How to Sound a Little Ungrateful

I was feeling thirsty so I decided to take a short walk to the heart of Chinatown to a bottle shop that has a decent beer selection (for Australia). On my way I passed a homeless man I’ve seen a number of times (who I may have even seen on my previous trip here last July) who is presumably mute because he walks around holding a piece of paper up with words written on it to passersby, presumably asking for money. Each previous time I had ignored his paper and just kept on walking.

When I had first arrived in Sydney back in February, I had gotten into the habit of giving change to those who asked me. But I then considered that I was giving away a lot of one dollar and two dollar coins and that those coins (the gold) really added up. Then I decided to put all my gold in my left pocket and all my silver in my right pocket and only give beggars some of my silver. This made me feel cheap so I just ended up ignoring a vast majority of the beggars. I do feel bad about this especially because almost all of them are incredibly polite and nice and the few that I’ve gotten to talk to have been interesting if not fascinating.

Perhaps I’m just a product of capitalism and this leads to me not wanting to give my money away. Perhaps it’s my reaction to not having any kind of income at the moment. I’ve never been rich, but I’ve never been poor. I’ve never had to beg. I’ve never had to worry about having enough food or water. I’m reminded of a book I’ve never read. George Orwell’s Down and Out in Paris and London. Orwell purposely lived a life of poverty in the poorest areas of the respective cities and wrote a book about his experience. I could never do that. I don’t think so anyway. I’m too used to the ordinary comforts of life, and far too lazy to really challenge myself. It’s been a challenge enough not having a TV for the last couple months. But when I pass by the beggars I see, I feel a twinge of guilt and hope that someone else gives them some loose change. The guilt quickly passes a block or two down the street and I go back to thinking about whatever I was thinking about before I was asked for some change.

So, anyway, today I decided to look at this homeless man’s note. I wish I could have copied it down because it made absolutely no sense. The first line was something like “THECOMMEDPEOPLETIXTOKTIXTOK.” There were a few more lines like this and then a message written at the bottom of paper in a noticeably different hand, “Give this man change money please.” I looked up at the man. He was on the old side with a thick beard that was mostly grey and dirty, a face like leather, and large sad pleading eyes. I could not say no to this guy and I reached in my left pocket and pulled out a few gold coins for him (pretty much all it could buy him was a can of Coke). After he held the coins in his hand, the man reached up to his beard stroking it and smiled slightly, mostly with his eyes—he was clearly complimenting me on my own beard. I almost laughed out loud, smiled, and returned the gesture, happily stroking my own beard to compliment his. I then turned around and silently walked off.