Karma's Gonna Be a Bitch

Panhandlers waiting outside the yoga studio, waiting to ask for spare change from women who have spent the past hour in the "sacred space" getting in touch with their compassionate and generous sides: dirty, devious, and genius.

Two can play at this game.

I stopped carrying cash. The yoga helps me maintain a cherubic look of conscience-stricken concern; I knit my eyebrows together, look the panhandler in the eye, and apologize sincerely, "I'm so sorry, I don't have anything. Good luck to you!" If I'm particularly piqued, I'll even add a "God bless!" Because nothing says "fuck off" like invoking a deity you don't believe in.

Of course, when it's 4 degrees out, and a homeless guy asks me to help him find three dollars to get into the shelter, I take him directly to the yoga studio. Just not mine.