Reactionary

Nevermind what’s said about prostitution, begging must be one of the world’s oldest professions. Novels and history books have their share of a cast of professional beggars, people whose employment entails an outstretched hand or hat or cup for the little-used change of passersby. Shameless, they pocket the spared coins, utter a thanks and move on.

Their modern fellows wait on street corners of my city as well. But far from the image of the crafty beggar in Robin Hood tales, these people rely on guilt or mercy of those who walk past. “Young lady, spare a quarter so I can buy some orange juice,” one woman yells. “Ma’am, spare some change so I can buy something to eat,” says a man. I hate being called “ma’am”. I hate being accosted on the street, either by beggars or kids with a cause. I hate it, but that’s not why I don’t give them anything.

I don’t give them anything because quite simply, I don’t have it. I don’t have change. I don’t have dollars. Paper money is dying a slow, yet steady death. My paychecks are paycheck in name only. On closer look they’re actually direct deposit remittances. We only call them paychecks because it’s a term everyone’s used to though it’s arcane. Businesses from coffee shops to ticket booths know their existence depends on having a credit card logo on their checkout machines. It used to be I felt bad about charging anything less than $10. No more. I get what I want without the arduousness of carrying money, the merchant gets my business, and The Man gets his cut. Just like that.

I don’t carry change. I don’t want it. I don’t have to lie when I tell the beggars I don’t have it. Do they know? Do they know the numerous bags and wallets and purses that walk by them every day are increasingly empty? Will the beggar disappear, or will he get his own Mastercard logo and remain open for business on the street corners of the nation.

Posted on March 18th, 2007 under Life •  Print •  Email • RSS 2.0 feed • Leave a response, or trackback