Bums, or rather local entrepreneurs, heavily man (and woman) the busiest intersections of St. Pete and I assume every major metropolitan area of the country. You can't walk or drive a block around here without seeing them. The job/scam/endeavor has given rise to many discussions here amongst family about these people who stand and panhandle motorists. These women and men have been well documented by the local newspaper and gave us some interesting insights into their "profession".
This is an article from the St. Pete Times (Lane DeGregory) detailing the art of 'flying'. Flying is a term to describe holding a cardboard sign designed to get a passing motorist to give you money.
Excerpts:
A. "After a while, you learn what works," said Roderick Couch, 28. He was in a wheelchair outside a St. Petersburg Wal-Mart last week, clutching a sign that said, "Disabled." The word was in quotation marks, as if the writer were crossing his fingers. Couch limps but can walk 100 blocks of U.S. 19 in a day. He hasn't worked since he got out of jail.
His girlfriend, Jazmine Saldana, 24, held her own banner: Homeless. No quotation marks, but maybe there should have been. Since the couple started panhandling in November, they have had enough money to sleep in a motel all but one night.
B. Panhandlers say: If someone else is waiting to fly a sign, you have to rotate out every half-hour. If you leave to get a drink, you forfeit your shift.
C. Though their signs say they're homeless, few panhandlers seem to sleep outside. Most make at least enough for a can of beer, a piece of chicken and a cheap motel room. The typical daily take falls between $60 and $100.
D. Ogdee, outside the Bayshore Publix, sets his weekly quota at $800. His income has never fallen short in the four months he has held "Homeless. Anything helps. God bless!" (For you guys without a calculator that comes to around $41,000 a year, tax free.)
E. "I don't need much. So I don't have to stay out here long," said Jeffrey Buzzard, 49, who lives behind a St. Petersburg church. In the back of his dirty camouflage shorts, he carries three signs. His morning pitch says "Layed off." His evening placard: "No work today." Like he tried. On Sunday, he flies: "Got God? Need daily bread."
Other professional panhandlers swear by the two-sign minimum. You have to watch the cars, switch it up. When Cliff Stewart sees an older driver at 22nd Avenue N, he holds: "Homeless Vet." For people who look like they party, he has: "Why lie? I need beer. God bless!"
God and beer. If you don't like one, he says, you're bound to like the other. And you'd be surprised how many people love both.
This is an article from the St. Pete Times (Lane DeGregory) detailing the art of 'flying'. Flying is a term to describe holding a cardboard sign designed to get a passing motorist to give you money.
Excerpts:
A. "After a while, you learn what works," said Roderick Couch, 28. He was in a wheelchair outside a St. Petersburg Wal-Mart last week, clutching a sign that said, "Disabled." The word was in quotation marks, as if the writer were crossing his fingers. Couch limps but can walk 100 blocks of U.S. 19 in a day. He hasn't worked since he got out of jail.
His girlfriend, Jazmine Saldana, 24, held her own banner: Homeless. No quotation marks, but maybe there should have been. Since the couple started panhandling in November, they have had enough money to sleep in a motel all but one night.
B. Panhandlers say: If someone else is waiting to fly a sign, you have to rotate out every half-hour. If you leave to get a drink, you forfeit your shift.
C. Though their signs say they're homeless, few panhandlers seem to sleep outside. Most make at least enough for a can of beer, a piece of chicken and a cheap motel room. The typical daily take falls between $60 and $100.
D. Ogdee, outside the Bayshore Publix, sets his weekly quota at $800. His income has never fallen short in the four months he has held "Homeless. Anything helps. God bless!" (For you guys without a calculator that comes to around $41,000 a year, tax free.)
E. "I don't need much. So I don't have to stay out here long," said Jeffrey Buzzard, 49, who lives behind a St. Petersburg church. In the back of his dirty camouflage shorts, he carries three signs. His morning pitch says "Layed off." His evening placard: "No work today." Like he tried. On Sunday, he flies: "Got God? Need daily bread."
Other professional panhandlers swear by the two-sign minimum. You have to watch the cars, switch it up. When Cliff Stewart sees an older driver at 22nd Avenue N, he holds: "Homeless Vet." For people who look like they party, he has: "Why lie? I need beer. God bless!"
God and beer. If you don't like one, he says, you're bound to like the other. And you'd be surprised how many people love both.
There are two schools of thought:
1. I give them what I might have on me, loose change. "There but by the grace of God go I."
2. I don't give them money and I think they are scamming S.O.B.'s who debase themselves by begging. Get a job like the rest of us.
Where are you?
PART 2 TOMORROW
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