You Gotta Admire Smokers...

Smoking creates comrades in death. Sure, you'll probably die of lung cancer early on. But these smokers seem to have quite a lock on social interactions.

There are only two things strangers ask me for: smokes and spare change. Oh, three. Today, in a cheapo grocery store, this woman did the ol' "Excuse me," routine, society's head's-up that a stranger wants to mooch of you.

I was about to whip out a "I don't work here." I usually wear a white dress shirt and tie. I thought she thought I worked there.

Then it turns out she wanted me to get a plant that she couldn't reach.

So, back to people asking me for cigarettes.

"Hey man, got a smoke?" said a stranger.
"No."
"Oh."
A pause.
"So why did you think I smoked, anyway?" I queried.
"No reason." He got off.

Now, why don't people do that for more shit in life? Like, "Hey man, got some food?" I'd be much more willing to give a homeless guy food. You know, I can probably think that he's gonna buy some beer with change. But, you know, the essential problem with the homeless is that they rely strictly on human kindness, which was bought out in 1973. We need to see results. I mean, every charity in the world gives you a picture of the starving African family you get out. You get to see what you're doing.

But of course, with costs and advertising and all that, you essentially have to pay the middlemen. This leads to extraneous costs, and otherwise failures.

With direct begging, you cut out the middleman. There are also thousands of potential sales peoples, all working on commission, all working for free, all highly motivated.

But with direct begging, you don't get the organization and something to show for it.

Now, what I'm proposing is that the charity's hand out a homeless information/set up package.

Basically, this package is basically a clipboard, a sign, and a pen. This organization assigns the homeless a number, and a background check. On this sign would be a mark of approval.

Now, here's how a transaction would typically go:
Rich Guy: "Oh, that poor fellow! He had his legs blown off in the Gulf War trying to save an Iraqi orphanage. If only there was some way I could help that poor man."
Homeless: "Do you have any spare change?"
RG: "Why yes, Mr. Homeless, indubitably. Shall $2 be satisfactory?"
Homeless: "It shall indeed, sir."
(Rich Guy hands him two dollars.)
RG: "Well, shall I have my tax deductable receipt?"
Homeless: "Oh, you may sir."
RG: "May I have your backstory..."
Homeless: "Oh yes, sir, comes guaranteed, written on the receipt."
RG: "Oh, okay, I was just checking. That's how it works."
Homeless: "Indeed, that's how it does, sir. Anyway, here you go. All set."
RG walks, then turns around.
RG: "My fellow, I hate to be of an especially suspicious nature, but pray tell, what were to happen if you were to spend it on drink, or drugs, specifically of the sort that one injects into one's eyeballs?"
Homeless: "Oh, not a problem a bit, sir. You see, the organization I work with is quite stringent about budgeting my income. If I do not report back to them with a receipt for every cent I have earned, I lose my licence. And believe me, once you lose THAT, it's quite difficult to get it back, even if you were Lord Wellington himself."
RG: "Ah, yes, well, good day."
Homeless: "Yes, good day. And may I remind you sir, always go for the accredited homeless."
Fin.

Oh, and by the way, the joke about "I'm spending it on weed, but at least I'm honest" sign gets old. Seriously. Metafiction is dead...and we have killed it! Behold, I teach you the metafiction! It is this lightning...it is this madness.