As I was recycling my stack of week-old Alligators that I had been using as a biodegradable pillow, I realized the local homeless population has come upon even harder times than usual.
Homelessness is not a crime, so why is local government turning Gainesville's homeless into criminals?
On Tuesday, the Alachua County Commission voted unanimously to outlaw panhandling. This comes about two months after the city passed a similar ban.
Now, any kind of transaction between motorists and pedestrians is illegal - which even includes those firefighters who collect money for the Muscular Dystrophy Association.
The ordinance says soliciting "distracts drivers from their primary duty to watch traffic and potential hazards in the road, observe all traffic signals or warnings, and move through the county's streets and intersections in a lawful and safe manner."
So, where are the homeless to go? They can still ask for our help in parking lots, I guess. If not, there's always a chance to go back to the drawing board down at Tent City. Wait, no, not anymore.
Wednesday began the "removal process" of the homeless who call Tent City home.
This may seem like a solution, but there isn't enough space in the county's shelters. Now the homeless will be forced to find other places to pitch their tents around town. At least the city knew where to find them before. The local government should have waited until it could offer a real solution.
Wait, this just in. We have a real solution: soccer!
That's right; a manager for the Gainesville Community Redevelopment Agency wants to start a homeless soccer program and form a team that may eventually compete in the U.S. Homeless Cup, which would naturally come before the Homeless World Cup.
In order to qualify, you have to prove homelessness at some point during the past two years. Does that week in August before move-in day count?
The only thing I have against panhandlers is their "creative" signs, such as "Will work for food," or my new favorite, "Currently seeking alternatives to interiors; donations appreciated."
I would appreciate an honest, "Give me money, please."
It's unfair to call the homeless lazy or say they simply don't like to work. I'll bet the homeless are more generous than Alachua County thinks. But no one knows because no one ever asks the homeless for charity.
Allow me to tell you a story.
I went to Washington, D.C., in July to visit a high school friend. When I was able to look beyond the tourists, aspiring politicians and college students who crowded the city streets, I saw D.C.'s most underappreciated population - the homeless.
More importantly, they saw me, and they never passed up an opportunity to say hello or ask me for money.
"Hey, bud, can you spare some change?" one man asked, to whom I replied honestly, "Sorry, I only carry a debit card."
I became so fed up with their begging that I came up with a foolproof plan. The next time anyone would ask me for cash, I would return the query.
On my last day in Washington, D.C., I saw a man holding a Styrofoam cup and sitting on the stoop of a building near the Metro. Our eyes met, and he requested monetary aid.
"Funny, I was just about to ask you the same thing," I quipped. But I was no match.
"How much you need, brother?"
I was dumbstruck, unable to respond. My quick wits failed me. I hadn't thought of an amount.
And I imagine Alachua County would feel just as surprised if it took a step back and looked at what's actually happening to its homeless. But the county might not be able to reach a real solution because these new policies have set us too far in the wrong direction.
Vincent Massaro is a senior majoring in journalism. His column appears on Mondays.
