Now ... where was I?

This goddamn bum.

What the fuck? Every time you're standing outside of Walgreen's, with your bottle of window cleaner (or maybe just blue-tinted water) and sign proclaiming your services to wash my car's windows for tips, I give you a dollar. Even if I walked. I don't mind that I'm not getting anything out of it, I'm just proud that you took initiative to work, so I reward you.

But everytime I do, you start talking about how you grew up in Gary, Indiana and moved out here in 1969. And then I say I lived in Chicago, which Gary is somewhat-a-suburb of, so you start chatting about how it's changed since you've been gone, and blah-blah-blah.

Look. I don't mind talking to you, in fact I'd enjoy to hear a little more of your story, but goddamn it, every time we talk you tell me the same exact thing. Yeah, you're from Gary. Yeah, I'm from Chicago. But c'mon. Let's move on from there.

But what's worse than being bored by stories I've already heard, is that you don't even remember me. What the fuck? I'm the guy who's been giving you probably a dollar a week for the past few months, just giving it away to you, and you don't remember me?

I mean, this whole act of charity isn't about helping people just to help them. There's no such thing as true altruism, and this is no different. All I want in return for my dollar (when I don't get a free windshield wash out of the deal) is for you to remember me. That way, I will feel like I've made a difference in your life, oh, goddamn bum, and it'll make me feel happier. As it stands, it just feels like a wasted dollar.

If you're not thinking about that wise, handsome, nice-assed man who gave you the dollar when you use it to buy a McDonald's double cheeseburger, that what's really the point?