Small Talk Can Mean More Than Money : The guy looked ‘homeless’ but the pitch never materialized.

So I’m sitting there, minding my own business, contentedly watching the sun set over the ocean, when I see him out of the corner of my eye.

It’s sunset, my favorite time of the day. I don’t want to be disturbed. So I check my options. Should I shift positions? Cut and run? I opted for ignore mode. That usually does the trick.

“Howdy.”

It didn’t do the trick. I should have cut and run.

But why? Why do I get so edgy and suspicious when I’m approached by strangers? Because they might ask me for something? I’m not a wealthy man, but giving 50 cents or a dollar to someone for whom it may make the difference between whether they eat that day or not is not going to break me.

I have it, they need it. Why not give it to them?

Yet I can be so selfish. Not so much with money--I can give a few simoleons. But ask me to carry on a conversation with this needy stranger, and forget it. Here’s a buck. Now get out of my face. This is my sunset.

However, I didn’t offer and he didn’t get out of my face. Seems he just moved out to the coast from Texas. OK, here it comes--he spent all his money on the move and just needs a little something to tide him over.

But no. He kept talking. He loved the winters in Texas. Only rained three days the entire season. Ah ha, I thought. He lived on the streets. He is a homeless guy. Now he’s going to put the bite on me.

Uh uh. Not yet. When is he going to go for the close? The sob story? Now I’m starting to feel a little uneasy. I can’t figure this guy out. Could I have been wrong about him? His clothes are clean, neat, but he has that weathered appearance. Creased, leather-like skin. Stringy hair. He looks like the homeless “type.”

Tex just kept talking. Talking and smiling. Pleasantly. He was born in San Diego, and just decided he wanted to be near the ocean again.

He held up his hand--OK, here it comes--waved, wished me a good evening and disappeared into the night. And that was it.

I was, of course, secretly hoping he would justify my attitude. Instead, he busted my chops. Maybe, unlike myself, he was homeless. But he was also a just nice guy who knew how to be neighborly. Unlike myself.

So now my shins hurt from being cut down to size and I drove home, tail between my legs. And then I saw him.

The Intersection Guy. Carrying a sign hand-scrawled on a shred of cardboard: “Homeless. Help.” And then in tiny, guilt-inducing letters at the bottom, “God bless.”

Dressed in makeshift clothing, little more than filthy rags. Limping, bedraggled, beaten to a pulp by life. Every time the light changes, Intersection Guy walks out into the middle of the street between the waiting cars, flashing his sign and his desperation.

The creativity of human beings is astounding. Here are at least a dozen people, all finding some unique way to pretend he’s not really there. Cleaning those pesky fingernails. Reading the nonexistent newspaper on the seat beside them.

The poor guy was enormously frustrated and angry. Couldn’t they see how needy he was, how desperate? Which, of course, in our society makes you even more repellent and undesirable.

And me? Yes, sir. I smiled, nodded at him and drove on by.

Then, on guilty second thought, drove back and gave Intersection Guy a bill. You’d think I just handed the fellow the keys to the Lost City of Gold. He was ecstatic. Shook my hands. Stopped traffic. Thanked me profusely. Profusely and genuinely.

As I was driving off, still disinclined to actually have a conversation with the man, I heard a whoop of delight. He must have actually looked at what I gave him. What would he use the money for. Food? Shelter? Drugs? Is it really any of my business?

I think of the old proverb, addressed to kings, giving instructions about the poor: “Give beer to those who are perishing, wine to those who are in anguish and let them drink and forget their poverty and remember their misery no more.”

Now, don’t get me wrong. I don’t advocate alcoholism or drug use, but the point is there, isn’t it? A little comfort wherever they can find it.

And it is my responsibility to provide it, with a look of acknowledgment, a word of encouragement, a dollar or two.

And perhaps even sharing the sunset.