Every day on my way to the bus stop on the bridge, I pass a beggar mid-way up the stairs. His patter is the same each time, at least in winter:
“Spare any change?” “Spare any change, sir?”
I make eye contact, shake my head and say “No, sorry” as I pass him every day.
Come summer, if you are conspicuously young, female and unaccompanied (as with most street harrassment, the provocation is daring to be female in a public space and without your owner), the following is directed at you:
“Take me home”
This was semi-tragic the first two times I heard the line; the next twenty were more wearisome. I pass by pointedly ignoring him while fuming inwardly, and other women do the same. I wonder if the other women also fume at their own fumingness (like I do) for daring to feel angry towards a homeless person. I guess I’m evil. Still, he can breathe a sigh of relief that I’m more of the ‘Terry’s’ and less of the ‘Clockwork’ persuasion when it comes to my oranges.
Why can’t he be like the famous and charming One Pound Man of Harlesden? He’d ask everyone that went past him for one pound. He even adjusted for inflation, evolving (like a Pokemon) into Two Pounds Man. I was happy to do business with a professional like One/Two Pound(s) Man.
Today I chose a slightly different route around the bridge, approaching from an angle that might make it less obvious that a woman is rushing past:
“Spare any change?”
I ignored him.
“Choose to be ignorant?”
“…” (Subtitle: How fucking presumptuous you *Insert swear that transcends all other swears here* )
I’m reminded of my ex-colleague’s tactic of dealing with rude beggars:
“Gimme some change.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m a tight bitch.”
