Here are a couple of local business people plying/flying their signs. All the signs have the same basic tenets: hard times, hungry, homeless, god-bless, vet, and lost job. The gentleman in the lower picture unfortunately uses hunger as a hook, but he certainly looks well-fed.
From a St. Pete Times article by Lane DeGregory:
A. Your sign is your voice. You have only a few words to get sympathy at a stoplight.
Scrawl your messages in magic marker on the back of a Listerine box or a pilfered "Home for Sale" placard. Highlight your words with crayons. End your pleas with three exclamation points.
Are you homeless? A vet? A single dad? A widow? Do you have an ailing mother or pet? All the above?
One guy parades his limping dog. Another says he sends half his money to his 2-year-old son. One admits he stays out just long enough to collect enough for smokes and a six-pack.
B. Two debates divide the panhandling community: Stay on one corner or float? Wheelchair or walker?
If you always work the same sidewalk, regulars get to know you. If you float from spot to spot, your face — and your story — stay fresh.
Some say wheelchairs increase people's pity. But if you're in a chair, you can't get to the cars. Wheelchair Dave, they say, did better with his cane.
"A lot of people out here aren't sincere," said Roderick Couch, the "disabled" ex-con. "That messes it up for the rest of us."
According to Couch, there are low-class panhandlers "who sleep outside and won't even clean themselves." And high-class panhandlers "who might even work a little on the side, so they don't really need your money."
"Me and Jazmine," he said, "we're middle-class. We believe in washing our clothes and our butts. We got morals."
Like everyone else interviewed, they have criminal records. He served time for stealing from the Spring Hill IHOP where he worked. His girlfriend was arrested for prostitution.
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.
Couch and Saldana say they each collect about $80 a day, more than they would make flipping burgers or stocking shelves. They don't have to punch a clock, ask for a lunch break or pay taxes. "A while back, a woman gave us $400," Couch said. "Tell me where you can make that in a day."
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!"
"I'm paid a week in advance on my rent," he said. "I got a load of food in my motel fridge."
He insists he's not panhandling. "I'm not asking for nothing. I'm just holding a sign."
So what does he call it? He laughs.
"Making money."
There are certainly programs, safe-houses, and soup kitchens to assist the hard luck citizen. But who wouldn't want to make $40,000 by standing on a street corner? Well, me for one. What price are you willing to pay to make a living begging?
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