I am my father's son

My family went on a vacation to the Florida Keys during my early, formative years. As we were walking through the town square, a normal looking 20-year old asked my dad if he had a few bucks to spare. Instead of giving him money or simply saying "no", my dad responded almost angrily with, "Why don't you try a job."

This story is seemingly no big deal, but the other day I realized how much of an impression it had actually made on me. I was eating a delicious cheeseburger at the Parkland Hospital McDonald's, and a mentally slow lady at the adjacent table had just finished telling me about her ongoing job search. Moments later, a normal looking, 20-year old approached me:

"Hey man, I'm not a beggar or anything..." At this point, I knew exactly what was coming next. He was going to tell me he needed a couple bucks to buy a bus pass for some dire emergency. Every addict around Parkland has the same story. In the past, they requested money to buy food, but then people actually bought them food instead of giving them money. So requesting money for a bus pass is the safer way to get cash.

The beggar continued, "... but I need a couple bucks to get a bus pass because..."

But I interrupted before he could tell me about whatever fictional emergency he had to attend to. "Let me stop you right there. There's a sign behind you that says I can't give money to solicitors. Can't help you," I responded as I redirected my attention to the perfect mix of beef, cheese, ketchup, and bun, annoyed that this guy would interrupt my only thirty minutes of freedom while on call.

"You don't understand. All I need is a couple bucks," the low-life insisted.

I was not in the mood for discussion. "No, apparently you don't understand. That sign says I can't give you money." My fists clinched and adrenaline began running through my veins (like Britney at a circus) to adequately prepare my body in the event of an altercation (which never seems to materialize, even when I ask for it). He sort of looked like me too, which for whatever reason made me even angrier.

But instead of getting upset, the crook turned to the mentally slow woman next to me and said, "Can you spare a couple dollars. I'm not some bum who will spend it on drugs." Actually, that's precisely what you are. And 20 years from now you will be treated for your addiction until you die, all at the taxpayer's expense. You are a total waste. The only thing sadder than having to live a constant lie is how terribly unoriginal you are. I knew exactly who you were after you had uttered only five words.

The lady hesitated and then reached into her purse and gathered a couple dollars in change. How dare you take advantage of this woman. Have you no dignity left, man? "Ma'am, I'd keep your money if I were you," I said. But at this point she was already handing it to him.

"Ya know, you could be a little nicer," said the thief.

"You could try a job," I responded, stealing my dad's line, making me a thief in my own right.

"God will judge you," he said, and turned to walk away to buy drugs and prey off some more destitute women.

But before he made it out the door, I tackled him from behind and stole back all the money he had conned off of good, honest people that day. I tossed the cash into the Ronald McDonald House bin. And then I made out with a hot nurse who had observed the entire thing.