Messing with the Panhandlers
was coming back from lunch yesterday when a nicely, if a bit garishly, dressed man approached me (he was wearing corduroy pants, a paisley vest and a wool sports coat.
He proceeded to tell me that he was a "CEO for GM" who had "something" happen to him which left him without money to get to the airport.
I murmured some tasteful comments about how unfortunate that was, but demurred when asked to provide funds. But I went with his story and tried to be helpful:
Did you explain the situation to your hotel? Any hotel that would house a high-powered executive for a fortune 500 company would be happy to make arrangements, most likely free of charge.
No.
Did you call your company's regional office? Surely GM would be eager to make sure that one of their senior management was taken care of.
No. (By this time, he was clearly writing me off and glancing around to see if there was anyone else he could talk to)
Well, I continued, All I have is change and plastic. But I would be willing to give you the change and you can take the bus down to the airport.
No. He is an executive. He doesn't ride buses
He then told me that if I would CHARGE HIS TAXI RIDE TO THE AIRPORT he would be happy to pay me back. I told him I was very nearly maxed out and couldn't afford that. (not true, but since we were into this lie so deep, I thought the least I could do was try to keep up)
We finally ended up parting without any exchange of funds (although he did ask me if he could have the change) and I must say I admired his shtick, but thought he needed more detail to his story. The outfit was a nice touch, but he should have done more research about what his title would be (even I know that GM only has one CEO)
But when it comes to panhandlers (many of whom I actually give money to. After all, no one begs for fun. And if they do, they should be rewarded for their entrepreneurial spirit) no one tops the rather chubby middle aged lady who used to walk up and down Pike street in the evenings, smoking a cigarette and asking for change so she could "buy me some weenies and a six pack". Not only did I appreciate her honesty, I loved how she called everybody "hon" and absolutely ADORED her sense of style: Tight pants, low-cut sweaters and a HUGE Platinum beehive hair-do. They just don't make 'em like that anymore.
He proceeded to tell me that he was a "CEO for GM" who had "something" happen to him which left him without money to get to the airport.
I murmured some tasteful comments about how unfortunate that was, but demurred when asked to provide funds. But I went with his story and tried to be helpful:
Did you explain the situation to your hotel? Any hotel that would house a high-powered executive for a fortune 500 company would be happy to make arrangements, most likely free of charge.
No.
Did you call your company's regional office? Surely GM would be eager to make sure that one of their senior management was taken care of.
No. (By this time, he was clearly writing me off and glancing around to see if there was anyone else he could talk to)
Well, I continued, All I have is change and plastic. But I would be willing to give you the change and you can take the bus down to the airport.
No. He is an executive. He doesn't ride buses
He then told me that if I would CHARGE HIS TAXI RIDE TO THE AIRPORT he would be happy to pay me back. I told him I was very nearly maxed out and couldn't afford that. (not true, but since we were into this lie so deep, I thought the least I could do was try to keep up)
We finally ended up parting without any exchange of funds (although he did ask me if he could have the change) and I must say I admired his shtick, but thought he needed more detail to his story. The outfit was a nice touch, but he should have done more research about what his title would be (even I know that GM only has one CEO)
But when it comes to panhandlers (many of whom I actually give money to. After all, no one begs for fun. And if they do, they should be rewarded for their entrepreneurial spirit) no one tops the rather chubby middle aged lady who used to walk up and down Pike street in the evenings, smoking a cigarette and asking for change so she could "buy me some weenies and a six pack". Not only did I appreciate her honesty, I loved how she called everybody "hon" and absolutely ADORED her sense of style: Tight pants, low-cut sweaters and a HUGE Platinum beehive hair-do. They just don't make 'em like that anymore.
posted by Catalina Vel-DuRay @ Thursday, February 09, 2006
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