Sister, can you spare a dime?

Tuesday, Eastbound 5th & Jackson stop, 8:40 PM

Fellow TAC‘er Miranda and I are discussing the future of transit in the region while waiting for our respective buses (me: 14, her: 36) home from the August meeting. A man approaches and asks if we can spare 50 cents. He has to get to the shelter by nine.

“And,” he adds, scratching his nether parts for emphasis, “I’ve got a rash.”

Wednesday, Westbound 23rd & Jackson stop, 5:00 PM

Chicklet and I are awaiting the 14, headed downtown to catch the 55 to my youngest brother‘s birthday celebration dinner. A woman approaches and asks, in a familiar, can-I-borrow-your-pen tone, “Hey, do you have an extra quarter?”

My wallet being close at hand (in the Ergo Baby‘s handy front pouch), I pull it out to check. As I open it, she adds, “Or an extra dollar?”

The wallet contains a 20 and a dime, so I tell her I don’t have what she’s looking for. The cheerful tone changes abruptly.

“Go to Hell!” she snaps. Then, “Some people just shouldn’t have children. I bet you’re on SSI.”