A Post from CB

I received the following in email from my old friend CB who now lives in Austin (Autism)...."Keep Austin Wierd" motherfuckers...but keep it THERE...Don't bring it here!

Nonetheless this story was so good, and the lesson in discernment so profound, I just couldn't resist adding it here.



As I walked through the parking lot of Austin's toney Central Market this evening, a young man approached me with a prescription drug vial prominently displayed in his outstretched hand. His expression was theatrically plaintive. "Please, sir," he said in a trembling voice, "I've run out of anxiety medicine and I need just 4 dollars to buy more!" He sure did look stressed. I don't blame him, begging is a high-stress occupation. I stood silently for some time, considering what I would say to him (and no doubt worsening his anxiety). First, I wanted to recognize his superior effort in developing a unique pitch. I really thought he ought to seek employment in Austin's thriving theater scene.

A few years ago, in a strikingly similar encounter in an HEB parking lot in Weslaco, a man asked me for $10 so he could take his wife, who was dying of cancer, to the hospital. He didn't have any money, he just needed $10 for a taxi to the hospital. Leukemia, he said. She's dying. Please, sir. Uncharacteristically, I broke down and gave him $5.
"But sir", he said, I need $10 for the taxi." "Don't you have any family?" I asked. "Yes sir." "Well, you should get the rest from them."

A week later, the very same man approached me in the same parking lot and asked money for some other emergency. I looked him straight in the eye, and asked, "How's your wife?" "What?" He asked. "My wife? I'm not married." I then reminded him that I had given him $5 the week before to take his wife to the hospital. He seemed to ignore this fact, or perhaps had completely forgotten it altogether. As I walked away, he asked, "Well, how about giving me $5 today?"

I'm thinking now that he could be an advisory to Hillary's campaign. Despite all indications, he just kept pushing relentlessly on.
Every day I pass a dozen panhandlers at busy streetcorners with cardboard signs. Most are remarkably similar. Please! Anything helps!! ☺ Will work for food! ☺ Single mother of 3 - Need help! And so on. Lots of smiley faces and exclamation points. A few have pretty clever signs, because they know that if they can lure you into eye contact it will be a lot harder for you to get away without paying. They all appear to be able-bodied and at least have the where-with-all to carry on their acting routines until they have conned enough cash to get stoned again.

I went to lunch with a coworker today. The kitchen and cashier of the jewish deli were staffed 80% by Mexican immigrants who had managed to communicate passably well in English, despite a lack of formal training. They were efficient and pleasant, and appeared to enjoy working. In the median strip just outside the restaurant was another gaunt anglo panhandler with a cheesy cardboard sign.

Like you, I've worked since a young age. I was motivated out of necessity and a drive to succeed. I always enjoyed working, whether it was on the factory line, or waiting on tables, or out in the remote mountains of Guatemala, or in my cushy agency office job. I have no sympathy for people who will not work. You're hungry? You need medicine? Shelter? Clothing? Psychiatric counciling? Good. Maybe when you get really hungry, you will be motivated to be of some use to society. Have a nice day! ☺

I didn't have a penny for the anxiety-ridden limosnero, nor words of advice. However, one night a week ago as I pulled up to a gas pump, I noticed a car parked at an odd angle at one of the other pumps. As I began to fill my tank, the attendant emerged from the convenience store and began shouting to someone out of view "stage left." "Laty!" He shouted. "Yu CANnot leave YUR card heerd. Eet ees not Parking Lot heerd, Laty!" I judged from his heavy accept and appearance that he might be from Nigeria or thereabouts, and was struggling to learn English, though it is immaterial, except to note that there probably was a communication issue between the attendant and the woman he was addressing. I heard her responding from half a block away, and soon she entered the orb of light that illuminated our stage. I could not help but observe this performance as the gas trickled into my tank and the dollars whizzed by on the display. The woman, an angla about 30 years old, pleaded with the attendant. "Please, sir," she said, "I ran out of gas just now and barely had enough speed to make it up to the pump. But then I realized I left my purse at home. I just live a few blocks away. I'm just going to walk home and get some money, and then I'll be back to fill my tank." The attendant would heerd nothing of it, or better said, would understand nothing of it. "Yu CANnot leave YUR card heerd. Yu MUS park eet somewherd else." This dialogue went back and forth enough times to convince me that the attendant probably had no idea what the laty was saying. He was just a peon, and if he didn't follow orders, he would lose a job that probably supported 20 people in Africa. As he walked back to the store, perhaps to CALL de PolEEZ, the woman followed him, begging. She was about to cry (a unique last-ditch talent all women possess). I thought of offering her a ride home, but realized she would not know if I am trustworthy or not. So I pulled $5 from my wallet, walked over and stuffed it in her hands. "Lady," I said, "get yourself some gas." She seemed stunned. "And be safe." I then resumed filling my tank. She thanked me profusely, and went to pay for some gas. But when she came out, she found that her car had come to a dead stop about a foot short, and the hose wouldn't reach. Needless to say, the filler was on the wrong side of her car. So I went over to assist her in pushing her car forward, but the transmission was stuck in drive. She couldn't get it out. So I had her jiggle the steering wheel, which did the trick. We almost pushed the car far enough when it ran into mine. No damage done! I backed my car, then we pushed her car again, and this time I was just barely able to access the tank with the hose. As I was pulling out past her, she turned and smiled, and said, "Oh sir, thank you so much! You are so kind!"

You know, it was only then that I noticed how attractive she was. Not beautiful, like a pageant queen, but like a very decent person I would like to know. Of course the thought occurred to me to get her phone number or find some other ploy to "keep in touch," but I immediately realized that this would obliterate the value of the experience, for both of us. So I smiled and said, "Just get home safe!" And drove away.