Jeez, it's been a long time
I haven't done Thing a Week in a long time. But I have a few of the old ones kicking around in my notebook. I'm going to start posting them, and hopefully get back into the habit.
(Tim, in Statue of Liberty outfit, waves sign about tax refunds.)
(After a moment, Frank, in old clothes, with a panhandling sign, walks up and joins him)
Frank - How's it going?
Tim - (pause) Uh, fine.
Frank - You've got a good corner here. It pissed a lot of panhandlers off when Freedom Tax opened up and started putting you guys out here. There's a lot of traffic.
Tim - I guess that's probably why they picked it.
Frank - To piss us off?
Tim - No, to-
Frank - I know. (pause) Whew. You got the right idea with that water. It's a scorcher.
Tim - You want some?
Frank - Nah. I'm better off if I look a bit sweaty.
Tim - Oh.
Frank - I don't suppose you get paid extra for that.
Tim - (Taking a drink) No.
Frank - Yeah, they really do give you the perks. Neat costume, you get to drink water, you make your own schedule.
Tim - Well, really it's fixed. Seven to ten and then three to six.
Frank - But you get to decide when to wave the sign and when not to.
Tim - We're supposed to wave it the whole time.
Frank - Aha.
Tim - But nobody does.
Frank - Slackers.
Tim - Well you're hardly morose or diseased enough to be a proper hobo.
Frank - Hobos are a whole 'nuther class. Shows what you know. But morose and diseased are easy to fake. Tuck one hand inside your sleeve and try to wave the sign with just the other. You'll get a lot more people. Not that it'll do you much good.
Tim - No thanks.
Frank - And morose is easy.
Tim - Could you demonstrate it for a few minutes, then?
Frank - Why? Looks like you've got the hang of it already. (pause. Takes a quarter from a passing car) Slow day.
Tim - You know, Freedom Tax is hiring.
Frank - It's not that slow a day.
Tim - It's a paycheck.
Frank - I can do better than that.
Tim - Whaddya mean?
Frank - What do they pay you, minimum wage?
Tim - Yeah.
Frank - I make more than that.
Tim - No you don't. (p) Do you?
Frank - It varies, but I average nine or ten. Seven or eight on the crappier corners.
Tim - Well then you hardly need a good corner, do you.
Frank - Jeez. So much for 'Give me your tired, your poor.'
Tim - If you make more money than me, you're not poor.
Frank - On the whole we're both poor, kid.
Tim - I have a job-
Frank - We have the same job.
Tim - You don't have a job.
Frank - Our job, you and I, is to make people glad they're not us. It's a pretty common job, especially in places that love to be miserable, like New York. It's not the best, maybe, but you keep at it and you'll get better.
Tim - Look, my job might be shitty, but it's honest. You're taking sympathy away from people who actually deserve it.
Frank - If people in our line of work really deserve sympathy, that just means they have a natural advantage. If God's gonna help em out like that then they don't need any of my help.
Tim - How is God on their side? You know what, nevermind. Just be quiet.
Frank - Suit yourself. (pause. Frank gets some more change.)
Tim - Don't you ever talk to people who have earned some sympathy? Actual homeless people?
Frank - It's hard to tell, you know?
Tim - No, I don't know.
Frank - Nobody wants to sound fake. And even the real ones, you can't stay pathetic all the time. It's too much work, trying to keep all that pain on the outside without feeling it inside. Something's gotta give. Everybody's got a mask. Yours is fancier than ours, though.
Tim - It's a hat, not a mask.
Frank - Well it's easy to take off. You hide behind that, you go home and you're someone different.
Tim - You chose to do this.
Frank - Just like you chose this.
Tim - For now, yeah. I chose to put on the hat and make some sacrifices and make some money. It sucks but I'm not hurting anyone but myself.
Frank - So you understand pain and I don't, is that it?
Tim - I take this on myself. You don't.
Frank - Maybe life has already dished out enough for me. Not that you give a damn. As long as I make more than you I'm just a leech.
Tim - Why don't you tell me?
Frank - Tell you what?
Tim - What was so hard for you.
Frank - Nah, I'm sure you had it worse. Your girlfriend dumped you, you got grounded-
Tim - Just answer me.
Frank - No thanks, kid.
Tim - You tell me and you can have the corner.
Frank - Until they send the next lady liberty out here.
Tim - I don't have anything else to give unless you want my hat.
Frank (pause) - I owned a business. Down on 38th. A restaurant, Pinionelli's. I don't suppose you ever went there.
Tim - No.
Frank - Well neither did anyone else. A few. I had a couple regulars. Bill, and old man who always the center table, the good table, even though it was just him. He sat there by himself, kept a seat open for his wife who'd been dead for fifteen years. He always asked me when I was gonna get married, I'd say 'as soon as your granddaughter's old enough'.
She probably is, now.
But the place is gone. I barely broke even at all, and when it got bad and I was all set to do a 'save the store' thing, Bill died. And it was gone.
That's the real world, kid. It knocks you over and keeps on rolling. Wearing that dress is a cake walk. You've never been knocked down like that.
Tim - Not like that, no.
Frank - So get lost.
Tim - It's not too late.
Frank - Don't start with me. You've been lucky, so take your luck and get out of here.
Tim - You're right, everybody gets hit. Not as hard as you, maybe, but everybody gets knocked down. And you either pick yourself or you lie there.
Frank - You don't know a goddamn thing. Get lost. Go.
