The Scottish Exodus

The Savoy Sitter (Or: Confessions of a Person Who Always Walks on the Other Side of the Street

I don’t like to walk too close to homeless people who sit on the ground begging for change. There’s one guy who sits in front of the Savoy Shopping Centre who keeps his beanie pulled two inches above his eyes: all you see of his face is a spotty goatee and red nostrils. He presses his back up against the brick, sitting back on his heels. He watches the breath squeeze between his lips and freeze in the air. And he’s got a little dog—a mutt—who he wraps in a tartan scarf and sits on a blanket in front of him. Sometimes I walk on the other side of the street to avoid the guy and his dog.

I do hate dogs, but that’s beside the point. I’m not even trying to avoid the guy; I have to. I’d give him some change if he wasn’t sitting down camped out in front of the Savoy as regular a fixture as a lamp post. I always get the sense that sitting panhandlers will try to grab my ankles if I walk too close—not that they’ll chase after me, but rather that they might reach out and snap my Achilles tendon like a twig. They could take me down and steal my money. Maybe the guy who camps out at the Savoy has trained his rabid dog to recognize Americans and to steal their 20 lb. Notes. It would be a team effort: I’d walk by the Savoy Sitter and his dog, swinging my Marks and Spencer bag; the salivating dog would clamp his teeth into my ankle and take me to the ground; and the Savoy Sitter would make way for my 20 lb. Notes and my Marks and Spencer bag (as it would contain their lovely organic vegetarian range).

I have no fear of standing panhandlers or your average Big Issue seller. In fact, sometimes I admire their ploys. There’s one guy who sells the Big Issue in front of Sainsbury’s and I buy his issues because he reminds me of Oliver holding up his porridge bowl asking for more. The difference between the Big Issue seller and the Savoy Sitter is that the former is actually developing customer relations skills: looking the customer in the eye, developing creative sales pitches, etc. ; and the latter, well, is a dormant mushroom that resists being kicked over. The Big Issue seller doesn’t pose the same low-crouching dark threat. I just give the seller 1 lb. Coin, take the magazine, and go on my way. No devious plan, just an open exchange of goods. The Savoy Sitter, however, rubs his scaly hands together in anticipation of his next victim.

This past Monday, I almost didn’t go outside because there was a panhandler sitting in the entranceway to my apartment complex. He had long stringy hair, beat-up Adidas trainers, and was holding the same old cardboard sign bearing some doom-filled slogan. I hesitated at the front door for a long time, but went out anyway—making sure my feet drew a large circle around him.

When I came back, the guy was still there—sitting. “Please can I have some change?” he asked. I shook my head, quickly unlocked the entry door, and looked back to make sure he didn’t follow me into the doorway on all fours like a pet waiting to be tossed a biscuit. I took the stairs two at a time to make sure he wasn’t following me. I flung the door open and thought for an instant about what I wanted for lunch. Then I thought again that if I were an easier person who didn’t feel that open staircases are dangerous canyons; and that all alleyways—even well-lit ones—are lairs for rapists; that I would make two sandwiches and go downstairs to sit next to the panhandler so we could offer one another some shelter in the rain.

Andrea K. Devenney

Copyright ©Andrea K. Devenney, 2009, all rights reserved.