New York Minute 48 - Subway Panhandler

I broke one of my rules today. I don't give to panhandlers, no matter how desperate they seem or how emphatically they plead for help. When you give money, there's a good chance that they'll use it to feed the addiction that put them into their desperate predicament in the first place. Giving anything encourages them to come back and beg for more.

But today, I made a small exception.

I keep trail mix in the office. I work long hours and sometimes don't get a break for lunch. I need to rely on snacks to get me through the day.

This evening, as I was locking up my desk, I realized that I had forgotten to put my half-full bag of trail mix away. Rather than reopening my desk, I put decided to take it home with me. Normally, I don't eat trail mix at home, but I thought may I would find a chance to snack on some one evening.

A panhandler in a wheelchair came onto the train at one of the station stops. He looked very sick. After his short, reasonably polite pitch, he sat at one end of the car. He didn't try to push through.

I walked over and gave him my trail mix. He said, "Thank you for caring, young man!" - I'm probably older than he is, but so what.

At the next stop, he moved toward the adjacent train car, but he didn't get far enough, so he entered my car again but on the opposite end. No speech this time; he just shook a cup with coins in it, the international signal for "please give me some money."

A woman offered the panhandler a bag of food. He refused. She was quite surprised. He didn't want food. He'll probably throw my trail mix away. They want money. Their lives are ruled by tobacco, alcohol, and other addictive substances. That's the grim reality.

But I did take pity on the man. I did try to help. Maybe he'll eat the trail mix; maybe he'll throw it away. At least I didn't give him money to burn on booze.

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