I had a frabjulous day on Saturday in Athens - had lunch, rich dessert, wine and brilliant conversation with Nancy, woo-hoo! We went to a few stores in town and I bought a cool bracelet at a place called “Art of it All”, which is pink, braided leather thongs with pearls in the middle and tooled silver on each end. It may sound a little odd but it’s quite cool and I think rather indicative of my personality: pearls and leather...baby-pink leather.
We had quite a few people ask us for spare change, which is an interesting phenomenon. For some reason, I attract panhandlers like flies to honey (or flies to poop, take your pick). I don’t know why this happens because I am NOT a soft touch and I have very little sympathy for my fellow man, in general. I'm not the sensitive one in the family (Bo is), I'm not the nice one (Bo is), I'm not the caring, compassionate one (Bo is). I pretty much assume that panhandlers are as capable as I am of working and/or they ought to avail themselves of the appropriate resources if not. To that end, I give money every year to the Atlanta Union Mission and to the Atlanta Day Shelter for Women and Children. I usually give a sizable donation in the form of clothes and household items collected from self, family and friends, to the Day Shelter once or twice a year. My favorite charities to which I’m most generous are the Humane Society and a couple of small, no-kill animal shelters because, frankly, I have a much higher opinion of animals than of people. Anytime I feel guilty about this attitude, I just watch the evening news and revert to feeling totally justified and a tad smug.
Nancy commented that she’d never had that many people hitting her up for money on a single trip - it’s me, I tell you, me! And like I wrote, I don’t know why. I can’t believe I look all that softhearted and kind; appearances can’t be THAT deceiving. It’s not as if I looked particularly prosperous, either: I had on a Gryffindor Quidditch jersey, jeans and Doc Martens (my British flag Docs - yay, I’m stylin’!). Of course, I had on what Cheryl’s granddaddy Mr. Hubert would refer to as my “Rolodex” watch but that was covered most of the time by the Quidditch jersey. Do I look approachable? If so, why? I need to change that...
My weirdest panhandler story happened a few weeks back when I stopped at a Kroger on Highway 124 (not my usual grocer). The cashier and the bagger were talking about this dude wandering through the store asking people for money, and how they’d asked him more than once to leave and quit bothering customers. They pointed him out to me as he had relocated to ask people for money in the parking lot. BTW, this is in a fairly upscale neighborhood, not Ghetto Kroger. Anyway, I just KNEW dude was gonna find me in the parking lot but as I noticed as I slung my purchases into the car, he was occupied with a man in a pickup truck, which incidentally was a rather noxious shade of green. I slung my backpack into the car, too, just in case and looked around for the cart return. OF COURSE the cart return is right beside BeggarMan and the green pickup. OF COURSE I’m too much of a goody-goody Virgo to leave the cart where it stands...you know where this is going, right? I get the cart inside the railings without incident, but when I turn around BAM! BeggarMan is right in front of me. I try to move around him, he moves too and asks if I have any spare change. Because of my quick-witted planning earlier, I am sans backpack so I don’t even have to lie. I hold up my keys and say, “I don’t even have a purse - just my keys.” To which he says, “Uh, well, can I get a lift?”
I had no idea what to say to that. I just stared at him, truly open-mouthed...a lift. Some random dude I’ve never seen before and I’m a single woman out alone. SUUUURE you can have a lift! Because I have a death wish and I’ve been meaning to try and make my demise as unpleasant as possible anyway, say stuffed in the trunk of my own car after being robbed and beaten! That would be good. I never even answered him; I just gave him an odd look and walked away.
Ideas are the beginning of all achievement. - Bruce Lee, The Tao of Jeet Kune Do
We had quite a few people ask us for spare change, which is an interesting phenomenon. For some reason, I attract panhandlers like flies to honey (or flies to poop, take your pick). I don’t know why this happens because I am NOT a soft touch and I have very little sympathy for my fellow man, in general. I'm not the sensitive one in the family (Bo is), I'm not the nice one (Bo is), I'm not the caring, compassionate one (Bo is). I pretty much assume that panhandlers are as capable as I am of working and/or they ought to avail themselves of the appropriate resources if not. To that end, I give money every year to the Atlanta Union Mission and to the Atlanta Day Shelter for Women and Children. I usually give a sizable donation in the form of clothes and household items collected from self, family and friends, to the Day Shelter once or twice a year. My favorite charities to which I’m most generous are the Humane Society and a couple of small, no-kill animal shelters because, frankly, I have a much higher opinion of animals than of people. Anytime I feel guilty about this attitude, I just watch the evening news and revert to feeling totally justified and a tad smug.
Nancy commented that she’d never had that many people hitting her up for money on a single trip - it’s me, I tell you, me! And like I wrote, I don’t know why. I can’t believe I look all that softhearted and kind; appearances can’t be THAT deceiving. It’s not as if I looked particularly prosperous, either: I had on a Gryffindor Quidditch jersey, jeans and Doc Martens (my British flag Docs - yay, I’m stylin’!). Of course, I had on what Cheryl’s granddaddy Mr. Hubert would refer to as my “Rolodex” watch but that was covered most of the time by the Quidditch jersey. Do I look approachable? If so, why? I need to change that...
My weirdest panhandler story happened a few weeks back when I stopped at a Kroger on Highway 124 (not my usual grocer). The cashier and the bagger were talking about this dude wandering through the store asking people for money, and how they’d asked him more than once to leave and quit bothering customers. They pointed him out to me as he had relocated to ask people for money in the parking lot. BTW, this is in a fairly upscale neighborhood, not Ghetto Kroger. Anyway, I just KNEW dude was gonna find me in the parking lot but as I noticed as I slung my purchases into the car, he was occupied with a man in a pickup truck, which incidentally was a rather noxious shade of green. I slung my backpack into the car, too, just in case and looked around for the cart return. OF COURSE the cart return is right beside BeggarMan and the green pickup. OF COURSE I’m too much of a goody-goody Virgo to leave the cart where it stands...you know where this is going, right? I get the cart inside the railings without incident, but when I turn around BAM! BeggarMan is right in front of me. I try to move around him, he moves too and asks if I have any spare change. Because of my quick-witted planning earlier, I am sans backpack so I don’t even have to lie. I hold up my keys and say, “I don’t even have a purse - just my keys.” To which he says, “Uh, well, can I get a lift?”
I had no idea what to say to that. I just stared at him, truly open-mouthed...a lift. Some random dude I’ve never seen before and I’m a single woman out alone. SUUUURE you can have a lift! Because I have a death wish and I’ve been meaning to try and make my demise as unpleasant as possible anyway, say stuffed in the trunk of my own car after being robbed and beaten! That would be good. I never even answered him; I just gave him an odd look and walked away.
Ideas are the beginning of all achievement. - Bruce Lee, The Tao of Jeet Kune Do
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