Technical support for panhandlers.

A while back, I was having lunch at a local mall called Chandler Fashion Square.  It's a nice place to eat, and there's plenty of stuff to do there.  It's fancy and nice, but (mostly) without that snooty vibe that you get at certain malls up in Scottsdale...  But they still have a certain reputation to maintain (there's valet parking and a Nordstrom's, for God's sake) so certain types of behavior are frowned upon.  Keep this in mind.

Anyway, I had polished off my traditional Subway foot-long roast beef sandwich, and was meandering about aimlessly in search of something to do.  I decided to go outside to the courtyard and browse at Atomic Comics, so I walked out the food court exit that's near the aforementioned valet parking.  I had taken perhaps twenty steps out into the blazing Arizona heat when I was hailed by a rather rotund, sweaty fellow who was sitting on the edge of a large concrete flowerpot.  Out of curiosity I stopped, and he immediately launched into a long, stumbling soliloquy about how honest he is and about how asking for money is totally beneath his dignity...

Uh-oh.

His introduction was a minute or two long, and then, without even pausing for breath, he launched into an even longer story.  I'm going to paraphrase here for a reason, and said reason is that this gentleman probably holds the Guinness Book world's record for "Longest Winded Vagrant."  I've heard State of the Union speeches that were shining examples of brevity compared to the rambling mess that this poor guy stumbled through.  The gist of it all was that he had been in the hospital for some sort of crippling emergency medical procedure, had been released earlier that day before he could fully recuperate, and was trying to gather funds so that he could get home to his daughter in Gilbert.  Plausible?  Maybe...  If not for the small, non-medical grade "bandage" (this thing was made out of masking tape, no joke) wrapped around his arm, which he held up as "evidence."  Also, if not for the fact that he had somehow managed to go several miles in the wrong direction to get to the mall.  Also, he was presenting a problem that could literally be solved, in its entirety, for about a dollar with a Valley Metro bus ticket.  Or by simply asking someone for a lift.  Worst of all, when he finished his long story, he didn't even ask for money.  He just kind of sat there and looked expectantly at me.

I stared him down for a moment, pondering my options.  Normally I would have just shook my head politely and walked away, but I actually felt bad for this guy.  Not because of his story, or the masking tape bandage, or his lack of a bus pass...  But because he was literally the worst panhandler I've ever seen.  And I've seen lots of them.

As a small-town kid at Arizona State University, I had to learn several lessons fairly quickly.  Chief amongst them was "if you give a dollar to everyone who asks for one in the street, you'll go broke."  ASU has some truly professional-caliber panhandlers.  They're all quick, sincere, plausible...  Sometimes funny.  I distinctly recall one guy who used to stroll around campus with a cardboard sign that read "I won't lie, it's for beer!"  I wouldn't be surprised if that dude drove home in a Lexus every night and had a healthy IRA stashed away somewhere.  Sometimes, particularly on Mill Avenue on the weekends, there would be a line to hand him money.

In any case, I've been panhandled by the best...  And the long-winded fellow at the Chandler Mall was clearly the worst.  And, as he sat staring awkwardly and expectantly at me, I suddenly realized what I had to do.

"Dude..."  I said, "you're horrible at this!"

He started to protest, but I cut him off.  "Look, I don't mean that as an insult.  It's just a technical observation.  Have you managed to get any money today?  Anything at all?"

His answer was sullen silence.

"That's what I thought.  Here, look around...  First of all, your choice of venue SUCKS.  The Chandler Mall?  For real?  You realize that as soon as someone who works here spots you, they're going to call the police.  And the police won't be friendly.  At all."

He looked about suspiciously as I carried on.  "Worse, nobody here is carrying cash.  I don't carry cash on me, most of these other people," I gestured about, "don't carry cash here either.  This is the mall, not a bar or a sports game.  You can't take a credit card, can you?  Of course not.  You need to sit down and plan, and find a spot where people are likely to have actual money in their pockets."

He looked surprised but receptive, so I pressed on.  "Now let's think about your pitch.  Do you know how long you were talking just now?  It was a good several minutes.  Do you see how many people walked by in that time?  How many people, besides me, you could have made your pitch to if you hadn't been taking so much time with me?  What you're doing, dude, is kind of similar to telemarketing.  It's a numbers game.  Most people are going to tell you to get lost.  A few are going to give you money.  The more total people that you can pitch in that hour, the more receptive people you'll encounter.  And the more receptive people you encounter, the more money you'll make."

"Now let's talk about your prop."  I pointed at his arm.  "No offense, but if that thing came from an actual hospital, I'd suggest that you stop asking for change, and start seeing a malpractice attorney about a multi-million dollar lawsuit.  Dial the Wolf," I said with a small smile, referencing an infamous television ad for a local lawyer.  He smiled back.  Oddly, it made me feel good.  "What you need is something plausible that you can present as evidence of a problem that takes a bit of money to fix.  Something like a small, busted car part or similar.  Something that could happen to anyone.  That'll create empathy."

"I'd give you a couple of dollars just for standing here and letting me blow off steam, but like I said, I don't carry cash."  I shrugged at him.  "If I were you, I'd get down by ASU and hit Mill Avenue.  Look for freshmen.  They're gullible, believe me."

With that we smiled and nodded at each other, and I meandered off to the Comics Shop.  The incident has always stuck with me, because I don't really know how to feel about it.  In a way I did good, because I gave out some advice that probably helped the long-winded panhandler get by.  In a way I did bad, because I gave him advice that wasn't exactly of a virtuous moral quality.  Oh well, just one of those weird experiences that you talk about later because you can't find the right mental "box" to file it in, I guess.

But I have to say...  Those little freshmen at ASU needed someone to help them grow up to be jaded and cantankerous, like me.  I guess there's a silver lining after all.