Sugar Britches

There are many negative aspects of Atlanta that remain quintessential: Poor city planning, urban sprawl, traffic jams, and potholes. (Oh, the potholes.) But perhaps the most unique and perplexing quality of our city involves the notorious bum population. In all my worldly travels, I have yet to encounter a city where the homeless are quite as crafty or aggressive as those in Atlanta. In Rome, for example, bums sit around with palms outstretched and merely look pathetic. In New York City, bums might stand on street corners playing music in return for donations. In Atlanta, bums walk directly up to you, look you in the face, and say, “Gimme some money.” I guess one does have to admire the direct approach.

On principle, I don’t give money to the homeless. Unfortunately, many of them are mentally unstable and will simply turn around and use whatever you give them to buy drugs. Perhaps even more unfortunate is the reality that many of the “homeless” people in Atlanta are not, in fact, actually homeless. Yes, there are quite a few bums who do possess all their mental faculties in addition to an actual roof and four walls, but instead of finding real employment, they beg for change because they actually make decent money doing it. It is usually easy to spot a ‘fauxmless’ person, because when they approach, your olfactory system is not assaulted by the aroma of dried urine from several feet away.

What makes Atlanta bums unique is the tactics they’ll employ to pry money from easily-persuaded hands. In addition to the “direct approach”, they are prone to inventing outlandish sob stories in order to guilt trip an individual into giving them change. One particular gentleman I encountered on good old Ponce de Leon Avenue. The first time he approached me, he was wearing a suit and looked clean-cut. He then launched into an extravagant tale about how he is here on business, is HIV positive, left his medicine in a cab, and now needs $14. (Yes, exactly fourteen dollars.) I didn’t have any cash, so I apologized profusely and offered to let him use my phone to call someone. He refused and immediately walked off. Fast forward to a few months later, I am strolling down that same spot on Ponce, and the same guy walks up to me again, still looking fresh and clean. I didn’t recognize him at first, but as soon as I heard the words “HIV positive” come out of his mouth, I rolled my eyes and told him to get a new story. Several of my friends have also encountered this guy, or perhaps his clones. I wouldn’t be surprised if there is a Bum University churning out more of them.

Every time a friend from out of town visits me, I usually end up taking them on MARTA (our commuter rail system) at some point. For a lot of people, especially those from small towns, public transit is still unfamiliar and therefore scary territory. People are always afraid of being accosted on trains. So, of course every time I’m riding MARTA with someone who isn’t a native Atlantan, all the crazies come out. Somehow the bums manage to get on the trains, even though they will look you in the eye and claim they have no money. They will also follow you through the train stations and attempt to make conversation with you, even to the point of trying to be physically affectionate, perhaps clinging to their last shreds of sanity or maybe employing an elaborate ruse to make gullible tourists hand over their cash.

Occasionally, if I’m feeling particularly benevolent, I will offer a cigarette to a bum. This is generally an unspoken agreement that once he or she gets something of mine, I am to be left alone. Usually this works very well; sometimes, not so much. Once I was waiting on an oil change and encountered a drifter woman while standing outside. After I offered her a cigarette, she didn’t pester me for money, and we had a fairly entertaining conversation. On the other hand, recently I was walking along Ponce (are we seeing a pattern here?) and a disheveled woman approached me and politely asked for a cigarette. I pulled one from my purse, she looked at it, looked at me, and said, “Could I have a few? I mean, to last me through the day.” I was in a good mood, so I drew 3 more from the pack. As I was about to hand them to her, she asked me what brand they were, and I replied, “American Spirit, menthols.” Her nose turned up and she exclaimed, “Ew! No. I can’t smoke that.” I put the cigarettes away and started to walk off, and she said, “Hey! I know a man around the corner who you can buy cigarettes from…” I refused politely, but it took all the tact and manners I could muster to not reply, “HELL NO!” Oh sure, I go to buy cigarettes from this dude, and next thing I know, I wake up in a bathtub minus a kidney.

If you are going to a bar or night club, don’t be too surprised if you park your car and a bum approaches you and cheerfully offers to “guard” your vehicle– in exchange for a nominal fee, of course. e.g. Whatever you have in your pockets. Do NOT give these people money, because there is a 90% chance your car will be vandalized afterward.

After all my experiences, I’ve attempted to devise a system of guidelines for dealing with Atlanta bums:
1. Don’t make eye contact.
2. If they still approach you, don’t give them money.
3. If they try to follow you, tell them to go away. Use colorful language if you must.
4. If they refuse to leave, pull out your phone and act like you’re making a call. They will assume you’re dialing the cops and vanish faster than a cheerleader’s panties on prom night.

Although– as I mentioned a few entries ago– personally I think the best response to anybody who asks, “Got any change?” is, “Sorry dude, I just lost MY job. I might be here with ya next week.” It’s more amusing when it’s true.