Fitty cent

I am often amazed with panhandlers in New York. It seems like the saying "beggars can't be choosers" doesn't apply here sometimes. Recently, I was walking on Houston Street, right next to Whole Foods near the Bowery, and a homeless guy was asking people for "81 cents for a cup of soup" (where do you get a soup for 81 cents in New York City? Wish I would have asked him). Very exact, wouldn't you say? On the one hand I have to hand it to him (pun intended) - he did sound like he needed a cup of soup and didn't ask for a dollar, which was nice. But as a potential money-giver I wanted to ask him: isn't it too much? I mean, i understand that guy was hungry, and needed EXACTLY 81 cents, but... I don't know, if I were to give him money, I would not want him to tell me how much exactly to give. What if I gave him 25 cents instead? Would he tell me: "Sorry, miss, but that's not enough"?
Which reminds me of a story A., my ex-roommate had told me. She was on a subway, going to work, drinking her first cup of coffee when a homeless woman walked in.
"Ladies and gentlemen, sorry for the interruption. I'm homeless with two kids, and am basically just trying to get by. If you find it in your heart, please give me some money, cup of coffee, or a bagel, anything would be highly appreciated." And she did her round extending the hand. A. didn't have any change, but "in her heart" found that she could share her coffee, so gave it to the woman. What was her reaction? Cursing and throwing the coffee away at the next stop. She didn't want coffee, nor bagel - she wanted money. That's why I think in New York, the ole saying should go: "Beggars can be choosers, and watch out if you give them something they don't ask for".

Lovebirds

Sunday in Williamsburg

Tips of the day

Tips are important in my line of work. I work FOR tips, cause my daily wage would not buy me the proverbial slice of bread (at least in Polish proverb, although bread would have to be American). So as a bartender I am basically a salesperson working on commission. The better I perform, the more I can potentially gain. And, as I'm sure is on every salesperson's path there are certain obstacles. Sometimes I have to make very immoral choices.
Like for example when a customer is fresh with me. If he's not too drunk, then I can maybe tell him off, which would mean zero or minimal tip. But I am relieved he'd left, and beside I think it's a small price to pay - a dollar to get rid of a jerk. Now when he's loaded - situation changes dramatically. First - if he's that bombed it means he must have spent some time with you, and you're partially responsible for his stage. Which also means he's probably bored you to death with his stories, or you had a really great connection but there was some miscommunication in his brain cells and he's turned into an a-hole, or at least a whiner. Remember, I am a salesperson - I depend on my commission, so I would like to be gratified for my effort and time I could have spent on somebody else. That's why I take full advantage of our die-hard regular Dave Johnson, who asks me every time I pour him a beer: "Miss, did I tip you already?" (We've known each other for over 3 years, but still, as a joke he pretends he doesn't remember my name - or maybe he really doesn't, who knows.) "No, Dave, you didn't." - is the answer of course, as it just so happens that, depending on stage of his intoxication, Dave forgets to tip quite frequently.
So I always appreciate when people ask me if they tipped me or, in case of tourists, how does the "tipping system" in New York work. Of course I also appreciate good tippers (who leave me two dollars after buying one drink, those who leave me a tenner when I buy them a round, and also those who not only tip well but are also a good company. Who knows, maybe I could own something someday thanks to them.
But I also appreciate this guy J., who hates me for no reason. He comes in and says hello to everybody in the bar except me. And I'm behind the bar, so I HAVE to talk to him, even for a brief moment. "Stella," he barks in my direction, trying to avoid eye contact. I pour him one (I pretend I never remember what he drinks, just this little game I play with him to amuse myself) and he pays. Clean, easy, fast. And you know what? Even though I don't really like him myself, I kind of respect him. Cause he always leaves me a dollar. Thanks.