Pick Your McPoison
Saturday, January 26, 2008 at 04:44PM For a permanent place in The Annals Of Cheekiness -- what's that you say? No such thing? Well, there ought to be -- I nominate the following:
This morning The Gregory (Class of '74) sallied forth on a yearly pilgrimage to his venerated alma mater, The Citadel, in historic Charleston, a little less than a two-hour drive southeast of Columbia. The purpose of this outing was to participate in the alumni game which will immediately follow today's basketball contest between the Citadel Bulldogs and the UNC Greensboro Spartans. The Gregory will doubtless trip the nostalgia wire when he enters McAlister Fieldhouse and catches sight of a gaggle of Dockers-and-golf-shirt-clad ex-cadets of varying vintages, basketball shorts and shoes in hand, ready to lace 'em up one more time for El Cid.
I do not accompany him on these sorties. Although he is fit and trim and has an earned Doctor of Denial, it is an incontrovertible fact that TG turned 56 yesterday. I feel it is my wifely obligation to be here when he returns home tonight, heating pad and the recommended dosage of Aleve at the ready. He'll need it. I won't say "I told you so" because I never tell him so anymore. It wouldn't do any good. But don't worry; I promise not to make fun when he limps into the house.
However much blogging fodder it may provide, the purpose of TG's daytrip does not constitute my Annals Of Cheekiness nomination ... not by a long shot! I admire my man's willingness to get out there, in dire peril of looking ridiculous, and run up and down the court for old times' sake. I've never been athletic so I don't "get" it, but I like to think I understand. He took me to visit The Citadel on our honeymoon and I've been there many times since, so I don't feel I'm missing anything. Besides, I'm working on a depo transcript. Sort of. First I want to tell you this story.
About 45 minutes after he left home today, TG called me. "If you'd been with me just now, you'd have the subject for your next blog post," he teased. Of course I bit ... I'm always scanning the horizon for source material. "Why don't I have a subject for my next blog anyway?" I queried. "Just tell me what happened and I'll blog about it. Piece of cake." Of course he bit. I put on my journalist cap and listened.
Turns out that after he'd been on the road for 30 minutes or so, TG decided to refuel. The exit he chose is a few miles from a town so depressingly poor that it languishes (to quote Haven Kimmel) "in a state of advanced hopelessness." I sometimes report depositions there and, let's just say, my favorite perspective of this burg is the one afforded from my rear-view mirror. TG was busy fueling the car and as he did, a thirty-something man approached him. The man was obviously down and out ... I didn't see him with my own eyes but we have TG's word on this.
The man began speaking but it was more like muttering. The Gregory patiently tried to figure out what the man was saying, but had no luck. "I'm sorry; I can't hear you," he semi-shouted (TG's own failing ears being one of the many things about which he's in constant denial). The man spoke up and eventually TG understood that the subject was hunger. The man said he was hungry and needed money to buy food. "If you'll wait a minute till I'm done here," TG promised, "I'll go inside and buy you a sandwich and a drink." The man repeated that what he wanted was money. TG repeated his offer of food. The man walked away to the edge of the parking lot.
The Gregory paid for his gas and came back outside. The man tried again but this time he got right down to brass tacks: "Take me to McDonald's." TG looked down the road and saw golden arches. The man insisted: "I want to eat at McDonald's." TG's patience was running low; after all, he'd just paid $50 to fill his gas tank three-quarters full and was in danger of being late for the tip-off. "Man," he said. "I don't have time to take you to McDonald's. But like I said, I'd be glad to take you inside here and buy you a sandwich and a drink." The man, forgetting to thank TG for his thoughtfulness, shuffled away. As TG headed for the interstate, the man was hoofing it in the direction of the McDonald's.
Ahem. Wow. Uhm, lucky for the beggar, I opted to stay home today. While I can be as compassionate as the next person, I'm nowhere near as patient as The Gregory (you can ask anyone). If I had been there, I doubt the man would have gotten off so easily after he demanded to be fed, not only for free, but at a certain restaurant. I wouldn't have yelled at him, but my tough-love comments would have included questions about the last time he did a day's breadwinning half as demanding as the man from whom he was panhandling (very few can hold a candle to TG when it comes to the work ethic). Suffice to say our exchange probably wouldn't have ended well.
The old adage that says otherwise notwithstanding, I think there are times when beggars can be choosers. But this was not one of them. And while I'm not offended in the least that a hungry person would ask for help, it makes me mad when they lie about it. Clearly the man was not hungry, which was the reason he cited for needing money. If he had been hungry he would gladly have accepted TG's offer of a sandwich and a drink from the gas station convenience store. He might even have gotten some Twinkies for dessert. He might even have said thank you.
And before you start throwing things at me, TG assured me the man wasn't demented. He may have been a mumbler but he was lucid. He was also spoiled and lazy ... and probably addicted. Which, believe it or not, makes me sad. Sadder still, he is beset with the welfare mentality and behaves in a way that most children know is socially unacceptable. Lying to get money out of an honest man who was willing to take him at his word and buy him a meal ... then refusing that meal because it "had" to come from McDonald's! And then there's the issue of standards ... I mean, has he eaten there?
At any rate I'm pretty sure the man is already full of hamburgers bought for him by well-intentioned strangers ... or, wait ... maybe that's just baloney coming out of his ears.
Reader Comments (2)
A belated Happy Birthday to Greg!
As to the subject matter today - tricky! There's a guy who patrols a stretch of The Thames, always in a suit, relatively clean shirt and slightly shabby shoes. He asks for money for a cup of tea, or a sandwich, and the surprise of seeing a reasonably well-groomed man of middle-age asking for alms means he does quite well. I gave him something one day and then a road-sweeper took me aside and told me the man's story. It seems he was a stockbroker who had a nervous breakdown several years before, his wife left him when they lost their house, and he returned to the only home he'd ever really known - London. He has lost everything except his despair and his pride in his appearance, and despite psychiatric help, he is now happier living on the streets. The road-sweeper had befriended him, but he said he'd seen it all before and he knew he'd find his new friend dead from exposure or worse one morning. In this case, no drugs were involved, just a man who had no idea where to turn despite the best efforts of caring strangers.
So, Greg's guy may have been a chancer, but I can't help but think 'there but for the grace....' - yeah, I'm a soft touch too!
This guy was no stockbroker. He was a shyster. Like I said, he was offered what he asked for and he refused it. Ergo, he did not want food; he wanted money. If you want money, ask for money. Whatever else you might be, at least be honest! Hard-working people, even if they might not be certified brain trusts, are usually not stupid. We have a good friend who, bless him, is deaf and has a two-digit IQ ... but he is gainfully employed at the Cracker Barrel, busing tables. If a man can work -- at anything -- to feed himself, he has no business begging for food. If he cannot work and must beg for food, he should gratefully accept the food that is offered (in kindness, without judgment) to him. If he is a liar and a deadbeat, he's on his own. As it should be. If you're not going to work, don't hit up an honest hard-working man for a handout.