I don’t ever speculate on what they need it for or try to judge how they’ll spend it. Most often for me the motivation to donate is something intuitive, a response to some unanalyzed cue, an impulse. When they offer a story, sometimes I believe it and sometimes I don’t. I know I have a kneejerk response to apparent sincerity, but I also know that a good con artist can feign sincerity more easily than I can express it for real.
Politeness, however. Politeness counts with me. Not a gushing God-bless-you-God-love-you or obsequious begging but genuine-sounding courtesy. That’s so rare these days that I tend to want to reward it no matter where I find it.
How sad, though, that only the street panhandlers seem to remember the manners their grannies taught them.