PAYBACK'S A BITCH & HER NAME BEEZ SCRIBE...

I couldn’t believe it when he showed up in the gas station parking lot. At first I didn’t recognize him, but when he started talking, spewing his bullshit spiel, I knew he was the same guy who’d scammed me in front of Walgreen’s six months ago.

I don’t know why my memory of that day is so clear. It was a day like any other, except I guess it wasn’t. I pulled into the parking lot of my local Walgreen’s and got out of the car, shivering as the chilly winter air cut into me from both sides at once. I rolled my eyes as I caught a glimpse of the guy standing in front of the entrance.

Of late, there’d been an awful lot of loitering in front of this store. I’d actually seen a father trying to raise money for his son to fly out for an American Idol audition as the son crooned for our entertainment. This one corner of the world was becoming a living reminder of the bad economy.

But this guy was alone and he wasn’t singing. Instead, he had a prepared speech about himself and his needs. As I approached the door, he grabbed my attention by making sure I knew he wasn’t trying to make me nervous. I wasn’t nervous, just wary.

“’Scuse me, sir.” He smiled. “I’m not tryin’ to walk up on you or nothin’.” He demonstrated this fact by maintaining a respectful distance.

From there, he launched into the tale of a man who’d done stupid things in his youth and paid for them by doing time. Thirteen years in prison, he said. Naturally, he didn’t specify what he’d done. That might cause the listener to recoil in horror or disgust. Vagaries are best in his line of work.

He did have an interesting angle. “I ain’t askin’ you for no money. I just need some food for my daughters. I’m not working. I just got out. I told my wife I’d go out and get some food but lost my money trying to win some more.”

“Really?” I said. I’m sure he could read my body language because he suddenly started speaking even faster.

“I can’t go home without something. Some milk for the baby maybe some food or somethin’.”

“Tell you what,” I said. “I’ll see what I have left over when I’m done an see what I can do for you.”

His eyes lit up. For a moment I thought I was doing a good thing. He thanked me profusely and advised me he’d wait outside.

I took my time in the store. This was during a time when money was tighter than a nun’s ____ and I didn’t relish the idea of an unnecessary expenditure. However, I’d been taught both by my mother and later by my chosen religion not to ignore those who beg. In fact, I was taught to take them at face value because one never knows the real story.
In the freezer section I found a cheaply priced package of corndogs. These, I figured, could stretch to feed his kids. It was all I could do but I was sure he’d appreciate it.

I was a bit surprised to see him still standing outside, shivering as fresh snow blew all over him. He smiled brightly as I approached him. I handed him the corndogs and watched his face fall. A completely different guy took the package from me and thanked me in a half-handed way. I frowned at him for a moment, then walked to my car and pulled out of the parking lot. I glanced in my rearview mirror and saw him again smiling and backing away from some guy trying to enter the store as I pulled into traffic. Briefly considering calling the store manger, I drove home, disgusted and pissed.

Those corndogs had looked delicious.

Six months later, the other night to be exact, at about eleven o’clock I glanced around the gas pump I was using to fill (former EFB’s) car as she waited behind the wheel. Some guy walked toward the station from across the street, a tiny sidekick in tow. As the lights from the surrounding buildings bathed them, I could see an older man a female who looked like she was barely out of her teens.

As I finished gassing up the car, he started yelling, “’Scuse me! ‘Scuse me!”

I didn’t recognize him at first but some instinct told me to ignore him and make him approach me. I looked over as he came closer. He smiled. I knew that smile.

“’Scuse me, sir,” he said. “I’m not walkin’ up on your or nothin’…”

“Uh-huh.” I kept my facial expression neutral.

“I’m unemployed. I was in prison for thirteen years. I’m not askin’ you for no money or nothin’.” He smiled again.

“Oh, I know,” I said.

He paused for a second, as if trying to process the vibe in the air. “Maybe just a can of milk for my daughter?”

“Yeah,” I took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. “You pulled this same scam on me six months ago.”

The look on his face was like food to me; those corndogs couldn’t have possibly been this delicious. He started backing up, his companion making herself scarce as well.

Still smiling, he said, “I’m not workin’.”

“You weren’t workin’ six months ago either!"

Each step he took was a further step backwards, his beady eyes darting around as if seeking the swiftest avenue of escape.

“Pull the con on somebody else, fucking crackhead.”

I got in the car and we pulled off.

It’s funny the small things that make us feel vindicated in life~


(Coming up next: Post#150)