Taking out the trash

"Acceptance is hard. To accept my pain means holding it in my arms, like a package handed to me, my proper burden to be carried. The package may be heavy as lead, or burning hot, or stuck through with razors, but I must concede that it is my package, simply because it has arrived in my life. It is not a mistake. It has not been sent by accident to the wrong person. I may not welcome it, but accepting it means I carry it without protest for as long as necessary - and then I lay it down." Jeanne DuPrau, author, The City of Ember

Last night I did a walkabout in our community with a peer from a neighbouring shelter. We left the entrance of the facility where she works and encountered a group of men, sitting on the stairs, chatting, laughing, having a smoke.

One young man jumped up and quickly walked down the stairs, "I know, I know," he said, waving one arm in the air above his head the smoke from his cigarette circling above him like tiny halos, "I can't smoke this close to the building."

"We're not here to talk about smoking," she said. "We're doing a community survey and just want to ask a few quick questions. You're responses will be anonymous. We just want to find out where people are staying in the neighbourhood."

One tall, good looking man stepped forward. His blue jeans were neatly pressed. His shirt freshly laundered. "I'll tell you where I'm staying if you tell me what they're going to do about the food in this place," he said. "How come the guys who work get less to eat than those who don't work?"

He went on to fill us in on the lack of nutritional value in the bagged lunches he was provided every day.

Another man chimed in. "Yeah, we're always hungry. Though we did have surf and turf the other day?"

The first man looked at him, astonished. "You did?"

"Yup. Sardines and beans." He laughed, his lips smacking against his gums where multiple teeth were missing. "Deeeelicious!"

The pathos and humour of the street.

Grown men worried about their next meal finding the humour in school boy jokes.

We wandered down the street and encountered two men sitting under the shade of a poplar tree. They jumped up as we approached, one of them immediately recognizing the woman I was with. "Hi! We're just out enjoying the evening," he quickly told us before we could state our purpose. It's a common trait amongst those on the street. Tell what you're doing before asked. Who knows what trouble you could get into for doing nothing?

"It's a great evening to sit out and enjoy," she said. "We're just doing a community survey and have a couple of questions to ask."

"I answered them last night," one of the men replied. "Nothing's changed since then."

"That's okay," she said. "We're taking a snapshot of the whole week so I'd like to ask you the questions again, if that's okay."

He smiled. His toothy grin replete with missing teeth.

As we finished up the questions he started to tell us a bit about his struggles to find a place to live. "It's so expensive now," he said. "I've been coming to stay here off and on for over twenty years. You know. A relationship would go bad. I'd lose my job. Have a fight. Whatever. Used to be I'd come and stay here for a few weeks and then move on out. Now, I keep having to stay longer and longer."

"How different is it now than twenty years ago?" I asked.

"The drugs," he quickly replied. "I can understand the guys with alcohol. Who doesn't sometimes have a drink that leads to too many? But the drugs. They're bad."

The second man piped in. "Yeah. This is my first time here. The drugs are scary."

We said good-night and walked away. I thought about the man's comments about using the shelter off and on for over twenty years. His social safety net. A safe refuge to come to when times are tough and life is beating him down.

Later, as we returned to the shelter I watched a couple of young men directing cars to park in the parking lot across the street. Odd. We lease the building connected to the lot where they were parking cars. I hadn't heard of anyone using the parking lot during Stampede. I walked across to enquire about what was happening.

A nice looking young man, official looking badge clipped to his t-shirt greeted me while one of his buddies directed cars in off the street to the safety of the lot for a $10 parking fee.

"Hi," I greeted the young man with the badge. "Just thought I'd check what was going on. I work for the organization that leases this place. Who do you work for?"

The man gave me a quick explanation of a company that had arranged to use the parking lot during Stampede in exchange for a charitable donation to the shelter where I work a few blocks away.

"Really?" I asked. "I'll have to check it out. I do all our fund-raising and I hadn't heard of this arrangement. What's your name?" And I took out my notebook to write down the name of the company on his badge. He gave me a name. I thanked him and turned away to walk back across the street to meet the woman with whom I'd been doing the walkabout. By the time I reached the other side of the street, the young men had vanished, along with the $280 they had collected from people believing they had the right to charge them for parking in that lot.

"Gotta give them kudos for creativity and for balls," I told the other woman.

Just then, a pick up truck with official markings pulled into the driveway to the lot and blocked the entrance. I walked back across the street.

A tall lanky man stepped out. I could almost feel the steam pouring out of his ears.

"Hi," I said and explained who I was.

"I own this lot," he fumed. "Those good for nothing crackheads keep parking cars here and charging people to use it."

I told him about my encounter.

"It's the third time this week," he said. "I've called a towing company to come and tow all these cars away."

"That seems harsh," I said. "They didn't know they were parking illegally."

"Yeah." he sputtered. "Well they park here in their hundred thousand dollar cars, dump out their ashtrays and garbage on the ground and I have to send a crew in to clean it up. I'm going to teach them a lesson."

I was a bit confused about the lesson he intended to teach them. "Perhaps we could send some client volunteers over to clean it up. It doesn't seem fair to penalize these people for a scam they didn't know was happening."

The man was adamant. He was going to call a towing company and have the cars pulled away. He pulled a couple of concrete bars across the entranceway and moved his truck to the side of the drive.

How unfortunate. The only lesson the drivers would learn is that some 'homeless' guy cost them a fine and a tow job.

I rejoined my fellow survey taker and we continued down the street in the opposite direction. About fifteen minutes later I saw the man in the pick-up truck drive down the lane. He'd decided not to have the vehicles towed and instead, left the concrete in the drive to force the cars to manoeuvre over and around it in order to leave the parking lot. I was relieved. At least they wouldn't be towed.

But it did make me think about what he'd said about the garbage left behind. $10 does not give anyone permission to dump refuse on the road.

The continuing saga of the juxtapositions of those who use the street to survive on and those who use the street to dump their garbage. People whose only social safety net is a shelter to help them over life's bumps in the road. People safely ensconced in their sparkling new Jaguars and Mercedes dumping garbage in a parking lot as they manoeuvre over a concrete curb to get over life's bumps in the road and a man who wants to teach the world a lesson about respect.

Different perspectives. Same side of the street.

Perhaps the best answer is in the laughter of the man who joked about turf and surf and found the humour in his situation.

The question is: Where do you dump your garbage when the bumps in the road are tough to manoeuvre? Who do you dump on? When will you put your burdens down?