"I want the truth!" / "You can't handle life's responsibilities!"

As a frequent walker of the 16th Street Mall in Denver, I've naturally witnessed my fair share of change-centric interactions between the homeless and the homed, and for the most part they are surprisingly respectful on both ends. Sure, most of the homed do the cursory pocket-pat for change they very likely have, followed by "Sorry, I don't have anything," but you can't give to everyone, and at least they're not being assholes about it. And plenty of people do stop and give something, which will typically prompt the homeless person to say "God bless you" as a kind of metaphysical receipt for the kind gesture (a receipt which can presumably be used as a tax write-off in front of Jesus someday to counteract the time you accidentally made the toilet overflow in that bookstore and then just ran away like some cowardly, plumbing-destroying bioterrorist). It might not sound all that heartwarming, but considering that I've heard the following interaction between a Greenpeace canvasser and a guy walking the Mall...:

Greenpeace Canvasser:  Hey, bro, can you stop and chat for a minute?
Guy Walking the Mall: Go fuck yourself.

...I'll take it.

Generally, I give my change away freely, not only because I know I don't need it as much as the other guy, but also because I don't fucking want it. I hate change. I hate the jingle every time you step, and how it makes your hand smell all metallic every time you reach into your pockets, and how it always finds a way to trickle out any time your legs aren't at a 90-degree angle to the ground. I'll sometimes give a few dollars when I have cash, but I'll give all of my change every time. I would give my change to a serial killer and think afterward, "Serves him right."

So imagine my surprise a few weeks ago when I - fresh off of giving a guy the remainder of my change on my way to lunch - was approached on my way back by a different guy, asking if I could spare something for the bus. "Sorry, man. I just gave all my change to someone across the street," I said, pointing in the general direction of my earlier benevolence. Foolishly expecting this to be the end of the interaction, I started to walk away. Then, behind me, I heard an accusatory "Where? Where?", and I turned around to find the homeless guy surveying the area to which I had just pointed, looking for a panhandler he obviously presumed to be fictional. "I don't see him. Where is he?" And I will grant him this: the other guy wasn't there anymore - a fact which to him seemed akin to catching me contradicting myself on the witness stand. If he had suspenders he would have been tugging on them and rocking back on his heels, but he settled for the kind of supercilious smirk that you rarely see on a homeless dude. I wanted to point out to him that human beings are not typically bolted down like mailboxes, and are in fact capable of a good deal of movement in a ten minute span; or that it's pretty audacious for a guy who just used the old "for the bus" line to call ME a liar; or to maybe just pull out my pockets and show him my empty wallet for his edification. But then I realized that I was about to flout one of the absolute truths of life: it is never worth it to argue with someone who has fewer teeth than you have fingers. So I just walked away. And in case this story makes you think that I behaved like an adult, you should know that later on I wondered whether he was off somewhere telling this story to his friend and making me sound like some colossal dickhead whom he put in his place for being a liar. Then I imagined that his friend was a dirty mop in an alley. Which is kind of a mean thing to think, because mops are very bad listeners.