Last Friday my friends and I drove into downtown Portland to go to one of our regular bars, the Tube. The Tube is located in the Chinatown neighborhood next to a nightclub with stripper poles called Dirty and a nightclub with a mechanical bull called Dixey. This area has one of the highest densities of clubs and bars in Portland. It also has the highest density of homeless people. (They used to be called bums, vagabonds, and wastrels in less sensitive times. Now some people suggest that it is more appropriate to refer to them as the housing challenged.)

Homeless are drawn to chinatown because there are many shelters and soup kitchens in this area and because it is a prime spot for panhandling. There is a lot of foot traffick, and most of these walkers have disposable income and are intoxicated, two factors which make panhandling at least marginally profitable in this area.

On this particular night we were walking past a bus stop on Burnside and second. While we were waiting for the light to turn a man at the bus stop turned to me and asked if I could spare some change. I noticed that, at the same time he was asking me for money, he was sending a text message on his iphone. Obviously this man was not housing challenged, unless he mortgaged his house for the opportunity to check his e-mail and facebook on the go. Reflexively I replied, “sorry man.” This is my normal response when people hit me up for cash. Generally I don’t give money to people who on the street because it doesn’t seem fair to give to some and not others, and I’m certainly not forking over cash to everyone who asks me for some. A moment after I delivered my knee-jerk response my mental gears started spinning and I asked myself, “why does a guy with an iphone need money from me?” Galvanized by the absurdity of this situation I turned around and asked him, “So, how much money are you trying to get? Do you have bus fare?”

“Naw man,” he said. “I need to get $1.50 for the bus.”

“Well good luck” I told him as the signal changed and we crossed the street.

Later in the night after enjoying a set of house beats and classic hip-hop tunes by resident dj, Dr. Adam, my friends and I stepped outside for a cigarette. We were approached by a man in a wheelchair who asked us if we could spare a dollar. One of my friends reached in to his wallet and handed him a dollar. My curiosity piqued by my earlier encounter with the man at the bus stop I decided to question this fellow about his life and his needs. One always assumes that a panhandler is either using the money you give him for necessities like food or to feed another necessity for some people, a drug addiction. But after the iphone encounter I realized that there could be a multitude of reasons for panhandling such as being unprepared for practical concerns. Maybe some people start panhandling because they’re bored and then realize that they have a talent for it. I could even imagine panhandling as a dating strategy, “hey you got a dollar? While you’re at it can I get your number too?” But, let’s put hypotheticals aside and get back to the dialogue…

ME: It’s pretty cold out here isn’t it?

Dude: Yeah, it is, really cold.

ME: Do you have a place to sleep tonight?

Dude: No, no I don’t.

ME: Are there shelters around here where you can sleep?

Dude: Yeah there is but there’s long lines and you have to wait hours to get in.

ME: Wow, that’s a long time. You have to wait for hours?

Dude: Yeah, well like an hour. They fill up fast.

ME: And are there places you can get food?

Dude: Yeah, there’s cafeterias. But they don’t have much variety.

ME: What do you prefer, eating at those places or panhandling.

Dude: Panhandling. They don’t give you any selection at those places. You have to eat what they serve, noodles and sauce. When I panhandle I get to eat what I want.

ME: What’s your favorite place to eat?

Dude: Izzy’s. I love Izzy’s. Ten bucks and you get all the pizza and ice cream you can eat.

Me: Oh, yeah that’s a good deal. How about Chipotle, do you like Chipotle?

Dude: Naw, it’s ok. I at there yesterday and they don’t put that much meat in their burritos.

…

At this point my friends had finished smoking and were headed back into the bar so I cut the conversation short. I wished the man a good night and returned to the music and merriment.

I’ve found recently that it’s pretty fun to strike up random conversations with folks, especially folks that have a lot of time on their hands. People that aren’t in a hurry give you detailed and sometimes personal stories. Often these can be people in service capacities such as waiters, cashiers, and people who give out free samples. My friend Shoshone liked to chat up people who campaigned for political campaigns and religious groups. These people can be pretty interesting but you have to be able to not be bothered by their constant attempts to convert you or conscript you.

This particular conversation gave me some more insight into poverty and its many forms. Firstly, there is visible poverty and invisible poverty. The most visible poverty is that which is right in front of your face. The man who stands in front of you asking for a quarter or a dollar. But there are many forms of invisible poverty. I didn’t encounter any of the homeless people that night who chose to sleep in shelters because they were already inside for the night. There are also many people who are poor to the point that they cannot afford food or other basic needs but who have some form of housing, often provided by relatives. There are those that are too proud for charity, who will not ask for help even when they need it. Then there are others who are working poor. Perhaps they have enough money to make ends-meet but are living in bad environments or in pain. One of my coworkers at Jakes has been catering for 30 years. He has persistant shooting pains traveling from his right hand to his right elbow which are a direct consequence of carrying heavy trays over and over and over again. But, without health insurance, there’s little he can do to treat his injury.

Another point that really hit home after talking with this man was that panhandling is a lifestyle choice. Perhaps not in cities like Los Angeles where social services do not provide much support for the poor, but in liberal cities like Portland where there are plenty of agencies who provide for the needy, someone panhandles because they choose to. One can some obvious examples of this walking past Powell’s books on Burnside. There’s often a woman who juggles balls and scarves or a man who wears punk clothes with patches and has a cat on a leash. I would guess that these young people come from relatively stable and prosperous families but are attracted to the idea of floating around from city to city, living hand-to-mouth and day-to-day. These are the Kerouacian panhandlers. My buddy Ben informed me that they are called ‘Crusties.’ Once winter and its attendant rains arrive they quickly disappear from the streets, probably back to their parent’s basements.