Beggars' Pride

Arnold woke up alone. The brisk morning found him lying under his nylon sleeping bag on a pile of cardboard. Today he was using a grocery bag full of used grocery bags as his pillow. Despite the cold, it looked like it would be a beautiful day. Arnold lived under a bridge on the outskirts of town. It was mostly quiet, and the river kept him company. 

He folded up his sleeping bag and set it neatly on the ledge, did the same with his bed and pillow. Arnold knew that hygiene was important for appearances. So he took his toiletry bag out of his retro external frame backpack he found at goodwill. Arnold shaved his scruff with a disposable razor in the mirror attached to the strut of his bridge home. He brushed his teeth and then went down to the river with a hunk of soap to wash his face, armpits, and groin. 

Afterward, he got dressed and hid away his camp supplies while packing up toiletries, an extra set of clothes, a first aid kit, and documentation. Everything fit nicely into his pack, and he left room for supplies from town. He departed, leaving no indication that he slept there the previous night or any of the nights for the past few years. He climbed up the bank to the road and began the trek into town. 

Arnold was an unhoused man, but he made that nobody's problem but his own. He wasn't born on the streets like a lot of his comrades. He just grew up in a home where he couldn't be his true self. When he graduated high school nearly ten years ago and went to college, Arnold thought he might be able to embrace his sexuality. When he came out, his family was vehemently against his "decision." They cut off all support. Losing his family sent Arnold into a downward spiral of depression, substance abuse, and self-pity that eventually alienated him from everyone he knew. He had nowhere else to go.

Arnold knew he hit rock bottom when he crawled into the local soup kitchen to have a meal and was turned away for refusing to pray. He was determined to be self-sufficient from then on. With some work, he got clean and learned which dumpsters and trashcans typically had edible food. He internalized the old saying: "It is a beggar's pride that he is not a thief."

Because one cannot survive on crumbs and wrappers, Arnold would supplement his finds by posting up at a street corner. He was heading there now. It wasn't too busy, just an intersection near downtown with the right mix of foot traffic and a predictable traffic signal. He would hold up a sign and smile, greet passersby, offer them directions if they needed. All-in-all, he was more help than a nuisance. He kept up good relationships with local businesses by never harassing their customers or soliciting on their property. 

Today his sign said: "Insolvent and trying to solve it, anything helps."

He had made the sign earlier that week and used it a couple of times. It didn't have as much appeal as some of his others, but he thought it was brilliant and was proud of its neatness.

Arnold had regular "clients" people who would say hi if they saw him and give him their change or a couple of bucks; some would bring food. Then Arnold had the "fancy pants" people. For some reason, they thought they were better than him for being religious, having a home, or having a job. They would often shift conversations toward things he "must have done wrong" or how there's a shelter right up the street. These were the types who would not give him anything but a pamphlet or a bible verse then act as if they had given him the keys to a mansion. Arnold detested these people because they refused to respect him as a human being on a fundamental level. 

Arnold finished his walk into town and set up shop at his corner. He noticed a box sitting on a waist-high brick wall that had: "for Arnold from Alex" written on it in marker, so he opened it up, and inside were a few pastries. Alex was a non-binary barista from up the block who was friendly with Arnold; they had had some good conversations and agreed on many things. They must have set it there before opening the shop today, very thoughtful.

After standing at his spot for about an hour, Arnold counted up his bounty- fourteen dollars and seventy-three cents. It was a slow start but not too shabby. He stood tall and smiled at some cars stopped at the red light. The one closest to him was overly flashy, some sort of luxury sports car, rich people seldom offered any help, but he smiled all the same. Arnold made eye contact with the driver, who was shouting loudly at his passenger: "Dimitri be a man!" in a Russian accent. Breathing heavily, red in the face, the driver stared at Arnold, then rolled down his window. He stuck out a middle finger then peeled out of the intersection, making a right turn and cutting off a minivan full of Mennonites. 

Arnold wasn't going to let that ruin his day though, he decided to take a break, grabbed his bag and his fourteen dollars, and walked down the block to see if Alex was still working. He saw them as he walked in and waited patiently to order.

 "Hey Arnold, what can I get you? The usual?"

"Yes, please, Alex, thank you."

"That'll be $2.58."

Arnold knew his total and was able to produce exact change. He put a couple of dollars in the jar.

"Oh, thanks!"

"Forget about it. I found those pastries you left."

"Pastries?" Alex said with a skeptical look, "Oh my god, Arnold, I put those there like 2 days ago. You ate them?"

"They were scrumptious," Arnold said, making a chef's kiss gesture. Alex just looked flabbergasted, and Arnold took his leave.

