Homeless Tycoon

My new nickname for a Mall fixture. Read on....

When I was the manager of a small, indy coffee shop in the District, we gave nicknames to the homeless people who would make our lives so wonderful. Below is a short list of those names, and how they came to be:

Cups – she was harmless and we usually let her hang out, but about every 15 minutes she would ask for a new cup – after getting six or seven she’d stack them up and move them around from table to table. It was fun to watch.
Satar – this one was incredibly nutty and so named because once when I told her it was time to leave she asked me for my name. I said “Nathan,” and she said, “That sounds like ‘Satar’” and scribbled something on a piece of paper. Then she put her finger to her ear and said, “Canadian embassy to satellite…”
Black Magic – so named by one of my (black) employees, I think because she was midnight black…she looked like a pair of eyes hovering over a body. The room would dim around her, as she soaked up all of the light.
Peanut Butter – a particularly bad troublemaker who I once headed off on his way to the restroom. As I stood my ground telling him to leave he increasingly vocalized that he had to evacuate his bowels. I told him he was not using the restroom, repeatedly. In obvious great distress, he then motioned as though to pull his pants down right where he stood and I told him that would be the last mistake he ever made (or some similar awesome movie-type line). He then said, “Come on man…I ate some bad peanut butter!” My employees laughed uproariously at this and I probably even smiled myself. Ultimately he left the store and crossed the street for some bushes.
Madame Curie - a woman who had what we decided was a French accent. She was normally fine but one day she snapped and with her deep, low-key voice started referring to the law-school girl behind her in line as a...well, let's say a "bucking fitch." And she said it over and over and added stuff like, "I hate that (bucking fitch)." And such. My employee Dave could do a great impression of this sultry-yet-deranged-sounding monologue. One day she announced to myself and one of my employees that she was moving to California. My employee wished her well and very earnestly and unthinkingly asked her if she had everything packed, to which I inadvertently laughed out loud and immediately felt bad. But even Madame Curie laughed at that and said something like, "No deah, I don't has many sings to pack."
(I feel obligated to say here that the real Marie Curie was actually POLISH. This is true. And if you ever, EVER let a Pole hear you refer to her as a Frenchwoman, why they'll....why they'll.....well, they'll do something both punishing and culturally relevant, but I am drawing a blank here.)

So that's quite a motley crew, huh? I am currently working on a treatment that I’m going to pitch to the major networks to get this turned into a sitcom!

This brings me to a woman who I have always called – to myself…she never came into my store – Four Kids. She’s been on the Mall for years and years and her spiel is such: “Excuse me, I’m homeless and I got four kids…” I don’t know what comes next because I’m usually past her by then (maybe one day I’ll ask). But today I saw Four Kids sitting and talking on a cell phone. Now, homeless people can have cell phones, certainly…there are even shelters that provide them. But it struck a contrast from what I usually see from her.

And it got me thinking about this fascination that my dad latched onto one time after seeing something on Dateline or some other equally worthless show. It was about all these “homeless” people who beg for money but are actually quite well-heeled. Some of them actually have jobs! Now, I’ve spent enough time around the homeless of the city that I can safely say that this applies to exactly zero of the homeless people I’ve ever seen. But thanks to irresponsible reporting by a tabloid crap show that has to look for sensational stories, I have to hear people like my dad go on about this.

A conversation we had* once went like this:

Dad – See that guy over there…he’s probably rich!
Me – That guy?
Dad – Yep…drives an Acura, I bet, eats at Red Lobster, vacations at Lake Erie (it should be noted that my dad's idea of elegance is a bit constrained, btw).
Me – THAT guy? The one who smells like piss from 30 feet away? The one jabbering to himself?
Dad – He’s probably talking on a hidden phone to his compatriot…they’re setting up the next sucker from out of town.
Me – The one trying to eat the pine cone?
Dad – Crafty. So, so crafty.
Me – And who told you –
Dad – Stone Phillips

So I’ve decided she’s probably rich, based on the cell phone. So her new name is Homeless Tycoon. Ain’t fooling me.

*No, we never had this conversation but it’s a hypothetic reality.

Who I’m loving today – this six-year-oldish tourist kid I saw out on the street. His family was walking down the sidewalk coming my way and I saw him run over the curb and lean way out and wave his hand, as though hailing a cab. Sure enough, a cab slowly rolled down the street and the kid was hailing him like you’d see any adult doing. The cab slowed down and I saw the driver look, to see if this was serious, but as the rest of the family had continued to walk, he drove away. The kid threw his hands up in despair, caught up with his folks and fairly yelled, “I’m tired of walking…you have to help me!” It was really funny.

Who I'm trying to love - phys ed programs. First of all, they're a waste of time that could be spent on actual education. Secondly, PC worries continue to get in the way. A loyal reader sent this, from USA Today, cause he thought I would find it funny: "The latest episode of HBO's Real Sports, debuting Wednesday, includes a look at school physical education programs aiming to reduce competition and physical contact. Among the innovations: Have children jump rope without using ropes and play tag where you just step on others' shadows rather than tagging them." Jump rope....without...using....ropes. Hmm. Kinda like the marathon I always run while standing still, eating Doritos. Or that time I won the Heisman Trophy while really just playing Playstation. I guess we should be glad that we typically only create these field-leveling rules in PE and not in the smarts department. I mean, if you're bad at chemistry, can the grade for your experiments just be based on how well you handle your test tube (snicker)...because I'd get high marks for that!