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Who’s camping on my doorstep? |
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Compassion has
its limits, especially when trying to run a business. For example,
consider the homeless problem.
It’s a hot topic these days, and
everyone seems to be searching for a solution. There are homeless people
who are desperately seeking help and deserve to find it. My compassion for
this group is boundless.
There’s another group of homeless,
though, who flirt with your compassion because they would generally push
you away if you offered anything besides a handout. These are the
alcoholics, the occasionally loveable drunks, and they seem to be
increasing in number in the area where my retail businesses are.
This is no skid row, by any means. On
the contrary, it’s one of the highest rent districts in the country,
primarily because of its exceptional foot traffic.
And bums, surviving on handouts, thrive
on people. Like retailers, the key to being a successful bum is location,
location, location.
Be compassionate, be compassionate.
Those were my thoughts last Saturday
morning when I investigated a commotion in front of my largest store.
Standing in the middle of the main entrance was one of my favorite bums,
who is a regular comedian on most days, entertaining pedestrians with
one-liners picked up from years of bumming.
This was of one of those days. Dressed
in his usual rags, he was obviously having a very bad morning.
"You’re nothing but a (expletive
deleted times 17) punk," he slurred, wild-eyed.
I looked in the direction he was
shouting, but there was no punk to be seen. He may have been seeing an
army of punks, but it was his personal vision.
A pleasant looking older couple,
perhaps tourists from Omaha, walked by. Maybe they were shoppers, maybe
not. I’ll never know, because after my former favorite street person
levied a barrage of gutter language toward them, they quickly walked on.
Now I’m no marketing genius, but I’d
guess it’s not good for business to have a bum in your store entrance
shouting obscenities at every prospective customer who walks by.
Trusting my instincts, I politely asked
him if he’d mind taking his act on the road. And I’m sure he would
have if he had stopped his vulgar rambling long enough to listen.
After 10 minutes or so of watching
people cross the street to avoid his verbal barrage and my store entrance,
I called the police. By the time they arrived, of course, the street
person had gone to follow his invisible punk somewhere else.
He’d be back, though. In fact, I saw
him later in the day, hanging out with a bunch of his bum buddies around
the corner. They were laughing, having a grand old time. I don’t know if
they were drinking.
I do know they weren’t starving. One
of them had a big, white, very healthy looking dog as a companion. I
couldn’t help but notice the dog munching away on a plate of what I
swear was beef stroganoff. Meanwhile, the bums chatted away.
Maybe it wasn’t beef stroganoff, but
is sure wasn’t dog food. All I know is that while the bums seemed
uninterested in the dog’s lunch, it made me very hungry.
Be Compassionate, be compassionate.
Beginning to worry that the bums of the
world would hold their next convention on my corner, I talked to the
police about what could be done about the infusion of "happy
bums" in my area.
Very little, I was told. They can
loiter, they can panhandle, they can sleep on a bench. Unless they are
doing something specifically illegal, such as public drunkenness,
blocking an entrance or erecting a tent on a public sidewalk, there was
nothing the police could do.
Being jobless and homeless is certainly
no crime. These characters may not be good for business, but they have
every right to be where they choose.
And waiting around for them to do
something illegal certainly isn’t the practical answer. During our last
cold snap, we caught a local bum stealing a jacket from one of our
clothing stores. Before calling the police, we asked him why he did it.
"Because I was freezing," he
replied sadly but matter of factly.
Showing that reluctant compassion, we
issued a strict warning, let him go and gave him the jacket. Who knows, he
may be in our doorway soon, greeting customers. At least he’ll be better
dressed than the last guy. |
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