My Homeless People Stories

I've lived in Toronto for the better part of a decade now (cripes I'm getting old!) and as most city-dwellers will admit, dealing with homeless people is pretty much a part of your daily activity.  Startling at first, you feel terrible for them and always hand over your "spare" change, but the unfortunate truth is that you do tend to start ignoring the requests for help.  There really are too many Shaky Lady's and Sticker Lady's out there, or the type of homeless who are only homeless on nice days during rush hour.  Every Torontonian has at least a couple stories of shocking encounters with the homeless.  Here are mine:

• Back when I was a fresh first year university student still living at home and commuting to Ryerson, I was asked outside of a Tim Horton's for spare change.  As I was (and still am) in the habit of using primarily electronic money, I didn't actually have any cash on me.  He did not take kindly to this, as demonstrated by his screaming "BITCH!" at me and scrambling to his feet.  I ran. 

• At another Ryerson street corner, a bunch of students were waiting for the light to change, and a homeless lady pushed her way into the middle of the crow, pulled up her long skirt, popped a squat and proceeded to urinate right there.  The whole crowd dispersed instantly, pushing each other onto the road to avoid the stream.

• While working near Queen and John I went for a coffee break at Second Cup across the street.  Being that I had a Second Cup card, I didn't bring my purse.  When an old homeless man asked me for money for food, I said I didn't have any money but I would get him a coffee.  "A coffee and a sandwich" he corrected me.  Fine.  Can't really tell him not to be greedy, can I?  So we walked across the street and when he realized where I was leading him, he starting screaming "No! Not there! NOOOO!" and ran like a bat out of hell, leaving me bewildered and red faced in a crowd of strangers with accusatory eyes. 

• Returning to work from lunch one afternoon, I happened upon an old homeless man who asked me for money to buy a drink.  I told him that whereas I didn't have any money, I would be happy to go get him a drink from upstairs.  He waited for me outside while I grabbed him a few cans of pop.  He was so encouraged by my thoughtfulness, that after receiving the drinks he thought he'd press his luck and ask me to make love to him.  Just remembering that hopeful offer makes me want to vomit a little.

Lying to my Mom

Though I pride myself these days as being honest to a fault, Lord knows I've done my fair share of lying in the past.  Likely even more than my fair share.  I am going to attribute that to being the middle child...not quite sure why, but I feel that my birth order gives me some leeway for being manipulative. 

Not surprisingly, I can list off a whole string of lies that I've told and been caught in, but today I feel a bit preoccupied by three lies in particular, varying degress of "so what?", and all of which were told to my mom.


In Kindergarten
Long before I learned to respect hygiene, I had to be reminded repeatedly to bring my gym clothes home to be washed.  My mom would tell me before I got on the school bus in the morning, and ask where they were when I got home in the afternoon.  Each day I would both forget to bring them home and be unconvinced why it was important to have clean shorts.  She tried a new tactic one day, of writing me a note and sticking it in my lunch bag.  Being that I was in kindergarten and just learning to read, the note was mostly comprised of the types of hyrogliphics that children can read.  It looked a little something like this:

I remember finding that note, reading that note, and liking that note.  I remember using my gym clothes, thinking about that note, and stuffing the note into my little red gym clothes bag with the sweaty garments after gym was done.  And then I remember going home without the bag, without the clothes, and without the note.  My mom was exasperated and wanted to now why I didn't bring them home this time.  I knew I was out of "I forgot's" so I resulted to an "I can't read" instead.  It was probably one of the first lies I told my mom and I remember feeling horribly guilty about it.

I'm pretty sure I brought them home the next day.

(here's another Kindergarten lie I've told)

In Middle School
This one is a bit on the silly/irrelevant side, but it's something that's stuck with me over the years.  I found a piece of maroon chain-mail once at a secondhand store.  I don't have a good reason why I liked it so much, other than it was fun to play with and tickled when you dragged it over your skin.  I used to keep it slung over the arm of my couch and liked to drape it over my face like a mask.  No excuses, I am a bit weird.  One Christmas during middle school my mom bought me a little black cocktail purse that had a patchwork of black, silver and white chain-mail decorating one side.  She was really excited to give it to me.  She said "It was expensive, but I knew you'd love it". I didn't really like it, but I didn't want to hurt her feelings so I said "thanks" and tucked it into my closet where it collected dust between the metal hoops for the next few years.

Now that I'm older I've grown to like it and every time I use it I get compliments on it.  However, using it always reminds makes me a bit sad.  That one purse has become an embodiment of all the things that I never appreciated or knew enough to acknowledge for my mother.  I wonder if she was disappointed at my lack of enthusiasm over the purse that she spent too much on, thinking that I'd love it.  I know in the grand scheme of things that even though she probably forgot about it before too long, I probably never will.

Strange how sometimes the small things get carried forward with you.



In Highschool
When I was in grade 9 we were entering a new school and meeting all kinds of new friends.  My parents were quite a bit more strict than most of my friends' parents.  My dad was clear on how he felt about me dating, I still had an enforced bedtime, and it was a struggle to convince them that I should be allowed to a sleep over at a friend's house.  On one special night, I managed to disobey all of the above policies.  Tammy's mother was away for the weekend and she was having a house party that nearly all of grade 9 was invited to.  I HAD to go.  It was imperative.  My girlfriends and I collaborated and each told our parents that we were sleeping over at each others houses.  All our parents knew each other so there was no need to call, check up on us, or ask too many questions.

