Think about it...of all the days in the year, which is the one day that deems the practice of walking up to a home and asking the owners for food acceptable? And which actually encourages that you look weird whilst doing so? Precisely! Halloween. Do the math, people! If we homeless are known for anything, its that we are hungry and we look weird. Okay, maybe also that we like wine and drugs, but that's more of an "every other day of the year" type of thing.
All Hallows' Eve is the one day where us hobos get the chance to feel normal. We can walk up to your door as though we're neighbors, exchange a few pleasantries, and then you toss some candy into our sack before we part ways, without you ever feeling the need to threaten to call the cops or boot us in the ass. Also, we don't have to head over to the shelter to attempt to wrangle up more presentable attire. The worse we look, the better.
In fact, a few years ago I was nearly comatose after a bottle of Thunderbird, stumbling around neighborhoods in a blacked-out stupor. I woke up the next day in a bush in Washington Square with a bag filled to the brim with candy, and no memory of having to go door-to-door at all. It was like all the payoff with none of the work. I can only imagine how that went.
"Oh honey, look at this, he's a zombie."
"Oh my, don't eat our brains now!"
"Uggghhhhhhhh...."
"So realistic. I'm gonna give you two Snickers!"
It's an age old gambit that is virtually fool proof. And if by some great miracle, you are homeless and happen to have a trace of self-esteem left in you, and your pride cannot fathom the humiliation of trick-or-treating as an adult, all you have to do is time your visits so that you arrive at the door at the same time as a group of children. Then the home owner will think you're just the dad or uncle. And even if they speculate otherwise, they're not likely to confront you about it. It's much easier just to throw some bags of M&Ms in your bag and let you be on your way and out of their lives forever. Or...at least until the following week, when they're leaving work and you're throwing yourself at their car windshield so you can get a few wipes in with your filthy washrag, just enough so that they feel obliged to pay you for your efforts. Only then you're no longer accepting candy. Then the only currency you recognize is cold hard cash money. Or hooch. Or drugs. Those two are always cool.
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