A Day In the Life of a Writer, i.e. Panhandler (Part 4)

Continued from yesterday’s A Day In the Life of a Writer, i.e. Underpaid Temp.

Clearly attempting to break and enter.

If you accidentally (because what other excuse could there be?) missed my last three blogs, here is the Cliff’s Notes version of my opener: I am a writer, which means that I am a freelance ESL tutor, a film and TV “background artist”, an underpaid office temp, a panhandler and, every once in a while, a writer.

Today’s installment: panhandler.

The other day I was preparing breakfast in my kitchen, waiting for the phone to ring, the check to arrive, the email to tell me I’d gotten the new job—anything. I was desperate. As my thoughts raced, I scrambled up some eggs, shaking the pan back and forth to prevent them from sticking. And then it occurred to me: I was panhandling. Literally. I was handling the pan. <insert comedic drum roll>

The dictionary defines “panhandler” as: one who accosts passers-by on the street and begs from them. Well, I have accosted people on the street asking for something from them, but since I was getting paid by a company, I can’t say I was actually begging. Wait a sec, hold on – the definition doesn’t say specifically that a panhandler must be begging for money. Just begging. All righty then, I fit the bill! (Sometimes I wish I weren’t such a stickler for keeping my word.)

I had a job last year as a petitioner wherein I stood on the street (in front of a store), accosted (to approach, especially with a greeting, question, or remark) passers-by, and begged (for a signature) from them. My logic here is stunning, I know.

Enticing a friend with my "asse".

Interesting bit of trivia: the origin of the word “panhandler” dates back to 1895–1900, so called because an extended arm resembles the handle of a pan.

Well, I can’t say I’ve stood on the street asking for money (except when a 1099 form was involved), but I have “couch-surfed”, accepted financial gifts, and sold as many of my worldly belongings as I could do without during difficult times. My car, unfortunately, was one of them. As you can see in the documented photos here, I had a brief run as a robber attempting B&Es. The key, I found, is not to get photographed while in the midst of a heist. And (note to self) it doesn't count if the door is open and it's a public place. I also tried my hand at enticing members of the opposite sex with my tasty "asse"*. Is it wrong of me to admit that I ate my "asse" before I could sell it?

It's time to bid adieu because at this moment I feel as though I am accosting my readers and begging them to read this particular post.


*get your mind out of the gutter - this is an actual chocolate bar I brought back from Japan called "Asse"!

Stay tuned for Part 5 (and finale) tomorrow: Selena actually writes…