“Hey, can you give me a dime so I can buy a new jacket? Mine doesn’t fit.”
“Can I come home with you and take a bath at your house? I really need a shower.”
“Can you give me some money for beer?”
“Spare some change so I can get something to eat?” (from a woman eating a slice of pizza)
“Spare some change for a hysterectomy?” (what?)
“Can you give me a dollar for a breast reduction?” (from a homeless man wearing a large set of fake plastic boobs)
Everyone on Haight Street seems to need something. And they also seem to need to be in your face about it. As my roommate and I sat on our stoop last night, we watched a man exit the laundromat across the street and bellow to the neighborhood at large, “ANYBODY GOT CHANGE FOR A TEN?”
“Dude, if you’re asking me for a favor, you might want to at least cross the street and ask me in person,” my roommate observed.
“Either of you ladies have a cigarette?” a passing stranger said at that very moment.
Maybe it’s a natural reaction, or maybe I’m just callous and self-centered, but after the like 15th request of the day, I start fantasizing about what I would ask for, if I made the jump of articulating my needs on a hand-written cardboard sign for people on the street to evaluate.
I need a job. A decent start.
I won’t lie; I need money for beer. An oldie but goodie.
Chronic, debilitating hip and shoulder pain — spare some change for Vicodin? Wordy.
I need insurance. Booo-rrinng; who doesn’t?
Spare some change to fix my broken heart?
That one I’ll probably have to take care of myself.
