The Law of the Street Sense
Mar. 7th, 2008 07:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
penfieldWhile walking back to my office from lunch today, I passed by a homeless man loudly proffering copies of the Street Sense newspaper, in the same manner that a person might give out Chinese restaurant menus at a subway stop.
I have a long-standing policy that when someone is offering something to passersby, be they coupons, flyers, guerilla-marketed energy drinks or free cosmetic samples. This is my policy because I have had jobs in which I had to hand things to strangers and was not considered "done" until I had distributed my entire cache. So I try to do these folks a favor and grab whatever they're waving around.
(A key exception to this policy is the glossy propaganda produced and distributed by Lyndon LaRouche and his army of politically paranoid and professionally marginalized youth. I am afraid that if I were ever to reach out for one of their magazines, a band of dreadlocked commandoes would pull me into a black van and brainwash me with semantically idiotic platitudes like "recognize your own revolution" and "peace is in your shoes." They're even worse than Jews for Jesus, whose literature is at least entertainingly warped, like a David Lynch movie.)
But when I see these Street Sense volunteers, I steer well clear of them. Several years ago, before I knew what Street Sense was, I was walking downtown with a friend when an aggressive, shabbily dressed man thrust one of these newspapers in my face. In adherence with my aforementioned policy, with the intent of being a nice, friendly guy, I accepted the newspaper and continued on my way.
"Hey, man!" the man said. "You gotta give something!"
I was confused. "But you gave it to me," I told him.
"This paper is for the homeless, by the homeless," he said. "You gotta donate."
"Oh," I said. "No thanks. I thought it was free."
"No, no, not free," he said. And then he went into his whole spiel about how the proceeds support the homeless and helps to educate people about life on the streets and all that. I admit that I stopped listening as I internally strategized how to disentangle myself from this situation, eyeing possible escape routes. I did notice, however, that the man's tone of voice was becoming increasingly menacing.
"Sorry, I was just trying to help you out." my voice cracked a bit as I tried to give him back his paper.
But he would not take it back. "You want to help me out, give me a dollar."
I don't remember whether I had a dollar or not, but I was not prepared to pay him for a newspaper that I didn't even ask him for, especially not a paper that I would never want to read[1], especially not a whole dollar, when the daily Washington Post is a mere 35 cents, and especially not when he was yelling at me right there on the street.
But my friend, posessed of both a bleeding-heart liberal sensibility and a compassionate approach toward the world's unfortunate, was able to soothe the man with conversation and paid him off without incident. She kept the paper, and probably used it to teach pox-ridden orphans how to read or something.
Since that time it seems like these homeless vendors have adjusted their sales pitch a little, being less physically confrontational and more vocally obtrusive. Apparently a guilt-based business model doesn't work. But I still give them a wide berth, just in case.
I have a long-standing policy that when someone is offering something to passersby, be they coupons, flyers, guerilla-marketed energy drinks or free cosmetic samples. This is my policy because I have had jobs in which I had to hand things to strangers and was not considered "done" until I had distributed my entire cache. So I try to do these folks a favor and grab whatever they're waving around.
(A key exception to this policy is the glossy propaganda produced and distributed by Lyndon LaRouche and his army of politically paranoid and professionally marginalized youth. I am afraid that if I were ever to reach out for one of their magazines, a band of dreadlocked commandoes would pull me into a black van and brainwash me with semantically idiotic platitudes like "recognize your own revolution" and "peace is in your shoes." They're even worse than Jews for Jesus, whose literature is at least entertainingly warped, like a David Lynch movie.)
But when I see these Street Sense volunteers, I steer well clear of them. Several years ago, before I knew what Street Sense was, I was walking downtown with a friend when an aggressive, shabbily dressed man thrust one of these newspapers in my face. In adherence with my aforementioned policy, with the intent of being a nice, friendly guy, I accepted the newspaper and continued on my way.
"Hey, man!" the man said. "You gotta give something!"
I was confused. "But you gave it to me," I told him.
"This paper is for the homeless, by the homeless," he said. "You gotta donate."
"Oh," I said. "No thanks. I thought it was free."
"No, no, not free," he said. And then he went into his whole spiel about how the proceeds support the homeless and helps to educate people about life on the streets and all that. I admit that I stopped listening as I internally strategized how to disentangle myself from this situation, eyeing possible escape routes. I did notice, however, that the man's tone of voice was becoming increasingly menacing.
"Sorry, I was just trying to help you out." my voice cracked a bit as I tried to give him back his paper.
But he would not take it back. "You want to help me out, give me a dollar."
I don't remember whether I had a dollar or not, but I was not prepared to pay him for a newspaper that I didn't even ask him for, especially not a paper that I would never want to read[1], especially not a whole dollar, when the daily Washington Post is a mere 35 cents, and especially not when he was yelling at me right there on the street.
But my friend, posessed of both a bleeding-heart liberal sensibility and a compassionate approach toward the world's unfortunate, was able to soothe the man with conversation and paid him off without incident. She kept the paper, and probably used it to teach pox-ridden orphans how to read or something.
Since that time it seems like these homeless vendors have adjusted their sales pitch a little, being less physically confrontational and more vocally obtrusive. Apparently a guilt-based business model doesn't work. But I still give them a wide berth, just in case.
