My pocket change stays in my pocket

Krista told me a story the other day about a local "homeless man" who sits on the sidewalk and asks for change in the most annoying voice possible.

Apparently the police spotted him with a brand new bicycle. When confronted the man adamantly declared that the bike was his. The police didn't believe him and impounded the bike anyways. It wasn't until he returned with a proof of purchase, followed up by a confirmation from the store, that he got his bike back. Glad I wasn't one of the suckers who helped him pay for it.

That reminded me of a news story a few years back involving this little old lady on Bloor St. You would see her there all the time, head dressed up in a baboushka, shaking as if she had parkinsons, her arthritic clawed hand stretched out begging for change and a "Please help the homeless" sign propped up on her legs. When it rained she would sometimes have a garbage bag over them. She looked a lot like one of those dried-apple head dolls.

One day a news reporter decided to watch her for a few days. What she discovered was that at the end of each day, this woman's two sons would come pick her up in their brand new vehicle (I think it was an SUV or a truck) and drive her back home where they all lived with their big screen TV. When the reporter and camera man came to her door, they were greeted with a splash of hot water fresh from a pot off the stove.

Needless to say, it made for a great news story. And the old woman never returned to Bloor and Yonge.

Now I would have some sympathy for this poor old woman if she lived alone and was just trying to make ends meet. But when she lives with her sons, who are able to provide for her, there is no justification for scamming innocent, good hearted people. And did I mention that those clawed, arthritic, parkinson's afflicted hands had no problem lifting the large pot of water off the stove, walking it over to the door and empyting it's contents all over the place?