Busking is also a terms used by us magicians for doing street magic in the hopes of collecting tips from the crowd.
I don’t mind buskers. They’re actually doing something to earn the money that people are putting in their case or hat. Sometimes, the buskers up in Pittsburgh will even play your requests if you toss them a dollar. Some of them are quite good, and I’ll pay them a dollar or two to hear a song I like.
I consider busking to be a valid form of artistic entertainment, and have absolutely no problem with the people who do it. The only concern I have about it is when they are set up in an area where it is difficult to get past. If you are busking, try to choose an area where the crowd of onlookers will not block the sidewalk of people trying to get by.
I usually tell them ‘Nope, my pack only came with twenty.’
I have a friend who busks on his lunch breaks from work. He doesn’t do drugs, doesn’t smoke, and only drinks socially. He’s also quite talented as a musician, and does quite well with busking. It helps him to pay his rent. He seemed kind of surprised that I, not a musician, considered it legitimate work.
Not all panhandlers are bad; I’ve had a few good encounters.
I remember heading up the road going to the Rock of Cashel in Ireland and there was a group of kids, none older than 15, playing traditional music and doing it really, really well. The kids told me they do this during their school holidays for fun and money, and were a really nice bunch of kids. They had an iron kettle in front of them and all these idiot tourists were stopping and listening then walking off apparently not realizing that giving them money was a not unwelcome thing to do. So I took out a bunch of small change and threw it in the kettle as noisily as I could, for which I received big grins from the kids. As I walked up the road I could hear lots of other change hitting the kettle. And when I came back out an hour later, their kettle was half full. Sometimes giving is fun, especially when you’re supporting young and hardworking talent.
Then there was a panhandler that Papa T. used to drive by every day at a maor intersection outside DC who always had a sign asking for food. About once a month, Papa T. would collect a bag of canned goods and stop and give it to him. It was always received with sincere thanks, and he even expressed a fondness for certain canned veggies that Papa T. always tried to provide him. It may not be as healthy as fresh, but it’s a damn sight better than fast food.
And there was the time Papa T. was meeting me at a restaurant that served cheap but tasty food, the under $6 for a complete dinner variety. As he was on the pay phone outside calling me to see when I’d get there, a guy came up and asked him for money for food. The guy didn’t smell of alcohol, so he gave him a couple of bucks and thought no more of it – until I arrived and we went into the restaurant, and there was the guy standing there looking at the menu trying to figure out what he could get for his two bucks. So we bought him a whole dinner, the biggest they offered – which still only cost us about $5 more. As we left the restaurant, he was still eating and gave us a big smile.
And then there was a guy who panhandled outside the building I worked in who was always polite and courteous. I would often give him a buck, but about once a month I’d buy him coffee and something good for breakfast, and I saw other people doing the same thing other days. And he always dived right in. He seemed to be one of the mentally ill folks who was de-institutionalized, but he’d found a way to survive. He didn’t appear to be able to handle much conversation, but he was able to converse enough to express his thanks.
The ones that get me are the ones who walk out between the lanes of traffic begging for some religious charity that I refuse to support on principle, and who I’m afraid I’m going to hit with my car because they don’t appear to have the sense to stay out of the way of tons of moving metal. At least then I can roll my window up and refuse to make eye contact.
I too knew you were in Seattle. I’m out here in Woodinville now–having done my time on Pike and Boren for a while.
I grew up in NYC and lived in Chicago in college (went to UIC so I had the downtown red/blue line transfer to deal with–actually saw a guy poop in there before) BUT Seattle is the (checking for pit placement…yes) FUCKING WORST.
In my Cap-Hill time, I had 2 dogs - one that was not very into people coming up to me and asking for money/cigs/etc…and here I am with 2 extendo leashes and 2 bags of poop in my hands and some dick asks me for money. Plus the old rehab center down the block closed so the junkies simply set up their own hobo village there – mattresses included – to hang out and bum in groups. One time one of the bastards tried to STEAL MY DOG while I went into the store. Probably for a reward. Thankfully, she hated all people not her mother.
They would also walk around with the programmable garage openers to access the underground parking garages…breaking into the cars, stealing radios, cds, etc. They did this with my little Honda Civic…and took the remote for the garage, some change and a few CDs. Lovely.
The real kicker was begging change off the patients at the medical residence in the 'hood. These folks were in wheelchairs, suffered head traumas and these rats would hound them on the way to the corner store. WTF?
So I said Fuck It. And we moved out the the 'burbs. Then we got our own Tent City–or roving gang of homeless–thanks to special interest groups for a while.
Now my trips to Seattle are fewer and the presence of pan handlers really gets under my skin. I was with my niece outside of The Cheese Cake Factory with a guy in my face asking for 35c. He asked me going in, having a smoke, having a smoke, and going out. I love Bell Town, but am sick of being hounded while hopping bars.
I got an unexpected knock on the door one Christmas morning about 4 years back. The man at my door stopped by to see if I could give him any spare change. He didn’t sing, dance, or do anything entertaining so I had to let him go empty handed. I was more then a little miffed that someone would knock on my door to ask for spare change.
The game store I frequent is in the same complex as a bar and I’ve gotten a lot of panhandling experience. I suspect that most of these people just want beer money but most of them won’t admit it. One guy actually said to me “I’ll be honest with you, I just want a beer and I need 50 cents.” What the hell, I gave him the 50 cents.
Another time someone came into the game store and hit us up for money while we were playing a board game, Puerto Rico I think. He gave us his spiel about being a carpenter and having a job but he ran out of money and needed gas or something. The manager got pissed off and asked him to leave immediately. He got pretty indignant and tried to argue but he ended up leaving empty handed.
I don’t care for panhandlers and in general I won’t give them any change. I’m especailly wary about people who approach me directly and ask for money as I’m always wondering if I’m about to be robbed. Last time someone approached me while I was getting something out of my trunk. I immediately but my bag back, closed the trunk, and turned to face him with a stern look on my face. He was nice enough to let me know he wasn’t there to hurt me though. I still didn’t give him anything.
I know there are people who genuinely need some help either because of circumstances beyond control or just because they fucked up. Ethically I don’t have any problem giving another human being a little help when they need it. I just don’t trust panhandlers in general.
Marc
I’m vaguly reminded of a comedy routine Dylan Moran did about Panhandlers in New York. He said that because he’d be hit up for change so often he ended up inteviewing them to see if they were worthy of money.
Eventually, he ended by saying “Really, You look like me when I’m sitting down and I want a cup of coffee”