I was waiting to cross the intersection at K and 14th earlier today. A cab was turning onto the service road, and this guy--tall, black, and missing most of his teeth--walking from the opposite side of the street, motioned for it to go ahead. Then, just as the cab started to turn, the guy jumped in front of it. The cab hit its breaks, and the guy happily shouted something like, "Don't hit me! It's my birthday!" and cracked up as if it was the funniest thing ever.
Walking over to the corner I was standing on, he said hi to me. I said hi back. He pulled out a stack of D.C. Lottery play slips and tried to hand me one. I declined. He kind of laughed and said, "Hey, don't be nervous."
This kind of bothered me, as the subtext of accusing a white guy of being nervous around a black guy is pretty obvious. You don't have to be racist to not want to be hassled by someone asking you for money on the street, as he was clearly getting set to do.
That's when his pitch took a weird turn.
"Hey, I'm a Christian and I voted for Obama. You too, right?" he asked.
It's not like I was especially impressed with his divining skills, since "Christian Obama-voter" describes thousands of people in D.C. But I acknowledged that he was right on both counts.
"Cool! You and me, we're like brothers from another mother."
"Okay," I agreed.
"You and me, we're like car seats."
"Uh."
"We go way back!"
Maybe I've been living under a rock, but I've never heard that one before. So I laughed. Then, in case I didn't get it, he pantomimed leaning back in a car seat. By now, I was genuinely amused. Still wary about the inevitable request for money. But amused.
"What are we like?"
"Car seats."
"Cool. Where are you from?" he asked.
"Here."
He looked at me skeptically. "Really?"
"Yeah." (Okay, fine, so technically, I grew up in Fairfax County. It still counts. Get over yourselves, D.C. snobs.)
"That's awesome. So listen..." he said, getting down to business. I realized the pitch was starting.
He pulled out a CD still in its shrink wrap and pressed it into my hand, and explained that he was collecting money for a charity working to help the prevention of AIDS. As he explained this, he pointed over to the park, as if identifying other people he was working with, but I didn't see anyone who appeared to be collecting money.
"Now the CD is free. But if you'd like, we are accepting donations."
Walking over to the corner I was standing on, he said hi to me. I said hi back. He pulled out a stack of D.C. Lottery play slips and tried to hand me one. I declined. He kind of laughed and said, "Hey, don't be nervous."
This kind of bothered me, as the subtext of accusing a white guy of being nervous around a black guy is pretty obvious. You don't have to be racist to not want to be hassled by someone asking you for money on the street, as he was clearly getting set to do.
That's when his pitch took a weird turn.
"Hey, I'm a Christian and I voted for Obama. You too, right?" he asked.
It's not like I was especially impressed with his divining skills, since "Christian Obama-voter" describes thousands of people in D.C. But I acknowledged that he was right on both counts.
"Cool! You and me, we're like brothers from another mother."
"Okay," I agreed.
"You and me, we're like car seats."
"Uh."
"We go way back!"
Maybe I've been living under a rock, but I've never heard that one before. So I laughed. Then, in case I didn't get it, he pantomimed leaning back in a car seat. By now, I was genuinely amused. Still wary about the inevitable request for money. But amused.
"What are we like?"
"Car seats."
"Cool. Where are you from?" he asked.
"Here."
He looked at me skeptically. "Really?"
"Yeah." (Okay, fine, so technically, I grew up in Fairfax County. It still counts. Get over yourselves, D.C. snobs.)
"That's awesome. So listen..." he said, getting down to business. I realized the pitch was starting.
He pulled out a CD still in its shrink wrap and pressed it into my hand, and explained that he was collecting money for a charity working to help the prevention of AIDS. As he explained this, he pointed over to the park, as if identifying other people he was working with, but I didn't see anyone who appeared to be collecting money.
"Now the CD is free. But if you'd like, we are accepting donations."
I looked at the CD. It's called Requiem Mass, and appears to be a collection of Gregorian Chants. Not exactly something I was into. But maybe the combination of it being Christmas, the money (ostensibly) going towards fighting AIDS, or just the guy's good schtick, made me slightly more generous.
