a bum theory on panhandling

over the past few months i have noticed a new and growing trend around georgetown: the street corners are becoming more and more packed with what i refer to as 'white collar panhandlers'. that's right, these people are upper-crust bums, boys and girls. they don't look or smell like the traditional bums we all know and love - park bench smears of monotone brown that radiate BO from all of their 2,435,986 bodily glands. instead, they shower daily, wear (relatively) clean clothes, know how to spell, and have probably never spent a night on a park bench in their lives.

it seems, from the vantage point of a car, that clean clothes and well crafted signs are all these white collar panhandlers have to offer. traditional bums (i.e. smears of brown BO) are often witty and tell jokes or ask you to 'smiiiile darlin', just smiiiile' (anyone who has walked down M street will understand this reference). others play an instrument. or do a tap dance. or... something/anything to justify their pleads. but these new bums offer only a pathetic look of misery and a droopy, slouched gait. and they expect donations?!?! i don't know about you, but i'm not giving my shinny pennies to this loathsome act of despair. or i didn't. until i needed one to speak:

it was a steamy summer evening and i took the long route home from the lab. i caught a red light at the corner of canal and reservoir in my psoriasis-vulgaris-inflicted '95 Volkswagen golf. my favorite bum was working. a girl.
i wanted to liven up a fairly monotonous day, so i rolled down my window and motioned to her with two quick flicks of the wrist...come hither. she came, and i probed. "are you really homeless?" her answer: _______frown_______. i figured she was holding out for money so i put two Vermont state quarters in her cup. she raised one disapproving eyebrow and i doubled my ante. modestly satisfied, she responded, "yes, currently i am homeless" "currently?!?! what is that supposed to mean? do you mean, since 10 o'clock this morning when you rolled out of bed...you've been homeless since then? because i'm a fairly observant gal, and you definitely weren't wearing that same top the last time i saw you on the corner." "i have a backpack of clothes that i keep in the woods where i sleep" she said in defense. "so if you're living in the woods, where do you shower?" i asked. "that's none of your business." "hmmmf" retorts i. "i'll give you twenty dollars if you'll admit to me that you're not really homeless and that you and your friends that frequent this corner are scamming scammers!" hooooooooonk. honk. hoooonk. the motorists behind me were getting antsy because the light had just turned green. "tell me you're not homeless and the twenty is yours." hoooonk. honk. honk. she was reaching for the twenty. you could see the desire in her eyes. but she said nothing. she looked to the ground with her famous look of despair, hunched her back, and dropped her outstretched arm. i sped off.

her words (or lack of them) disagreed with her actions and my question remains unanswered. so now i turn to all of you. if you happen to see any white collar bums around g-town, please roll down your window, offer a twenty...no wait, offer two twenties and ask the question that these 20th century bums fear. i'll reimburse you double your cost...just be sure to ask me for it with a smile...and maybe a tapdance!