And Here I Thought I had Left Downtown...

Lately I've been daring myself to answer differently when approached on the street by someone who wants something.

Like the next time I get asked if I have spare change, I dare myself to say, "Sure, if you'll just take on my student debt, we'll call it even!"

Or something appropriately smartass-y.

Or my newest dare obsession, to make them tell me the most embarrassing thing that's ever happened to them and I'll judge their story for truthfulness and their story-telling skills for humor and then decide if I should bestow what they want on them.

I'd double what they'd ask if they actually made me laugh.

Or at least charging them a quarter for a cigarette. That's a fair price...and will help me to buy stuff from the vending machines in the afternoon when the sleepies hit.

Somehow, however, I never work myself up to it or my plans fly right out of my head when the time comes and the word "No, sorry" comes tumbling out unasked.

The "sorry" part really bothers me, after the fact.

What do I have to be sorry for? I blame my Minnesota upbringing. It's not my fault I don't keep "spare" change on hand to give out to those who ask.

Yesterday took me for a turn, however.

You see, working downtown in one of the Twin Cities, I am used to being approached for things while outside or walking through our marvelous skyway system. So when I was approached twice yesterday by people hoping to score free stuff from me, I took it in stride.

Last night, in the comforts of my own home, curled up on the couch with my sister watching our premium-channel show addictions (woo hoo Nurse Jackie & Trueblood!), a soft knock was heard.

I share a panicked look with my sister before jumping up to answer the door. The Big B was in the kitchen, diligently cleaning up previous cooking messes and did not appear to have heard the knock.

I open our front door with a healthy-tug and see a tanned white man on our front steps, a random assortment of stuff piled up neatly on the sidewalk behind him.

At first glance, he doesn't appear scary or cracked out. I take in his shirt which says something about hardwood floors, and mentally I'm already preparing my answer "We have very nice hardwood floors, thank you anyways" but he surprises me by going another route.

"I'm hoping you can help me, you see I'm in a bad way and need to get somewhere and I need cab fare--"

here he stumbles and quickly recovers with

"--I mean bus fare...would you want to buy any of this stuff?" and he gestures behind him to the previously mentioned random assortment.

My neck bends of it's own accord to take a closer look. I see:

1. An orange extension cord
2. Two metal car supports
3. A long silver metal flashlight
4. Some other stuff I couldn't identify

The ever-present shopper in me pipes up and says, "You can always use another flashlight and heavy-duty extension cord!" but I shush it before it can gain control of my tongue.

The Big B will KILL me if I say yes (not that I really want to, not really) especially since he's convinced I possess the commen sense of a gnat. I flash back to when I allowed two neighborhood boys to mow our lawn for $20 last summer, thinking at the time that he would appreciate not having to do it, but instead I got an earful for spending money on something we can perfectly well do ourselves (my arguments that it was worth it to encourage youth to be responsible and earn their own money in lawful ways fell on deaf ears).

I won't get get into the cigarette incident of 2010 here, but perhaps tomorrow...

Instead, I shake my head in a (I hope) kindly fashion and tell the man we're not interested.

My sister wants to know if he looked like your typical homeless/crackhead/down-on-his-luck guy.

"He looked perfectly normal, like a construction worker," is all I can say.

At least he had the decency to offer something, instead of trying to get something for nothing. And he was very tan.