Honesty is the Best Policy?

I originally wrote this post back before Christmas, but it took me two months to get around to editing it.

Winter in the midwest is not that much fun when you've entered the working world. Everything seems colder, icier, and any time spent outside is too long. So you can imagine my chagrin when I had to walk to the bus stop every day in freezing weather and wait for my bus to arrive.

As we all know, it gets darker much earlier in winter, and at 4:30 in the afternoon on this particular day, it was damn near pitch black. The location of my job doesn't help matters, either. I work in a neighborhood that's not ghetto, but isn't exactly put together, either. It's like that transitional patch of land between the nice side of town and the side that used to be nice 40 years ago. There's a McDonald's, a couple of barely-open diners, a gas station, and a liquor store with a drive thru window. In the morning, this setup doesn't look too bad, but at this time of day, darkness reared it's ugly head. Even as a guy who can defend myself pretty easily, I'm not too happy to have to stand here until the bus arrives late. Again. For the third day in a row.

Considering the situation, you can imagine the cold, distant look on my face as I await my late bus. Then imagine my surprise when someone approaches me- specifically, this short black guy with a couple missing teeth, a Chicago Bulls jacket that's seen better days, and dissheveled hair. At this point, he's done well to even appraoch me in this state.

"Hey mane, you got a couple dolluhs?" he said in a raspy, slurred tone. Obviously we know where that money is going.

"What?" I reply. My hands are finally warming up. I have no intention of releasing them back into the cold until I have to shell out bus fare. But I was subconscuiously testing to see if he had the nerve to keep asking me for money. I wasn't scared when he inched closer; poor people in Springfield aren't mean or belligerent for the most part...they're just poor. Petty crime really isn't their M.O.

"A couple dolluhs. Can you spayuh anything?" he says, in a slightly louder tone. I look over and I see desperation on his face.

***SIDE NOTE: I actually have beggar policies. I don't discriminate against any of them. I don't care about race, age, gender, or whether you have a baby, a puppy, or a shopping cart- every beggar is the same to me. I will give you money if:

1. I know I have pocket change or a single, and
2. I can easily get it out and safely put away my wallet.

If I even think that I don't have a single, I won't even go into my wallet- I'm not going to let beggars see money and ask if I can go in anywhere and break change. I try my best to say "no, sorry" and not ignore them totally; after all, they are people too, and a sorry is more personal than staring, looking away, and walking off. When I'm downtown on a regular basis, I try and stick to giving every couple of days; karma is a bitch, and one wrong choice, even if it's not as drastic as getting your first fix or killing someone, could land you in the street begging right next to the person you once shunned.  Lastly, if a beggar asks to be bought food, I can't turn them down. Many ask for cash, but if you're really hungry, you'll ask for food.

Anyways, back to the story. I know I have a few singles because I need bus fare. So I reach in my pocket, and give this guy $2.

"Thanks man! I'm about to go up in here and get lit up!" he exclaims.

"Huh?" I retort. I mean, I already knew where my hard earned money was going, but since he was going to elaborate anyway, and my bus wasn't even in view, I wanted to see what he had to say.

"Yeah, I'm 'bout to get up in this heaw liccuh sto and get fucked up!" he says with a mischeivous smile on his face.

Something about this guy is just funny- endearing, almost. You could tell that in his heyday, he could have been the class clown or just really well liked- it even shines through in his hobo-chic wardrobe. You know the skinny person you see in some fat people? Like that, except involving a fifth of Early Times and a lack of dental care.

I couldn't help but laugh, smile, and return the high five he had extended his hand to receive. I really shouldn't be encouraging this type of behavior, especially with a McDonald's in plain view. That $2, plus a paltry 16 cents, would have been enough for him to get a McChicken and fries, but that wasn't his plan on this day. I see my bus's headlights in the distance- it'll be here in about 40 seconds. Like the trained broadcast interviewer that I am, I break down my plan of attack for the last few seconds of this conversation and prepare my final, poignant question.

"So why would you tell me that you're going to go get drunk right after I give you money?" I asked. I'm truly befuddled at this point- he doesn't seem drunk enough to be this honest- after all, he told me he was GOING to get "fucked up", implying that he's still somewhat sober at this point.

"Man, 'cause if I started walkin' to McDonald's when you get on this bus and you see me walk back to the liquor store, you'd be pissed. I'm just lettin you know right now what I'm gonna do. I'll give you back yo money if you want it."

I think for a second. "Nah, just keep it. At least you're honest about it."

"Thanks man. I'm gon' have a beer for you."

His honesty in a situation like this makes me look at him the same way I do Dirty Harry- he does the right thing when he's doing the wrong thing...kinda like an anti-hero.

As I board my bus, he points at me one time and salutes. He then races towards the liquor store with fists pumped in jubilation like he's crossing some imaginary finish line. I chuckle, turn my head, and prepare for the long ride home.

At least I'm not cold anymore.