 In hindsight, my parents were totally right in not wanting me to go to that sort of function.  If I was a weaker girl or had shitty friends I definitely could have gotten myself into some pretty bad trouble that night.  Some examples are:  Craig got high for the first time, and Richard he put an imaginary box on his head.  Craig was near tears.  I remember trying to reason with him that that was no box on his head, but one cannot reason with a high 14-year-old.  Laura at one point was dared to get into the dryer.  She did, and she fit perfectly, even with the door closed.  Luckily we were around to prevent people from being really stupid, and she emerged safely without incident.  A couple boys then suggested she go outside with them, and we dutifully went after her once we realized she was gone.  She returned without incident.  Mark decided he need to puke, a lot, and immediately.  Very few shoes escaped without incident that night.  My first boyfriend was also at that party, but he had a hockey game in the morning so his mother came to pick him up.  She allowed him to date, so she knew who I was, and she tried to drive me home.  I lied to her too, and said I was leaving soon with my girlfriends, but in fact we just spent the whole night at the party. 

For whatever unprecedented reason the universe came up with, early the next morning my mom needed to call me at my friend's house which turned into a chain of phone calls among our parents, dismantling our lies.  When I got home that afternoon:

Mom - Did you have fun last night?
Me - Yes.
Mom - Where were you again?
Me - Jackie's.
Mom - Wanna try that one again?
Me - Um...Tammy's?

And it all went downhill from there.

Some Ass Over Tea Kettle Memories

I can't even remember the last time I went skiing/boarding; all I know is there is a dry, rusty snowboard sitting angrily in my dad's cold cellar in Guelph and the foam around my goggles has started to crumble.  But with Toronto's recent snowmagedon, today's perfect weather, and --most importantly-- a free day pass with gear rentals (sorry cellar-captive board), we rented a car and headed to Mansfield to see if our knees were too old to handle a day on the hills.  Despite a few falls, I am happy to discover that snowboarding is just like riding a bicycle...only in that it all comes back easily, otherwise the two have absolutely nothing in common.

Being on the hill lead me to recall a couple fond skiing/boarding memories of yonder, which I'd like to share with anyone who stumbles upon my blog:


Story One - 
A leading cause as to how my friends and I caught the skiing bug in the first place, was back in middle school when our math teacher formed a Skiing Club.  Looking back now, it was a brilliant tactical maneuver on both his and our parts.  He was able indulge a personal passion and veneer it as extra curricular participation, all while skipping work for a day every three weeks during the winter.  Genius!  We were able to skip a day of school every three weeks during the winter months and mask it off as school spirit...and get exercise, learn a new sport, blah blah blah...but mostly skip school.  All that, plus my mom used to buy me a litre bottle of the sparkling flavoured water every time I went on a ski trip, so that was pretty special too.

On one of these such trips the skiing conditions were not so great, and Laurie had just passed her skills test to have free run of the park.  Sandra, Jackie and I decided that trial by fire was in order, and we led her straight to one of the black diamond runs.  Not only was the hill steep and covered in moguls, but unbeknownst to us it was also layered in a respectable sheet of ice.  We charged down that hill the way that only fearless tweens can, and that sheet of ice reached out and sucker punched Laurie.  Sandra stayed with her, but Jackie and I were at the bottom of the hill before we realized that she was hurt, and rushed back up to 'rescue' her.  The ice went for round two and tried to give us the same treatment it bestowed upon Laurie.  We both went ass over tea kettle and nearly took her out bowling ball style.  Luckily, our aim was as good as our skiing and we managed to avoid damaging her any further.  That trip ended with Laurie being put in a body bag and snowmobiled to the first aid room.  She was later found to have torn her ACL and needed to be on crutches for months afterwards.

Story Two - 
My second time ever snowboarding was at Lake Louise, because it seems I like punishment.  I rose to the occasion and was able to follow my born-in-Alberta friend Dale on nearly all the runs that day.  So impressed with my new found ability, he decided it would be a great denouement for our last run to be from the top of the mountain.  From that peak we'd be able to see all the mountains and nearly touch the sun.  Sounded like a good plan.

We took the ski lift for a good 15 minutes to what I thought was the top of the mountain, but it was actually only as far as the ski lift was capable of going.  From there we still had to board a t-bar and travel damn near vertically up the precipice.  Now, I know you're like "So what? They use t-bars on bunny hills", but to you I say using a t-bar on a snowboard is more difficult than using it on skis since you have to face sideways.  Furthermore, using a t-bar to go up an unreasonably steep slop is bloody hard on your muscles, particularly after a whole day of 'sink or swim' snowboarding.  And finally, to ice the damned cake, using a t-bar at the end of the day after a ton of people before you have carved ruts into the route with their skiis is nearly impossible.  I managed to get a third of the way up to the top of the mountain when my board caught a rut and my wussy arms couldn't re-balance me.  I. Just. Couldn't. Hang. On. Any. Longer.

So I bailed, but with the last of my energy I bailed to the side so as not to take out nearly every single person behind me.  Except for Dale.  He dove out of line in hopes of literally saving my neck, but instead, I just crashed into him and he joined my human snowball.

We flipped ass over tea kettle, picking up speed with our snowboards ratcheted to our feet, flailing all over.  The people in the line behind us were wide eyed and gasping in horror as we tumbled all the way back to the top of the chair lift.  Again, I know you're thinking "Big deal, I used to roll down hills all the time when I was a kid", but to you I say this hill was not a hill, it was a freaking MOUNTAIN.  And we tumbled with planks of metal rimmed wood strapped to our feet in a double human snowball forever...kilometres...hours...DAYS!  We were motion sick, bruised and disoriented when we finally stopped, and it's only by the grace of God that neither of us were broken or missing any teeth.  We called it a day after that.

Actually wait...I guess that's why I haven't been snowboarding in years.