Nothing like a man who is proud of his livelihood. Or is there?

I’m still at the hot springs near Holtville. My second week started today. I’m working on a video about it — really! — but will likely blog a bit more about it, too.

I soak twice a day in the tubs. I usually go in the morning around 8 or 9 AM and then again after lunch. It’s been remarkably empty on this visit. Maybe everyone is stuck in their camper with Covid. I don’t know, but I’m sure enjoying it.

But a little less this morning.

When I arrived for my soak, there were only three other people there: a man in a cowboy hat with a thick southern accent who wasn’t soaking, a woman in a bathing suit in the large tub, and a man in shorts in the large tub. The shorts weren’t unusual; I’d say only two thirds of the people in the tubs are prepared with bathing suits. The others wear whatever they have to wear.

They were deep in conversation when I arrived and from the bits and pieces I heard, it didn’t sound like anything interesting. I stripped down to my bathing suit and got under the shower to rinse off. Then, since the smallest tub was vacant and full of water, I climbed in to keep my distance from the others.

I heard their conversation now and, like I said, it wasn’t terribly interesting. None of them seemed very bright. And then I caught something that got me interested. Shorts man said, “I was going to take a few hours off today, but I have to get back to work.”

“What do you do?” cowboy hat asked.

“I’m a bum,” shorts man said.

There was a moment of silence as the other two tried to figure out what he meant.

But they didn’t have to wait long because shorts man spoke up pretty quickly. “I ask for money at the side of the road.”

The other two acknowledged his words without making judgement. I was very glad I was not among them because I doubt I could have kept my mouth shut.

“Yeah, I go to a corner and I put up a sign that says ‘Hungry’ and people give me money. It’s great! My gas and my food — it’s all free.”

There was a sick sort of pride in his voice. He was bragging about his success as a panhandler.

He went on to give them details about some of the corners he’d worked recently. As he spoke, the woman edged over to the ladder and climbed out. The other guy listened politely for a while and made appropriate polite noises.

The woman came to the shower, which was near me, and I must have made a face at her. (I have a tendency to roll my eyes, sometimes at inappropriate times. Drove my wasband nuts, but hell, he shouldn’t have given me so many reasons to roll my eyes.) She nodded at me — I think in agreement — as she began rinsing off.

Shorts man, the proud bum, was still talking to cowboy hat, although I think the subject had changed. When the woman finished with the shower and went back to where her towel hung on the fence, cowboy hat joined her. The bum was still talking to them as they said goodbye and slipped out the gate.

That left me alone with the bum. I wasn’t afraid of him or anything like that. I was just worried he’d come talk to me and that I’d say something that I shouldn’t. I was royally pissed off. I hate panhandlers with a passion, especially the ones who so obviously could get work if they wanted it. This guy didn’t even look like a bum.

So I climbed out of my tub and began showering off. But by the time I’d gone for my towel, he’d left the area, probably to ask cowboy hat and the woman for lunch money or something.

Who the fuck knows.

Anyway, another couple came and since I’d already soaked for a while and had gotten my towel soaked by drying off, I decided to go back to my camp. They had the tub area to themselves.

Later in the day, when I went back for my afternoon soak at around 1:30 PM, he was back in the big tub, smoking and chatting away with someone else while two other people in the tub were clearly trying to ignore them. I guess he’d taken the rest of the day off. Again, the smaller tub was available and that’s where I went. I only stayed about 30 minutes and was gone before he left.

So the next time you see a man at an intersection with a crude cardboard sign reading “Hungry” or “Anything Helps” or “God Bless,” I want you to remember this story. How many of those people take their cars filled with gas that gullible fools — like you, maybe? — paid for on trips out to the hot springs or local bar or other hangout when they’re “off” from “work”? How many of them brag to strangers about how they’re living on someone else’s dime? How many of them really need your help?

Every time you give one of them money, you’re just perpetuating the problem.