Does This Make Me A Bad Person?

I can’t believe what I have just done. I feel so ashamed and some of you are probably going to judge me harshly for it but I had my reasons.

So let’s start at the beginning. I live in a city. It’s a city in Bulgaria on the Black sea coast so it's part business and part tourist. From May to October, it is full of holidaymakers, they come to take in the sun, lie on the beach and get merry on the cheap booze.

In the winter it’s a different story. Winter can be harsh in Bulgaria, so the streets are often deserted and only the brave venture out.

May is officially tourist season. The sun comes out and everything looks rosy, except it isn’t. Because as soon as the sun comes out, so do the beggars.

I know many of the beggars by sight. Some are very memorable, like the really obese guy who sits outside the supermarket. He has no toes on his one foot. He displays this proudly to the world as he sits with leg outstretched across the pavement forcing you to go around or over his leg and navigate both his tongue and the outstretched arm holding a disposable coffee cup for you to deposit your coins in.

He can intimidate depending on his mood. He has several friends that stop by to chat and he often spends the day chatting to them. He wears the same outfit day in and day out. It’s always a yellow T-shirt that's way too small and exposes his ever-expanding waistline and a pair of blue shorts. Next door to the supermarket is a second-hand shop where for 1lev or the price of a vending machine coffee (just over 50 cents) you can buy a second-hand T-shirt or shorts.

Then there’s the small guy who has a problem with his legs. He has an electric wheelchair, but he sits on a piece of cardboard on the floor. He is out most of the year and has worn the same clothes for 5 years.

The most genuine guy is a man in his late twenty’s he sits outside the corner shop. He’s skinny and forlorn and always looks like he is freezing. The reason I say he is genuine is that I have seen him searching through the trash bins looking for plastic to wrap around his body to keep out the rain and the cold. I like him, I’m happy to help him and I help him when I see him. He says nothing bad, he never thrusts a cup or his hand in your face and he is always grateful. People like to help him, they buy him coffees or pizza or beer and he accepts it all willingly.

There are so many others. They all have their special places. Places where you have to notice them. I can’t criticize them for that there’s no point sitting where no one can see you!

So what’s my problem? The problem is, I can’t bring myself to believe that they are all in genuine need.

Why don’t I believe that?

Because I have had some terrible experiences with beggars. I have been threatened and abused by them when I have refused to give them money. Why do they choose me? That’s easy. I am a foreigner and I really stand out from the locals.

One dark winter night I was stood at a bus stop in the city center when a man approached me. He thought I was Russian and began speaking Russian to me. At first, I thought he was asking me about the bus, so I told him I didn’t understand. He then switched to English. He told me he had been to the hospital, and he thrust out his arm with a small square plaster on it and then asked for money so he could get the train back to his home.

I refused and turned away. I knew it was a scam and not a very good one.

He grew angry and demanded I give him 25 Euros.

He obviously thought I was a tourist. I knew only too well that Bulgarians deal in levs not Euros. The cost of the ticket would have been a fraction of the 25 Euros he was demanding, and they had hospitals in the city he said he was from.

It was easy to see he was trying to rip me off. But what I didn’t expect was his reaction when I refused.

I tried to walk away from him, but he followed and started screaming and shouting at me.

“Give me the money you bitch or I will F**** you and your daughter and your mother.”

I was scared. I felt alone. I felt vulnerable.

He came around in front of my face, shouting at me full of rage. It was almost as if he believed he was entitled to the money and that I must give it to him.

I panicked, fear was rising in me as I realized that even though there were people at the bus stop no one would help me. They looked on with idle curiosity, but nothing more than a passing interest.

Luckily for me, a bus arrived. It wasn’t my bus, but I didn’t care I ran to get on it. He ran after me, his threats still ringing in my ears as I jumped onto the bus.

“You f**** whore I will f**** you if I see you again.”

I was shaking. It was an awful experience, but it was not my first or my last.

So today as I walked through the underpass and I looked up the stairs, I saw a beggar sitting on the steps. He looked down at me.

I had a choice to make.

I could walk up the steps past the beggar, or I could change my direction.

I didn’t want to give him money; I didn’t want to walk past him. So I avoided him and change my direction and take the easy option. But the easy option wasn’t easy after all.

Does that make me a bad person?

Would you have done the same?