He sat outside with his paper cup of coffee and took his journal out of his bag. It was a small black book that looked like it could have been run over by a truck a couple of times, but it still worked. He wrote inside with the nub of a pencil: 

"-go to the grocery store before leaving town.

-bananas (2)

- something hot for dinner

-check goodwill for a new raincoat and markers.

"

Arnold liked being organized; it helped him minimize stress.

He sipped his coffee and looked around. He saw the angry man from earlier go inside the shop with the man he called Dmitri.

Arnold continued to sip his coffee. Moments later, the driver burst out. Dmitri, in tow, shouted after him in an eastern European accent, "Petro, give it a rest!" 

Petro approached Arnold and said quite loudly, "Oh, so you need handouts, but you can afford coffee?!" To which Arnold didn't know how to respond. So he just put his hands up and said, "the handouts are for the coffee; what can I say? I'm addicted," with a smirk.

"Oh well, here, have mine then!" The ogre of a man barked out as he threw his coffee at Arnold.

It doused Arnold completely. Luckily it was iced, so it didn't burn him. But it stung all the same.

"Petro, come on, man, let's get out of here. We have to get to Atlanta by sundown," Dmitri said.

"Hold on just a second. I spilled my drink," Petro said, smirking.

Arnold sat in silence, visibly fuming but not going to risk getting beat up.

Petro went back inside, and Dmitri waited outside.

"Hey, I'm sorry about this; Petro is an ass," he said, "Can I compensate you? For the trouble."

"I don't need your pity buddy, I'm just a guy down on his luck; respect would be nice. I'm a human being, not some circus sideshow."

"Yes. Well, I will just leave this here…" the greasy minion said as he pulled a few bills out of his wallet. He set them between two twigs of a bush right next to Arnold, "and then whatever happens to it after I leave is a mystery."

Petro burst out of the shop again, "Let's go! Dmitri!" And they vanished. Arnold pocketed the cash and then was joined outside by Alex.

"Arnold! I am so sorry! Come inside and clean yourself up! That guy was such an asshole! He didn't even tip! Then I saw what he did, and he tried to come back and get a replacement! I told him not to come back. I'm so sorry." Alex was speaking a mile a minute.

Arnold stood and said, "It's okay, no harm done." 

"Okay, well, let me know if you need anything," Alex said. Arnold appreciated the respect they always treated him with.

He gathered his things and went inside to wash up a little bit. Once inside the bathroom, he saw that it wasn't too bad. His shirt was wet. He took it off and rang it out in the sink, then rinsed it and put some hand soap on it before ringing and rinsing again. Out of his bag, he took his backup shirt. He washed his face and used a wet paper towel to clean off his pants, which, thankfully, were water-resistant. He took the cash Dmitri had given him out of his pocket and inspected it. Arnold jumped when he saw it was 700 dollars in fresh, crisp hundreds and shoved it into his journal for safekeeping. Having freshened up, he left the bathroom and said goodbye to Alex.

"Wait! For you!" They said, gesturing at a large coffee on the bar.

"Thank you, it means a lot," Arnold said

"No problem, once again, sorry about that guy."

"No lasting harm was done, and I got a free coffee out of it." He said, raising the cup in cheers. With that, Arnold left; no longer needing to stand on the corner, he went straight to the market to get some hot food.

He thought briefly about what an odd turn the day had taken, starting with free pastries, then getting assaulted, then having $700. What's next? He thought, "Is a piano going to fall on me?"

He walked inside and stepped up to the deli counter. He placed an order for his favorite meal: half a chicken and mac and cheese. He took it to the register and waited in line to pay.

As Arnold listened to a popular song playing over the store's speakers, the host came on with an announcement. "Now you'll never believe this: the local police and FBI are seeking the public's help in apprehending a pair of fugitives. Apparently, it's two men with Russian accents. They have robbed 3 banks around the greater metropolitan area each time, escaping in a different sports car, all of which were also stolen. Police are offering a $20,000 reward to anyone who can provide information leading to their capture. Be warned: the suspects are considered armed and dangerous."

A giant smirk appeared on Arnold's face. When it was his turn, he paid using his leftover donations. Then he walked outside to a picnic table to eat and write down everything he could remember about Petro and Dimitri in his book. Arnold was careful not to touch the crisp dollar bills, which were probably now evidence. After finishing his food, which was delicious as always, he started walking to the police station, head held high. Arnold thought of what he would do first and had trouble coming up with anything. After speaking to the police, a good night's rest would help him decide. He walked on and thought, "I may be a beggar, but at least I'm not a thief."