A Reluctant Beggar or a Scam on the T?

This afternoon, I accompanied my friend James to the Comedy Studio in Harvard Square.  James is planning to do some stand-up there and needed to swing by to pick up some information. Turns out that the place doesn't open until 7:30pm (which actually makes a lot of sense, when we thought about it), so we grabbed a quick bite, and hopped back on the red line empty handed.

All in all, the trip was pointless and I got very, very wet. But something else happened too. Today, I faced a major ethical dilemma.

To get to Harvard Square, we were required to first board the green train and then transfer to the red line, which runs over the Charles River to Cambridge. As the doors closed and the red train began to move, the usual awkward silence of the train was broken by a loud, female voice.

"Excuse me, can I please have a moment. I'm a mother of two kids, 9 years old and 11. Six months ago I was laid off my job.  Earlier, as they were fixing my coffee at Dunkin' Donuts, I left my wallet. I can't go home to my kids without a pizza and toilet paper. Can anyone spare a quarter? A dollar? Please, I have no choice right now but to beg."

Right away, a man to my left walked over to the woman and handed her, I kid you not, an opened and halfway used up roll of toilet paper.

"Now I have toilet paper. I need at least 15 dollars for pizza. I need to feed my kids."

Two people offered her some change which she took with hardly a smile.

She asked again, "Please. I don't like doing this but I have no choice."

"How do we know you're not lying?" yelled a man from further down the train.

"I know it might seem like it, but this isn't a joke or trick. I just need to feed my kids."

 "The wallet was gone when you went back?" questioned a man in suit and tie.

"Yes, it wasn't even that much money, but all I had left was in there."

I had been on the fence until that moment.  Call me insensitive, but I decided not to give the lady any money.

She still had her coffee from Dunkin' Donuts, so at least that much was true. But there was my issue. The coffee was a large. Large iced coffees costs close to $4. For someone who has been out of work for six months and carries the last of her money around in her wallet, she should be finding a job and feeding her kids, not splurging on expensive beverages for herself. And why hasn't she found herself a job? At the very least, there are always menial labor jobs available if you look. What had she been doing all day? Besides ordering expensive coffees at Dunkin' Donuts, of course. The next time she goes into a Dunkin' Donuts, it had better be for a job application.

That is, of course, if the story was even true at all. I believe she was lying.  How did she get on the train without her wallet? Wouldn't her Charlie Card have been in the wallet? Or did she first beg for two dollars outside and buy a ticket with that? How much time must have passed for her to get her coffee, leave the store without her wallet, return long enough later for it to have disappeared, and then stand outside and beg? And after all this time, why was her coffee still 3/4 full?  And who was this man that happened to have toilet paper in his coat pocket?

I decided that it was most likely a scam, a con-routine she does regularly. I'm tempted to call the toilet-paper-giving man an accomplice, but that might be a stretch.

I could be wrong. There could really be two hungry kids at home awaiting pizza. The dollar I withheld could have helped feed them. So, was I unethical? I don't think so. If she was lying, I made the right choice. If she was telling the truth, then it is her irresponsibility that is to blame. First, get a job. Second, don't blow the last of your money on coffee. Third, don't lose your wallet.

Did I make the right choice? What would you have done?

Behind Enemy Lines, How I Refuse to Submit to Starbucks Nation.

We all know at least one, or 17,  Starbucks devotees. They carry their green-and-white cups as if it were a badge.  They raise their coffee-stained chins above fellow drinkers who have made the poor choice of a Dunks or a Newman's. They are Starbucks nation and they are proud.

All my life, I have made fun of these people.  I was the kid who was always afraid to define myself in any particular way, so people defining themselves by their coffee preference struck me as the illustration of snobbery.  The common excuses, provided through slurps of macchiatos and cappuccinos, failed to convince me. "The freshness", "the flavor", and "the service", the crap. I knew one thing about Starbucks, and that was the premium people pay for Starbucks coffee. It was all hype, I was sure.

Now, I too am a coffee drinker. Coming into coffee drinking only in the last semester, I remain free of habit.  I am still figuring out the difference between a mocha and an espresso, a cappuccino and a frappuccino, a latte and a plain-ol' coffee.  I have avoided the classification of a Starbucks person or a Dunks person, giving equal opportunities to both brands.

To take a stab in the back of my former self, Starbucks is winning me over.


It frightens me. The more often that I carry a Carmel Macchiato throughout my day, the less I try to cover that iconic logo. The more often I sport an iced White Chocolate Mocha, the more I try to show off the fact that I'm drinking out of the iconic green straw.  I am becoming one of the them.

Fortunately, I've taken some steps to avoid my further Starbucks zombification.

First, I will not download the Find Starbucks application onto my phone.
My Droid will be used for a lot of things, but my coffee preference should not get valuable homescreen real estate.

Second, I will stop spotting other people with Starbucks cups and cooly asking, "So, what's your drink?"
I should not assume having matching coffee cups makes us instant friends.

Third, I will order a small, medium, and, if I'm treating myself, a large.
I will never order a "tall", a "grande" or a "viente".


Let me know, are you a part of Starbucks nation?

Terrier Cards Not Accepted Here

Our BU Terrier ID cards are pretty damn cool. They not only scan us into our dorms and feed us in our dining halls, but will also do our laundry, check out our books from Mugar, order us a pizza from Papa John's, get us a Monster at the vending machines on campus, and pay for tickets to movies and special events. If the BU ID were a knife, it would be this one. If it were a train, it would be this one.

With this little plastic card doing so much, I have slowly, yet unintentionally, begun testing the limits to see just how much this little card can do.  To save you from embarrassment that has befallen me, I present to you three things that your BU ID will not do.

1. The BU ID will not check out books at the Boston Public Library. It is not a Library Card.

Instead, the tired and grumpy BPL employee will frown and grimly say, "And what do you suggest I do with this?"  You'll treat him like the idiot and reply that scanning it would be a good place to start. He'll reply that a library card would be an even better place.

2. The BU ID will not buy a Yuppie burger and Reeses Frappe at Uburger. It is not a Debit Card.

"Oh, I go to BU too," the friendly Uburger employee will say. Before you can ask how he knew you go to BU, he will add, "but I'll still need you to pay for your food."

3. The BU ID will not open the gates to get on the T. It is not a Charlie Card.

It is no more likely to work the second time you try. Odds will not improve when you go to the MBTA security guard and insist that you just added $10 to it the day before.


What have you tried to make your Terrier Card do?