You Never Give Me Your Money – The Beatles
A man in a wheelchair just got on the subway. He pushes off the platform with his left leg; the right one is amputated well above the knee, a helpless stump that nonetheless moves with every physical exertion. With visible pains he maneuvers around seats and poles until he screeches to a wobbly halt in the centre of the near-empty car. It’s a steamy hot Friday morning in July; rush hour has just died away on the A-train to Far Rockaway Beach. ‘I’m messed up!’ the man says. ‘Gimme some change.’ The few travelers in the car try their best to ignore him – including me. Still, our averted eyes cannot ignore the ripe smell that is clinging to the man like a wet fur coat. The man winds his chair around a pole a couple times and tries again. ‘Listen yall, I’m just completely fed up with this shit. Come on. Just gimme some cash.’
In the summertime the number of beggars and buskers on the New York train seems to explode. Every line reveals people making the most of their bad situation: they sing a song, do a little dance, sell candy, rap, tell their story, juggle, recite poetry, and in turn they accept small change from travelers. It’s great, really: no need for anyone to be self-conscious or embarrassed, for nobody is bluntly asking for money, and it is only natural that displayed talent does not go unrewarded. Smiling faces everywhere. Everybody wins. Except, of course, this guy, who has no leg and no talent – he doesn’t even have a sob story. Could be he’s genuinely worn out; could be he’s a genuine dick. Maybe he just told his story one time too many.
Maybe he simply does not have any skill whatsoever – not even to ask nicely.
Television gives you one commercial after another for the Financially Challenged. For every car commercial there’s a law firm commercial sporting an official-looking spokesman guaranteeing have-nots a small fortune. The most promising one is from LawyersGroup. ‘Were you injured in a car accident? Does your child suffer from birth injuries? Do you have brain injuries? Did you fall or slip? Get fired? Bit by a dog? Die a wrongful death? There is no reason you should keep suffering financially or mentally any longer. Contact an injury lawyer in your area NOW absolutely FREE and get the money you deserve!’
The man has a minute to explain how everyone is entitled to damages of some kind or other – even if you bit the dog first. The company’s website, LawersGroup.com, explains things in further detail. ‘Even if you are partially responsible for your injury, you still may be entitled to money, depending on the amount of blame that is placed on you.’ If you can believe the narrator on TV (the phrases ‘not an actual lawyer’ and ‘compensated spokesperson’ flash onscreen, next to his tie), there is really no reason anyone should stay poor in the States. The thought that starts tapping the belly of your brain the tenth time around, is, inversely: if you don’t even have the talent to get some kind of legal compensation for your misfortune, you will end up getting exactly what you deserve. Which is absolutely nothing.
Meanwhile, our car is shrouded in an uncomfortable silence. Then, a crisp clear woman’s voice sounds over the intercom. ‘There are vagrants on this train. Please do not give them any money. Help us keep the MTA safe and operating in an orderly fashion.’ The voice falls silent. The man has listened intently, his face screwed up, head cocked towards the speakers. He now lets his chin drop onto his chest. The train snorkels on forever. Every ripple on the tracks has all of us lolling involuntarily back and forth in our seats in unison, wheelchair and stump included.
When the train finally comes to a halt, the man reels onto the platform on his hind wheels. Not to the exit. He turns to face the little window in the car next to mine, to the tiny compartment containing the lady who announces all stops and ensures nobody gets stuck between the doors – she must be the one who broadcast just now that we shouldn’t give money to beggars. He points a finger at her, trembling with rage. ‘Why the hell d’you say that, goddammit?’ he screams. ‘Who the fuck do you think you are?’ The lady leans out the window, towering over him. ‘Sir, just leave, before I call security,’ she says. The man is determined not to be intimidated. ‘How am I supposed to get my money now, bitch? Yo! I’m talking to you, bitch!’ he keeps yelling up at her. A genuine dick. The lady is hardly impressed. She knows the MTA angry passenger flowchart by heart; she has dealt with tougher customers. ‘Those are the rules. I do not make the rules. I am just doing my job. Have a nice day,’ she says dismissively. A born public officer. She closes the window and pushes the button for the doors. I can’t make out what the man yells after her as the subway accelerates, but I’m pretty sure they both deserve better.
"no need for anyone to be self-conscious or embarrassed, for nobody is bluntly asking for money (...)"
ReplyDeleteI feel exactly the same about the homeless who sell the Street Magazine in Holland; they sell a magazine, which makes my money part of a transaction - rather than a gift that unintentionally could be seen or experienced as condescending - and does not harm the self-respect of the seller in any way. Is there a Street Magazine in NY that compares to the Dutch "Straatkrant", by any chance? I strongly doubt though if this particular man would be able to sell them; without friendliness, even the fake kind, it's hard to sell anything.