Tuesday, July 6, 2021 My Short Career as a Beggar

Sometime during my senior year of high school I decided to take a bus downtown by myself to watch a Woody Allen movie – I think it was “Sleeper.” I was trying out my sense of independence, flapping my wings a little. Being somewhat thrifty, I brought only enough money for the bus trip and the movie. When I got on the bus, I mishandled my coins and accidentally threw in part of the money for the return trip as well. I wasn’t going to let this ruin my Grand Day Out, so throwing caution to the wind, I went to the movie anyway, thinking that I’d figure it all out afterward.

What a colossally stupid decision that was.

I hated the movie and spent the whole time obsessing about how I was going to get back home. I had gotten my senior photos taken at a studio that wasn’t too far from the movie theater, so I concocted a little plan in which I would go to the studio, capitalize on my having been there recently, and ask for some change. This all made perfect sense in the darkness of the movie theater, but in the cold light of day outside the theater after the movie was over, it was ludicrous. There was absolutely NO WAY I was going to go over there and ask for money.

However, the alternative was even worse. I realized with a sickening feeling in my stomach that I’d have to ask people at the bus stop for money. All I needed was a quarter, but it seemed like I’d be asking for the moon. So there I was at a busy bus stop on Hennepin Avenue, eyeing the crowd to see if there was anybody I wouldn’t be afraid to approach. I saw a middle-aged woman who looked harmless, so I approached her with my sad story. She moved away uncomfortably as I started to speak and I knew the quarter would not be coming from her. I asked someone else who responded in the negative. Oh dear. By this time, I was feeling as if I were a leper.

I spotted a fellow who looked rather down-and-out himself, but figured I had nothing to lose. “Excuse me, but I don’t have enough money for the bus ride home. Could I borrow a quarter?” He gave me a sardonic smile and said, “Oh, are you planning to pay me back?” Shamefacedly, I admitted that I would not be able to do so. He fished a quarter out of his pockets and gave it to me and I was so grateful I could have kissed him on the cheek! I thanked him profusely and was on my merry way. It was a profoundly humbling experience, having to beg for money and it was not lost on me that the person who seemed least likely to have money to give away was the one who helped me out.

That’s the truth!

This has been True Stories with Lynniebeemuseoday.

I’ll probably delete this in the morning unless I don’t have the money for it. May I borrow a quarter?