Tim - So much for yearning to breathe free. (He leaves, leaving his water bottle behind. After a long, long pause, Frank picks up the water bottle, takes a drink, and leaves the corner.)
(Tim, in Statue of Liberty outfit, waves sign about tax refunds.)
(After a moment, Frank, in old clothes, with a panhandling sign, walks up and joins him)
Frank - How's it going?
Tim - (pause) Uh, fine.
Frank - You've got a good corner here. It pissed a lot of panhandlers off when Freedom Tax opened up and started putting you guys out here. There's a lot of traffic.
Tim - I guess that's probably why they picked it.
Frank - To piss us off?
Tim - No, to-
Frank - I know. (pause) Whew. You got the right idea with that water. It's a scorcher.
Tim - You want some?
Frank - Nah. I'm better off if I look a bit sweaty.
Tim - Oh.
Frank - I don't suppose you get paid extra for that.
Tim - (Taking a drink) No.
Frank - Yeah, they really do give you the perks. Neat costume, you get to drink water, you make your own schedule.
Tim - Well, really it's fixed. Seven to ten and then three to six.
Frank - But you get to decide when to wave the sign and when not to.
Tim - We're supposed to wave it the whole time.
Frank - Aha.
Tim - But nobody does.
Frank - Slackers.
Tim - Well you're hardly morose or diseased enough to be a proper hobo.
Frank - Hobos are a whole 'nuther class. Shows what you know. But morose and diseased are easy to fake. Tuck one hand inside your sleeve and try to wave the sign with just the other. You'll get a lot more people. Not that it'll do you much good.
Tim - No thanks.
Frank - And morose is easy.
Tim - Could you demonstrate it for a few minutes, then?
Frank - Why? Looks like you've got the hang of it already. (pause. Takes a quarter from a passing car) Slow day.
Tim - You know, Freedom Tax is hiring.
Frank - It's not that slow a day.
Tim - It's a paycheck.
Frank - I can do better than that.
Tim - Whaddya mean?
Frank - What do they pay you, minimum wage?
Tim - Yeah.
Frank - I make more than that.
Tim - No you don't. (p) Do you?
Frank - It varies, but I average nine or ten. Seven or eight on the crappier corners.
Tim - Well then you hardly need a good corner, do you.
Frank - Jeez. So much for 'Give me your tired, your poor.'
Tim - If you make more money than me, you're not poor.
Frank - On the whole we're both poor, kid.
Tim - I have a job-
Frank - We have the same job.
Tim - You don't have a job.
Frank - Our job, you and I, is to make people glad they're not us. It's a pretty common job, especially in places that love to be miserable, like New York. It's not the best, maybe, but you keep at it and you'll get better.
Tim - Look, my job might be shitty, but it's honest. You're taking sympathy away from people who actually deserve it.
Frank - If people in our line of work really deserve sympathy, that just means they have a natural advantage. If God's gonna help em out like that then they don't need any of my help.
Tim - How is God on their side? You know what, nevermind. Just be quiet.
Frank - Suit yourself. (pause. Frank gets some more change.)
Tim - Don't you ever talk to people who have earned some sympathy? Actual homeless people?
Frank - It's hard to tell, you know?
Tim - No, I don't know.
Frank - Nobody wants to sound fake. And even the real ones, you can't stay pathetic all the time. It's too much work, trying to keep all that pain on the outside without feeling it inside. Something's gotta give. Everybody's got a mask. Yours is fancier than ours, though.
Tim - It's a hat, not a mask.
Frank - Well it's easy to take off. You hide behind that, you go home and you're someone different.
Tim - You chose to do this.
Frank - Just like you chose this.
Tim - For now, yeah. I chose to put on the hat and make some sacrifices and make some money. It sucks but I'm not hurting anyone but myself.
Frank - So you understand pain and I don't, is that it?
Tim - I take this on myself. You don't.
Frank - Maybe life has already dished out enough for me. Not that you give a damn. As long as I make more than you I'm just a leech.
Tim - Why don't you tell me?
Frank - Tell you what?
Tim - What was so hard for you.
Frank - Nah, I'm sure you had it worse. Your girlfriend dumped you, you got grounded-
Tim - Just answer me.
Frank - No thanks, kid.
Tim - You tell me and you can have the corner.
Frank - Until they send the next lady liberty out here.
Tim - I don't have anything else to give unless you want my hat.
Frank (pause) - I owned a business. Down on 38th. A restaurant, Pinionelli's. I don't suppose you ever went there.
Tim - No.
Frank - Well neither did anyone else. A few. I had a couple regulars. Bill, and old man who always the center table, the good table, even though it was just him. He sat there by himself, kept a seat open for his wife who'd been dead for fifteen years. He always asked me when I was gonna get married, I'd say 'as soon as your granddaughter's old enough'.
She probably is, now.
But the place is gone. I barely broke even at all, and when it got bad and I was all set to do a 'save the store' thing, Bill died. And it was gone.
That's the real world, kid. It knocks you over and keeps on rolling. Wearing that dress is a cake walk. You've never been knocked down like that.
Tim - Not like that, no.
Frank - So get lost.
Tim - It's not too late.
Frank - Don't start with me. You've been lucky, so take your luck and get out of here.
Tim - You're right, everybody gets hit. Not as hard as you, maybe, but everybody gets knocked down. And you either pick yourself or you lie there.
Frank - You don't know a goddamn thing. Get lost. Go.
Tim - So much for yearning to breathe free. (He leaves, leaving his water bottle behind. After a long, long pause, Frank picks up the water bottle, takes a drink, and leaves the corner.)