TALES FROM THE WORLD OF REALITY
There’s a kid who shines shoes outside the store where I work. Let’s call him “Shoeshine Kid.” He looks in his early twenties, and he has two Husky dogs. He’s very friendly and professional. Although his donation jar is in plain view, and his vagrancy is apparent, he’s not pan-handling. He performs a valuable service, and takes pride in his work.
He asked me whether anyone complained about him in the store. I said no, not that I’d heard. I can’t imagine anyone complaining about him. He’s courteous and respectful at all times. He doesn’t evoke pity or horror like the shambling addicts who pan-handle from the Starbucks patrons next door. He’s by far the most agreeable and businesslike of all the street characters, none of whom posess the same respect for the principles of good customer service.
Take “Decrepit Wheelchair Man”, for example. DWM pan-handles outside the mall across the street, and his legs work perfectly ok. The wheelchair is just a gimmick, an embellishment of the sense of misfortune and disability that attracts donations . The Shoeshine Kid and I agree that this is dishonest.
The two of them had an altercation today. It began with Shoeshine Kid loudly informing passers-by of the fictional nature of DWM’s schtick. Enraged, DWM calls him a junkie and a crackhead and meth-head. This hit a sore spot with the Shoeshine Kid, who does not do drugs and knows that everyone suspects that he’s a junkie, just because he’s homeless in Vancouver. No, people, he’s just poor.
He responds to this slander by jumping up, taking his shirt off and yelling, “point to a fucking track mark!” Meanwhile folks doing their Christmas shopping walk faster and keep their eyes down. He repeats this challenge a few times to emphasise the fact that no such track marks exist. Defeated and unwilling to stick around to suffer humiliations from the semi-naked Shoeshine Kid, DWM rolled off, trailing a string of slurred curses.
Then we both went back to work.
