Vindicated ... Sadly.

A little while ago, a friend and I had a long discussion about giving "charity" to total strangers, which, if you live in NYC, you are solicited for every single day. It could be someone asking for pennies or dollars. It could be someone with a disability, homeless, or even the best -- just playing music.

What had happened was this: my friend, let's call him, "Adam," had returned home very early one morning from a weekend trip to Manhattan. As he got out of the car, a woman, one of his neighbors, approached him and began to tell her woeful tale: her father-in-law, living on Staten Island, had had a massive heart attack and was in the hospital. She and her husband didn't have enough money for gas to drive out there, which they wanted to do immediately. Could Adam possibly give her $40 for gas, and she would pay him back shortly?

Now, Adam isn't what you would call naive. In fact, he can be rather suspicious of people to the point of impolite. Immediately skeptical of the women's story, he followed her to her house, went inside, looked at her driver's license and waited as she showed him her utility bill as proof of her residence and identity. Finally, he somewhat reluctantly handed over the $40 and she left.

Now, despite the fact that Adam has intense methods, he also has a giant heart, and deep down he yearned to believe the woman and do good. It was a few hours later he relayed the story to me, full of doubt, but hoping, really hoping that the woman was for real and that he had truly helped someone out and not been scammed. He was seeking some sort of vindication from me, hoping I'd dispel his worries. After hearing his story, I felt the same mix of emotions, suspicion churning with hope. I tend to be more open to woeful stories than he, but am also probably much more fervently willing to seek "vengeance" against those who cheat others.

He then began talking to neighbors who were communicating similar stories of the same woman. She had borrowed from several others and not paid them back (though it was later discovered she had actually had paid one back). A few suspected her of being a con artist of sorts. Hearing this, I was incensed since I always take such things personally (as I always did in Bangkok and Europe too). Now even more uneasy himself, Adam waited for the woman to return and immediately began calling her, confronting her with this information. Flustered, the woman promised to pay him back and in various increments over the next several days, did pay him back, more due I believe, to Adam's relentlessness than to her own fastidiousness. He never felt completely right about the situation and we talked for awhile about giving money to people here in NYC and the eternal desire to help people out while simultaneously worrying about being played for a fool.

Now, I do give money. I'm not going to lie; I don't give that much. "Charity starts at home" and I'm always fighting to break even. I like to give to the homeless "representatives" with their empty water jugs who ask only for "pennies" which is a good way to give them loose change without feeling like a cheapskate. Besides, they're always polite and friendly, which is something everyone is receptive to. I also like to give money, usually just a buck, to musicians. Today I spent a wonderful time in Union Square (talk about it later) listening to a wonderful musician named "Dorian" playing guitar and singing. I feel if I really enjoy the music, then I should be willing to show my appreciation with a dollar.

Anyway, as we were talking about this, I told Adam of the one time I had ever not given money and had felt bad about it long afterwards (to the present, actually). This was back when I had that second job at Barnes & Noble, and I was leaving work late one night after we closed up. A shaky white man approached me, and at my startled look, he reassured me that he was a gay man and so wasn't interested in doing any harm to me. He then went on to nervously tell a long story about how he was a documentary filmmaker who had all his film canisters/equipment nearby in an apartment that he couldn't get into, etc. etc. I can't even tell you the rest of it, though I have to tell you, even though I always try to be polite, I had to finally say, "What's the point of all this? Do you want money?" The man chattered on for a time before asking if he could have some money, that he swore up and down he'd pay me back, that I'd go to heaven for the good karma, that he wasn't homeless or a freak, etc. He seemed pretty believable, though looking back, I should have been suspicious of his rattling and vibrating. At the time, I literally only had $5 to my name, along with some scattered change in my pocket. I was eating dinner through the vending machines in the employee break room, so I was reluctant to part with the only money I had in the world. Reaching into my pocket, I shuffled around with some "effort," and brought out all the change I had, which couldn't have been more than about 25 cents, and handed it to him. He was obviously disappointed to receive so little for his elaborate story, and mumbled a "thank you" as I rushed off.

As I was walking away, I was feeling bad, not good. Payday was only a day away, so I could live without that five bucks. Thinking the guy was actually for real, and actually THINKING about that stupid karma comment, I walked away with guilt for not being willing to give. Though I have given up religion long ago, I still carry many of its lessons and superstitions with me. Not to mention reading old Irish and Scandinavian folktales, I had ridiculous images of 'faerie folk' or 'angels' who test the heart of humans by disguising themselves as a person in need. Yeah, yeah, I know, but crazy things dart through your mind when you're feeling guilt, it doesn't mean you're berzerk-o.

The combination of my story that had happened a couple months ago, and Adam's story, led to my reaction later that day. I was crossing 6th Avenue at 14th street when someone was holding out a small red card to me. Normally, I never take what's handed to me, since as a stand-up comic once said, "It's like the person is saying, 'Here, you throw this out.'" Anyway, for whatever reason, in part because the man handing it out looked to be in pretty bad shape, I reached out and took it, not even breaking my stride. But I felt my arm being pulled back --- the man was not letting go! I wheeled around, still holding onto the red card. The man was making a pained face and pointing down to the card that we were both still holding. I read it. It announced that he was deaf and was trying to feed his family. It said it was offering the alphabet in sign language as a small little teaching tool and if I could give anything for it, it would be appreciated. I flipped it over and sure enough, there was 26 hands displaying each letter. Just before I left Thailand, I had taught my 6th graders how to spell their names in sign language for fun during "summer school."

I had met many deaf "beggers" while in Thailand and this man didn't seem to be faking it. At that moment, I felt my heart just clench. I had Adam's story still in my mind and the anger that it had caused in me. I looked at the man who seemed to truly need money. I reached into my bag and handed him a dollar and he thanked me by nodding his head and doing "thank you" in sign language. As I walked away, I started breathing heavily. I had an overwhelming feeling to weep. I couldn't even articulate in my head exactly why. I knew it was connected to the whole Adam story, but I just felt so awful. I entered my gym then and went up to the locker room, spending a bit of time composing myself in the bathroom stall.
------------------------------

So, today, I'm walking toward Union Square after having worked out and spent a fairly pleasant time in my new Chinatown place-to-eat-super-cheap. I got a Tasti-Delite ice cream (I swear I will never eat that stupid ice cream again!), and am crossing the street. Suddenly a man appears in front of my face, startling me, and causing me to halt just as I reach the curb. Shaky, the man starts, "Hi, don't worry, I'm gay so I'm not here to harass you, I just want you to know..."

Oh. My. God.

I couldn't believe it. My one hunk of burning guilt for my own personal greed. Here he was, months later, spilling the same schpiel. I wanted to throw up.

"Look," I said, pursing my lips, "You told me this same story two months ago..."

A cloud crossed over the man's face. He looked down in disgust, turned away, and walked off. He didn't even try to deny it.

As I walked on, I felt a heaviness descend upon me. Perhaps the guilt was better -- it let me believe that at least there were good people out there and that I had screwed up. Now, my sole source of legitimate charity was nothing but a hoax. He was still out there; still doing it. I know the guy is obviously down on his luck and trying to get along, and yet, I feel so angry about it. Anyway, my guilt was misguided, and yet I don't feel better. I've been vindicated...sadly.