But not too generous. I stuck my hand in my coat pocket, where I knew for a fact that I only had two dollars, pulled the money out and handed it to him.
"This is all I have," I said apologetically, as if I was really disappointed I didn't have more to give.
"Thanks." He frowned. "It's just that for the CD, we're actually asking for a three dollar donation..."
"This is all I have," I repeated.
He started to say something, but stopped. Instead, he just said, "Okay. Thanks very much." Then there was a pause. "Hey, you don't really want that CD, do you?"
"I do," I assured him. I actually wasn't sure whose property it was at that point, but I didn't want him trying to take it back, so I stuck it in my pocket. Truthfully, I didn't want it. But a deal's a deal. And frankly, I was a little annoyed that the CD had gone from free, to an unspecified donation, to a fixed donation of $3 (which obviously would have been more if I'd given him $3 instead of $2), to where now I was being asked to give it back.
"Okay, man, thanks a lot," he said. Then he again pulled out the D.C. Lottery slip and handed it to me, and we parted ways.
So, I'm two dollars poorer, but that money either went to fighting AIDS or something far less noble, but I'll never know, so let's just go with AIDS. And I have a free CD of Gregorian Chants that I'll probably never listen to, and that even I'm too cheap to re-gift to someone.
And most confusing of all, I have a D.C. Lottery play slip. Why was he handing thouse out? Is it magic? Is this guy maybe an angel who's giving out winning play slips to people who were willing to give money to a good cause? If so, does the magic still work, even though I only gave two dollars instead of three? Am I really not cheap enough to re-gift a CD of Gregorian Chants? Because the more I think about it, the more I think I might be. And does the $16.95 price tag that's on the back of the CD that I didn't notice until just now mean it might be stolen property?
Whatever. The point of this story is, if you're going to ask people for money in this world, it's no longer enough to have a hard-luck story or make a dubious claim about collecting for a charity. You have to be entertaining. And maybe offer a free CD. But mostly be entertaining.
"We go way back." Heh. That shit still cracks me up.
But not too generous. I stuck my hand in my coat pocket, where I knew for a fact that I only had two dollars, pulled the money out and handed it to him.
"This is all I have," I said apologetically, as if I was really disappointed I didn't have more to give.
"Thanks." He frowned. "It's just that for the CD, we're actually asking for a three dollar donation..."
"This is all I have," I repeated.
He started to say something, but stopped. Instead, he just said, "Okay. Thanks very much." Then there was a pause. "Hey, you don't really want that CD, do you?"
"I do," I assured him. I actually wasn't sure whose property it was at that point, but I didn't want him trying to take it back, so I stuck it in my pocket. Truthfully, I didn't want it. But a deal's a deal. And frankly, I was a little annoyed that the CD had gone from free, to an unspecified donation, to a fixed donation of $3 (which obviously would have been more if I'd given him $3 instead of $2), to where now I was being asked to give it back.
"Okay, man, thanks a lot," he said. Then he again pulled out the D.C. Lottery slip and handed it to me, and we parted ways.
So, I'm two dollars poorer, but that money either went to fighting AIDS or something far less noble, but I'll never know, so let's just go with AIDS. And I have a free CD of Gregorian Chants that I'll probably never listen to, and that even I'm too cheap to re-gift to someone.
And most confusing of all, I have a D.C. Lottery play slip. Why was he handing thouse out? Is it magic? Is this guy maybe an angel who's giving out winning play slips to people who were willing to give money to a good cause? If so, does the magic still work, even though I only gave two dollars instead of three? Am I really not cheap enough to re-gift a CD of Gregorian Chants? Because the more I think about it, the more I think I might be. And does the $16.95 price tag that's on the back of the CD that I didn't notice until just now mean it might be stolen property?
Whatever. The point of this story is, if you're going to ask people for money in this world, it's no longer enough to have a hard-luck story or make a dubious claim about collecting for a charity. You have to be entertaining. And maybe offer a free CD. But mostly be entertaining.
"We go way back." Heh. That shit still cracks me up.
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