I usually will give change when asked. However.. IF I am nice enough to stop, dig through my wallet and give you some, it is extremely rude to ask for MORE. I gave a man at Mumford Terminal $2.60 in change and he asked if I had a dollar or two more ??? WTF? I think he saw a $5 in my wallet and wanted that instead.
This really gets to me..
—no change for you
This article appears in Feb 26 – Mar 4, 2009.
A while back, I ran into this old “homeless” lady who asked me for change. I really only had about 75 cents on me, so I gave her that. She had the nerve to say “Don’t you have any more???”. When I told her no (which was the honest truth) she let out annoyed sigh and walked away. Fuck, that pissed me off! She was lucky I gave her anything in the first place! I don’t care what their excuses are anymore, and what I’ll do for a stranger (especially one who’s done nothing for ME)is very limited!
This is why I don’t give to these greedy pricks and why I’m less likely to believe they’re homeless. Who the fuck do these leeches think they are and why do they think the rest of us should support them? Fuck you all, you goddamn wastes of spaces.
I am to the point no I give to charities, give to good will (clothes and household items) I will even by a homeless person something to eat but if you think for one minute that I am going to give them money your crazy. I work hard for my money, pay taxes and contribute to society. I will not condem behaviour that only encourges people to live off others by bumming $$. If they aren’t willing to help themselves why should I. Especially when it do go UNappreciated.
You’re lucky that they didn’t attempt to do anything else. When I was in Winterpeg (you haven’t seen a homeless problem until you’ve gone there, it’s estimated that 30% of the Native population in that city is homeless and they seem to congregate around Portage) last, a guy damn near spit on me because I only gave him 50 cents, despite that being the only change in my pocket.
That would burn my toast too..I was walking by Tim Hortons on Barrington St. last year and a guy asked me for money. I said I’d go in and buy him a biscuit and some chocolate milk and my brother and I went in there and ordered our own stuff and then stuff for the homeless guy. I walked out to give it to him and he was gone. Guess he was pissed off I dind’t give him my money. I was like fine and gave it to the guy who was now bumming. He seemed pleased enough. Big middle finger up to the first jerk.
HaHaHaHaHaHa!
What a bunch of losers, all bent out of shape by people (gasp!) asking for money.
Oooooooo. I’m going to start panhandling just to piss on you people.
Losers.
You aren’t worth puckering my asshole for, Eben Half-Baked.
I just love the sense of entitlement panhandlers have these days. Like it’s our job to go to work and make money just so we can give it to them. Newsflash: it’s not MY job to support you. I support enough bums on welfare.
The entitlement these panhandlers have just makes my blood boil. Who the fuck do they think they are? Asking for money certainly *is* a rough day “at the office,” isn’t it? *eyeroll*
Fuck off and get a job.
I hate panhandlers, and I also hate cigarette bums. They are often the same as panhandlers, and never seem to believe me when I tell them no, sorry, I don’t smoke so no, sorry, I can’t give them a cigarette. What am I supposed to do, carry around a pack of smokes so I can dole them out to the bums on spring garden?!
With their sense of entitlement, salizar, they most certainly DO expect you to buy cigs to dole out to them! 😛
I’m a non-smoker, but just one time, I’d love to be one when these cigarette bums come by. Light up, watch them come over, say no, and blow smoke in their face. Good times.
Hahaha, Dr. Fever, that made my afternoon.
Eben Cooke, you’re comment made me throw up in my mouth a little.
HaHaHaHaHaHa!
I’m changing my name just for you people.
/used to be Eben Cooke.
Ah, screw you losers.
I’m keeping my name.
HaHaHaHaHaHa!
Losers.
….what ?
Back before you couldn’t get a pound of lead for a penny, those little urchins with their wood crutches and bowler hats would scamper up on Barrington, and Lord Dalhousie and I would each snap a ha-penny in ha again, and give each scamp a quarter-cent. They’d chuckle and skip away. Next thing we knew, they’d be back to tell us how they’d bought a quarter-section out in Enfield or Annapolis, where they’d begun a thriving elderberry plantation. That’s back when “getting in a jam” was a good thing. Ha ha ha
Last night a friend of mine and I were at the bus stop at the corner of south park and spring garden and this panhandler who refers to himself as “Human” tried to sell us his art (he takes donation!). He knew my friend and kept saying “I KNOW YOU MAN BOY YOU GOT FAT!” over and over. He took some tape out of his bag and was all “this is mah tape” and looked at the DQ bag my friend had and said “I’ll take that burger, man”….when he went over to the garbage can to take a piss he started yelling at us “DON’T STEAL MY SHIT!” because he had left his “art collection” on the bench for us to look through. We took him pissing as an opportunity to get the fuck out of there and said we had to go.
That was probably the most fucked up panhandler experience I’ve ever had.
PK— did he have tinfoil wrapped around his head? He might have been trying to block those satellite beams.
LOL. My friend gave me the lowdown and the guy’s got some issues. He calls himself a “professional panhandler”
He kept telling us “you know, I’m rich then I’m poor then I’m rich then I’m poor…hey you got fat, I’m poor now, I’ll take that burger in that bag….here’s my tape DON’T STEAL MY SHIT!”
We went back to the DQ and my friend refused to wait at that stop with me. We walked to the next one down by the hospital instead.
2 years ago I was in Timothy’s on Spring Garden, enjoying a coffee and oat cake with my gf. One of the bums came inside to start bumming change. I can handle them on the streets, but coming inside to bug me? Fuck that! I let him know in no uncertain terms that there was no way I was giving him money to feed his drug habit. He got all fired up and came at me with a chair! The whole time this is happening, there’s a security gaurd standing not 20 feet away and didn’t do a goddamn thing. I chased the guy off and went back to my coffee. 5 minutes later, the cops show up to question me. I used to be a security guard myself and I’m a pretty reasonable guy most of the time, so I know how to deal with them. After talking with them for about 10min, they decided to ban the bum from Spring Garden under the Protection of Properties act (mostly because my gf at the time worked at Shoppers). I saw him again a couple of months later while I was waiting for the bus in front of Ginger’s Tavern. He was in Dooley’s across the street and must have gotten a little rowdy again bumming the patrons for change, because he got smashed in the face with a pool cue! It was fantastic!!
Gentleman, do you remember when we used to crawl through the dirt to pick up the metal shavings from the horseshoes on Bell Road? We’d collect them in a jam jar and melt them down to a quarter-cent, just for the joy of tossing a coin to those Spring Garden scalliwags. The warmth from their grateful smiles would heat our wood stoves for a month. Those days we did not have a “DQ,” only delicious elderberry jam.
I long for the simplicity of kinder, friendlier times, Edith. Four scalliwags to the shilling, ten for a silver dime. And when they died, you could just bury them in the yard. Such brilliant roses we had that year!