Let’s grift again

The misanthrope’s recent distress calls remind me of a grift I know that goes like this: approach the mark out of breath, as if you’re running for help, and beg the mark please, please, I’d never do this ordinarily, I’m not this kind of person, but my mother, she’s choking, or my wife’s in labor, or I’m late for work and if I lose this job, they’ll take the house for sure … just fifty bucks, twenty, whatever you can spare, has to be cash, o god o god, I’m losing my mind …

In other words, pump the air so full of incoherent urgency the mark feels forced to make an on-the-spot, high-stakes decision and, if all goes well, errs on the side of compassion.

You’d think somebody who’s played as many roles as I’ve played would have no trouble recognizing a grift like this, but these guys are good. Actors Studio good. They’ve approached me, and I’ve wavered — yes I have — and I’m sure I’d be a trophy on some grifter’s rec room wall by now if my superpower were something other than extreme selfishness.

“There was panic in his voice,” she says. “He wants work.”

Of course he does.

Problem is, the work he wants went to somebody else when he violated parole. And now, o god o god, his mother’s choking and his wife’s contracting and if he loses this job …