Begging 101

Okay. I get it. You want money. Just back off a bit. Quit the “Mr. Pushy” routine. That’s not going to improve your chances with me, buddy. What? Now you want a dollar? What ever happened to “spare change”? What is this, homeless-guy inflation? Are you eating at Tavern On The Green now? Can I give you a few pointers? Firstly, you need a shtick. People like to get something for their money, and the simple knowledge that we’re helping another human being survive just doesn’t cut it. Do you play an instrument? There’s a homeless guy downtown that plays the saxophone. I’m not saying he's any good. To be honest, he only plays half the theme from “Hillstreet Blues” on a loop, but at least he’s trying. What’s that? Music’s not your thing? Okay. How about drawing? You could draw a caricature of me with an amusingly large head and disproportionately tiny body! That shit’s hilarious! If you could draw me juggling on a little bicycle, I’d gladly hand over a couple of bucks. Or maybe consider ventriloquism. You could get a dummy, name him “Moonshine” and put together a whole vagrant-themed act. For example, you could say, “Jeez Moonshine, you sure do stink today!” Then Moonshine might respond, “I stink? I’m not the one who just took a shit on the floor of a Starbucks toilet and wiped his ass with his hand!” And that’s just off the top of my head. You can use that if you like.

And would a smile kill you? No one likes a grouchy street urchin. I know it’s tough to be upbeat when you spent the night sleeping on a piss-soaked cardboard box in the doorway of that closed-down Circuit City, but at least give us a little effort. I say, break out those pearly-yellows, (or what’s left of them) and see what happens. My guess is you’ll be at least a sandwich richer for it.

And another thing buddy: location, location, location. You’re only one block away from that guy with no legs, sitting in a shitty old wheelchair. He’s easily 75 years old and is blind too. He’s parked outside Zabars & Co. all day and probably makes more than the investment bankers with enough coin to shop there. White-liberal-guilt-filled-yuppies are forking over tens and twenties on their way out. Hell, they’re swiping their debit cards in the conveniently placed credit card reader he has attached to his chair. Then here you are, barely over 5 feet tall and easily 220 pounds, and I notice you’re wearing Tommy Hilfiger jeans. And yet you insist on begging fifty feet away from the single most miserable, sympathy-evoking individual these eyes have ever seen.

Now I don’t claim to be some marketing guru, but I do know a bad business location when I see one.

So my advice to you sir, is to recognize what league you’re in. You can’t hang with that guy. No one’s going to give you money if you’re begging next to Wheely McBlind. So now you have two options: You either choose an unoccupied corner for yourself, or you wheel that guy somewhere far away, lock his brakes and then reclaim the disputed area.

I’ve gotta run, but I hope this has helped you buddy. I’ll see if I can come up with some more material for you and Moonshine. Happy begging!