Panhandlers, Drunks and Poor Lost Souls

I was beset last Friday, by a chunky middle-aged fellow with a beefy face, in a shapeless tweedy suit and potentially flammable aura who sat down next to me on the bus bench while I was taking a break at work. The suit had faded into view as he walked down the sidewalk towards me, with only a barely perceptible wobble. His aura wafted in moments later, as he landed heavily on the bench, likely closer to me than his approach had planned for.
“I’m from Shaskatoon” he slurred. His expression turned to surprise as if he had expected to sound better, even to himself. "Oh?"I murmured “that’s nice..”, and he launched into the beginning of what may have been a story or a joke. I wasn’t to find out. With another surprised look, as if summoned by an inner voice he suddenly lurched to his feet ,and without a backwards glance he was gone.

I just smiled and shook my head, but it got me thinking.I am going to miss working downtown.

My employer is soon to transfer us all to the fresh air and wide open spaces out near the airport.
No longer will I be entertained by the daily parade of Gottas; “Gotta smoke?” , “Gotta light?“, “Gotta loonie?” No more of their linguistically adept counterparts who actually manage to at least begin their tale of woe, which generally for some reason involves bus fare, as if going somewhere makes them more worthy of my spare change.

Spare?
As in: can I spare it?
Probably; and I do on occasion but I reserve the right to chose where and when I hand it over. The wearing of a corporate ID is like a magnet to this army of entrepreneurs, as if the fact that I have a job guarantees that I wish to; or am even obliged to share the wealth. One surly panhandler after being denied, peered at my swipe card and growled “ You work for blah-bi-blah.. you have lots of money!”
uh huh. Key word here is work buddy. Try it. If you are down on your luck, I sympathize, but funding the library park’s afternoon sniff circle is not in my budget.

The “Gotta smoke?”s can be more persistent and even dangerous. One poor girl from upstairs in Customs ended up wearing a fist in the face after refusing to hand over a cigarette to a pair of local lovelies. It was 9 am but the party was on… still, or again. I blame the uniform, she looked like a cop.
My own uniform simply makes me look like the mobile information kiosk. “No, I do not know if the 78 bus stops here, I never take a bus” “Yeah, Manitoba Housing is a block up, on the left” .

We used to sit across the street, at the library, but the Gotta traffic there became non-stop. It used to be nice there, if you faced the street you could watch the traffic go by and listen to the birds in the trees. The opposing view into the library windows was alright until one afternoon; after glancing over and catching a glimpse of some guy with zero self control, sitting in the carrels finding a new use for his sock.
Nice..think I’ll face the street, thanks.

I don't mind, really. Whatever floats your boat. Public urination is no biggie; if done with some class... artfully hidden by a tree or surreptitiously behind a building it can convey almost a European charm. Seriously though, if you need to whip it out to piss where you stand, in broad daylight; can you not do it on the footpath from the parking lot blocking my way when I am already late for work? Nope..I can't see missing that.

On the other hand no more will I be daily reminded to appreciate my mental health by those that spend their days wandering out and about the city streets. The mumblers and cursers. The little old Japanese man seen everywhere clutching his radio, constantly fiddling with the knobs. The bright faced chatty loopy girl; always insisting that I smile, and usually succeeding.
I will miss working downtown.
Who is going to remind me to smile?