Buddy Can You Spare a Dime?

Poverty Obliterates the Future
~ George Orwell

So I took a walk up the 16th Street Mall today. After a bitterly cold few days the sun was shining bravely through the clouds and as the weekend’s snow is almost gone, there’s a slight touch of spring in the air once more. The breeze was fresh, but not icy and it was a good time to be out of doors.

Of course, I might feel differently about that if being out of doors on a winter’s day was a lifestyle rather than a quick break from the office. Lining the sidewalk were the usual assortment of homeless folk, panhandlers and street people that are a customary sight in the center of any US city. For the most part, Denver’s collection are a pretty harmless bunch and they’re almost always polite. "There but for the grace of doG go I" and all that so I generally try and be polite back.

"Excuse me Sir, could you help me out with some spare change?"
"I’m sorry, I don’t have any today"
"Well thanks anyway, have a good afternoon"

Social niceties observed, I continue on my way and they go to work on the next passerby. Unfortunately, today I ran into that rare breed, the obnoxious panhandler.

"Hey, can you give me some change?"
"I’m sorry, I don’t..."
"Well f**k you then! I apologize for getting’ in your way you selfish b*****d! I hope you never find out what it’s like to be hungry you son-of-a-b***h!" And on and on, while I continued walking and other pedestrians turned to stare.

While I do feel compassion towards those less fortunate than myself and support the charities that help them, I didn’t feel the slightest guilt at not giving money to this character. Not only was he obviously a nasty piece of work, he was drunker than I’ve been able to afford to get in a long time, so he wasn’t doing too badly for himself.

However, he did get me to thinking that in so many ways, I really have been blessed. Not least in the sense that I’ve never experienced what it’s like to be truly hungry. I grew up in a family where starvation meant no more chocolate cookies until the grocery shopping on Thursday and while it may not have been what I wanted, (it was mostly healthy stuff) there was always food in the house. Moving into my own place meant a bit of belt tightening after I made the alarming discovery that the mortgage and bills were very nearly equal to my salary. But even then, careful money management and selective mooching off various friends’ parents meant I could still keep myself fed.

In fact, I can only think of one occasion in my life when I’ve literally been unable to afford the price of a meal for more than a day or so and even that was due to my own carelessness with a credit card. I’d just arrived in New Zealand and after a couple of days in Auckland, the capital was getting ready to set out and explore the rest of the country. It wasn’t till I went to withdraw some folding money that I discovered the bargain plane ticket I’d purchased a few days before had fallen into the same billing cycle as another plane ticket I’d bought earlier so between those and a couple of other withdrawals, I was over my credit limit until they received an auto-payment from my bank 10 days from now.

Not to worry; hardship is character building so I made my way back to the hostel and spread my worldly wealth on the bed. NZ$5.75, about ₤2 or $3USD. In early ‘90s New Zealand prices about the price of lunch. The hostel cost $9 a night and the only food in my backpack was 2/3 of a jar of peanut butter and some noodles. Desperate measures were called for.

First stop was the hostel manager who waved me away in the carefree manner typical of his countrymen.

"No worries mate; you aren’t the first and you won’t be the last. Stay as long as you need to, pay me when you can."

So, with accommodation sorted, the next challenge was figuring out how to keep body and soul together for the next week and a half. Beer was a rare luxury anyway, especially as I’d drunk a large chunk of my round-the-world budget over a span of 3 weeks in Western Australia not too long before. However food, or rather the lack of it, was going to be an issue. Two loaves of bread, another jar of peanut butter and a small can of instant coffee left me with exactly 22 cents for emergencies. People can live on bread, peanut butter and coffee. I could do this.

The backpacker set are a surprisingly honest demographic and it’s not usually a problem to leave your valuables (up to a point) unattended in the dorm while exploring a town. In all my travels, I was only the victim of fellow-traveler theft twice. A brand new guide book walked away from my bed side at a hostel in L.A. That, I could live with. But some lower than pond scum deviant swiped my can of instant coffee from the hostel in Auckland. My one solitary bit of pleasure in the day, and some reprobate bandit pinched it. I don’t care if it was almost fifteen years ago my friend, I’m still on your trail and when I catch you, you’re going to be sorry.

This probably isn’t news to anyone who’s been homeless, or hungry, and it’s become a cliché in writings about the poor but there really is something desperately energy sapping about having no money. I found that just getting out of bed was an effort and filling the endless void of each day an insurmountable challenge. There are free museums and art galleries in Auckland, and walking costs nothing at all but I couldn’t summon the enthusiasm for any of those things. All I could think about was counting the hours until I could return to the bank, draw out some cash and start to live once more. And this was only for a few days. I really can’t imagine what it would be like to face that kind of despair every day of my life. And if I never have to, then as I said, I really have been extraordinarily blessed.

So yeah, I’ve been hungry. Even so the obnoxious panhandler didn’t get any money from me this morning. But you know, the next one along the street?

He did.