In the Plaza de Armas in Huancayo, Peru, I saw the old gentleman-beggar, dressed in semi looking textiles, close to rages his cloths were–or so it looked from where I was–(about thirty feet away specifically); mainly in front of the opened door cathedral–opened I believe for the worshipers, but he of course–like a good business man, positions himself well–so the old man positioned himself centerfold like, paced back and forth within this area, in front of the church. Oh I had seen him before here, it wasn’t my first time, but it was the first time I did a double take on him. I visit Huancayo, the most beautiful place in the Andes, that and the whole of the Mantaro Valley: that and White Mountain, which is part of all three: the Andes, Huancayo and Mantaro Valley. I have a home there, a small one for visiting, and although I do not make it up there as often as I’d like, it always numbs me, makes me feel calm, brings my pulse down, and gives me fresh air.
So here I am in the Plaza de Armas, and the old beggar–woops, did say old again, pardon me, when he got close to me, his skin was smooth, deep eyes, solid looking face, perhaps 48-years old, or 54-years old, not as old as me I’m sure, I’m 58-years old and he looks healthier than me. He had wide lowered shoulders, to make him look more decrepit, and his teeth–he tried not to smile too much–were not overly dull, that is why he tried to speak with his lips down, closed, say as few words as he had to: his teeth were of a more well today person, one not malnourished, as he was portraying to be. He was robust, healthier than a fat Ginny pig [Cuy]. As I watched him, it reminded me of users, like a few people I know who got nothing else in life to do but to feed off others.
The sun is out today; it is hot with a breeze, and he asks me if I can spare a coin or two. I have done that in the past, given him a coin or two, a few times I’ve done that, thus, at this point of our lives, he’s gotten a few too many coins from me I think. Hence, he gives me a smile, and lowered head, and he walked on by and asked others, the poor looking gentleman. Poor soul, hell, he is a taker, user, and lazy bum, like those critters I’ve mentioned before, it is just this one has found his home, his clientele, his free meal.
So I see him coming to me again, in this bright sunny afternoon, early afternoon, the water fountains are reaching up to the sky today–very beautiful, and lots of people visiting the church. He approaches me and as he does I remember what my brother-in-law told me a few days ago: “He’s in the bank, saw him myself, made a deposit (looked like a healthy one), my friends saw him also, depositing his money…he’s in there every day….” Ah, so he has a bank account I tell myself: it takes money to have an account in Peru, if you do not comprare levitra online sicuro have $500-dollars in it, you have to pay to keep it, and pay all those little fees, so I assume he has a fat little account, or perhaps a fat, fat account.
Now I get thinking as he approaches me, thinking of Lima, thinking at the big chain store in Lima–the big picture you could say, not one but many, but I will just talk about one, Metro, in Miraflores: every time I go in there, buy a few things, which is almost every day, they want to keep my change; oh, it is a small sum I know, not all that much, and they always say– or used to say, used to ask: ‘…do you want your change’ and I think: why wouldn’t I? –when I say yes, they say ‘…do you have change for this .001 or .004 cents of a cent of a soles)) not much indeed but let’s look at this after a while, how it grows: they do this knowing most people do not carry .001 or .004 cents of a cent of a soles (and they are too lazy to put it into their cash register, or is it by purpose? And they think no one notices and thus, they are the smart ones); therefore, they want to keep it–bottom line. Last time they just kept my change, and didn’t even ask me if I wanted to contribute .003 or was it .001 s/.? Just kept it as if it was theirs: they are getting so used to it they don’t even ask anymore.
Now I never said a word the first 20-times, but it is getting old, very old indeed, by the time, the time I’m 70-years old, at .002, if I continue to go there everyday, I’ll will have contributed 876 soles, or $265 (I could use that to buy a colored TV). Now they are a busy store, perhaps one of those tellers takes in 100-customers an hour, if not more, and at .002 [the mean average], is two soles an hour, and we got 24-hours to a day, so we got 48-soles for one line of business in one store (and remember they have many stores), and we got about 8-lines in one store, now we got apex. 400-soles in one day from one store (and remember we got many stores in Lima, Peru), and in one year we got, 146,000 s. /. [Soles] Now if I live to be 70-years old, and they are still in business, that is, 1752000, s/. $531,000 dollars (over a half million dollars)) soles at 3.30 s/.)); now I heard someone say they give it to charity, the money they take from their customers they give these forced donations to charity, but I’ve not seen it, and in Peru, seeing is believing, so I’ve learned; and this money is not given freely, it is given out of pressure as you are standing in line wanting to get through. No guns involved here, just psychology.
Anyhow, we are back in the Plaza area, and the beggar is coming to me, and as expected, he asks for money, but this time I am not so gullible, I say to him:
“How is your Bank account?” he pretends not to understand me, so my wife speaks in, Peruvian Spanish, loud and clear for me (she is Peruvian of course). He is walking fast now. And I repeat myself, “Dinero, dollars!” he understands that, but has picked up his pace. He almost runs to the police standing on the sidewalk in his pathway, almost falls on him, and begs him to stop me from following him: what has happened to the begging dinero concept, he doesn’t want to talk anymore. The Police laugh: perhaps he is getting what he deserves, like most people do, sooner or later. I’m not sure how but he escapes me, perhaps I was laughing too hard, and he zipped by the corner of my eye. The next few days, I do not see him, and then I had to go back to Lima, and the United States, but I’m back in Lima, and on my way to Huancayo pretty soon, I wonder if I’ll find the rich beggar there?