The Others

Am I the only one who thinks that Calgary is a pretty great city?

I was having a conversation with some lady friends of mine yesterday at a Christmas Decoration Volunteer Bee. Yes, I’m unemployed. So sue me. Barring the shock that there wasn’t a room-full of senior citizens, the afternoon was quite pleasant and in my defense, I was lured with the promise of rum and light eggnog. (I also relearned the lesson I need help remembering every single damn Holiday Season: one glass of rum and egg nog is plenty.)

Anyway, as we were sitting there making Victorian-style paper ornaments for the Christmas trees at this museum I work at, a homeless man came to the door and rang the doorbell. The response from the 4 ladies in the room was shocking and I dare say, appalling.

After going to see who was at the door, one of my dearest and closest friends said “It’s just a bum” and carried about her work. Now let me preface this by saying that the beautiful museum in which I work is surrounded by a crack park. The museum belongs to the Province, but the park surrounding it is a public, inner city park. It is not uncommon to have stakeouts during the Opera, 2 or 3 ambulances in a V-formation during a concert series or homeless men with shopping carts full of recycling clanking noisily down the street during a wedding. It is part of the atmosphere. Never a dull moment, I say. It is amusing, and I find, relatively harmless. Yes, it’s prudent to keep a watchful eye, and be careful and safe, but ultimately, the homeless are people too. I’m not saying that I would split a pint with them or chill on a bench, or spend any time there after dark, but I do understand that luck and circumstance and a couple of paychecks are all that separate me from them.

Also when I was 19, I made some really foolhardy choices and ended up homeless. It was temporary, but humbling. And the reason I got out was because I had a good support system.

So addressing them as ‘bums’ rubs me the wrong way. And ignoring them out of fear pushes my buttons too.

Me: “How do you know it’s a bum and not a delivery driver?’
Friend: “There aren’t supposed to be any deliveries on Monday’
Other volunteer: ‘Besides, he’s wearing an old coat.”

…?

I think I said something along the lines of, I’m sure it’s fine and he’s probably harmless. And was met with much resistance from the other 4 people in the room. And let me be clear: I am with two 40 year-olds and two 20 year-olds. We are not a bunch of fearful old biddies, here.

The homeless man eventually leaves and comes back some time later. I finally go to the door and suss out the situation for myself. Someone is standing there politely. He is wearing a toque and a brightly-coloured ski jacket. I don’t see what the big deal about answering the door is. And I would never even have guessed he was homeless.

-Can’t we just see what he wants?

-Well, you don’t want to mess with the crackheads.

-What makes you think he’s a crack-head? Because he’s got an old coat and is ringing the doorbell? And did they actually think this "crack head" was going to swoop in and blugeon all five of us to death in one fell swoop? Because you know, anyone who's homeless must be addicted to crack.

-Well, you just don’t want to mess with the crackheads.

And so I didn’t. I didn’t go the door and see what he wanted. It was probably a washroom or a meal or some spare change. But we were 5 women in an empty house with no recourse if I was wrong.

I don’t think I did the wrong thing. But I do feel regret. And I do think there is a lesson here for me to be learned about the importance of not letting fear be a guide. A few posts ago, I said I was going to come from a place of trust for the next three months. I believe if I put out a consciousness of trust that I will attract trustworthy people towards me. And yet I had an ideal opportunity to put that into action and chose not to because of public pressure. Had I been there by myself, I wouldn’t have thought twice about answering the door.

The “bum” at the door spawned an even more futile conversation about how ‘dangerous’ the city is getting. I don’t believe this. I am not scared of the city I live in because I choose not to be. I don’t see the point of walking around in fear of what might happen. That is not to say that I do stupid things. I just think that living in a big city that has only had...what?...66 murders so far this year is pretty darned good. I think that fact that a) we’re still counting them and b) they still get reported as news is a good sign that we have not become de-sensitized. And we are still under a hundred! Less than a hundred deaths this year and it is almost year-end!

Volunteer: Yes, but I remember when we would only have 5 or 6 deaths a year.

Me: (When was that, 1975?) I shrug. Times are changing. The city is growing.

I know this is a weak argument and I am not actually trying to argue the PRO side of murders in Calgary; obviously I would prefer the number be lower and crime and murders not exist and OF COURSE, I don't want that number to rise. But I think it’s a reality we have to accept. And I still think we’re doing pretty well.

Yes, I think the police need to be vigilant. And yes, we have had more open-fire gang-related assassinations over the last three months or so than in the preceding years. It is not my job to worry about it. Seems to me that worrying that I will get shot is just a waste of time and energy.

I never did find out what the man wanted. Or if I made the right decision. My gut is telling me I tripped up. And then we just carried on, in warmth and luxury, listening to Tony Bennett Christmas carols, glue-gunning lace onto decorations.

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