Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Towards a Systematic Approach to the Evaluation of Panhandlers
When you live in a city, you pass people who are asking you for money all the time. When I first moved to Chicago, this confused me. I was used to only being asked for money by children with candy bars and the Catholic church. Once, in Champaign, a man approached me in the street and asked me for money so he could "buy tires" and "drive his baby to the hospital," but I really thought that was legit. So when I first encountered the urban panhandler, I though it was very likely that he was carrying a knife and would leap violently upon me at any second.
Now I'm pretty used to just not making eye contact. A year or so ago, an angry old man even got right up in my face and stayed that way for a block and a half and I didn't so much as blink. Of course, my many cosmetic procedures have rendered blinking impossible for me, but that's not the point. The point is that living in an urban wasteland has finally made me dead inside! So now I can help the homeless help themselves by offering a few "selling tips."
First of all, know your strengths. If you've got some sort of wound, particularly one obtained in a popular war, get it right out there for everyone to see. If you can play some sort of instrument, preferably something from the pop or jazz idiom, do it! And don't get inventive with your song selection -- America the Beautiful is just fine, thank you. If you're funny, throw out a few jokes. People love to laugh on their way to the Chick-fil-a.
Second, try not to repeat yourself. The first time I hear your story about Ann Landers stealing your brain waves, it's believable. The second time, not so much.
Next, don't take it over the top. "Help the homeless" is short and catchy. "Won't anyone please have mercy?" is just a downer. Try writing your pleas out in advance and going through them with a red pencil.
Finally, don't be ungrateful. Sure, you're never going to eat that Nutri-Grain bar some commuter in bright white tennis shoes and a suit just dropped in your lap, but that still doesn't make it right to shove it up her self-satisfied little ass.
I think I've helped enough people for one day.
When you live in a city, you pass people who are asking you for money all the time. When I first moved to Chicago, this confused me. I was used to only being asked for money by children with candy bars and the Catholic church. Once, in Champaign, a man approached me in the street and asked me for money so he could "buy tires" and "drive his baby to the hospital," but I really thought that was legit. So when I first encountered the urban panhandler, I though it was very likely that he was carrying a knife and would leap violently upon me at any second.
Now I'm pretty used to just not making eye contact. A year or so ago, an angry old man even got right up in my face and stayed that way for a block and a half and I didn't so much as blink. Of course, my many cosmetic procedures have rendered blinking impossible for me, but that's not the point. The point is that living in an urban wasteland has finally made me dead inside! So now I can help the homeless help themselves by offering a few "selling tips."
First of all, know your strengths. If you've got some sort of wound, particularly one obtained in a popular war, get it right out there for everyone to see. If you can play some sort of instrument, preferably something from the pop or jazz idiom, do it! And don't get inventive with your song selection -- America the Beautiful is just fine, thank you. If you're funny, throw out a few jokes. People love to laugh on their way to the Chick-fil-a.
Second, try not to repeat yourself. The first time I hear your story about Ann Landers stealing your brain waves, it's believable. The second time, not so much.
Next, don't take it over the top. "Help the homeless" is short and catchy. "Won't anyone please have mercy?" is just a downer. Try writing your pleas out in advance and going through them with a red pencil.
Finally, don't be ungrateful. Sure, you're never going to eat that Nutri-Grain bar some commuter in bright white tennis shoes and a suit just dropped in your lap, but that still doesn't make it right to shove it up her self-satisfied little ass.
I think I've helped enough people for one day.
