Homeless in Vancouver: Blood from a stone—I got some!

The unwelcome prospect of work woke me up today. Not “woke me up this morning” because It’s Saturday, my day to catch up on sleep.

No, it was 12:30 p.m. when I got up. And it was only the prospect of someone else’s work that kept me from sleeping longer: a rare Saturday visit from the building custodian needing to access the storage room my bike and trailer were firmly locked against.

He needed to drag out a bunch wooden shipping pallets that he was going to take away in a pickup truck—to dispose of them.

I have explained to the management of this building that they just need to leave the darn things in the alley; that people in trucks scour the back lanes over night to collect wooden shipping pallets, which have a deposit value like pop cans.

Does anyone ever listen to me?

So while the junk pallets were being piled into a pickup truck to be properly disposed of—in a ravine probably—I was making my way toward a hot cup of coffee.

The first obstacle in my path took the form of a panhandler approaching me with one outstretched limb like a one-armed zombie—urrh, I really don’t like zombies!

I got my money. What am I complaining about?

This zombie panhandler owed me about two dollars—the price I charged him for a quarter-full flask of whiskey last week.

I routinely find alcohol. I’ll give it away to any number of homeless alcoholics, but I make panhandlers pay.

At the time, this particular panhandler said he was just going a few blocks away to pan the two bucks at a convenience store. He was going to be back in a flash with my two dollars.

A week later here he was with his arm outstretched holding…money?

I was foolish enough to think he going to hand me a two-dollar “toonie” coin or a one-dollar “loonie” coin and four quarters.

Ha! Instead he palmed a handful of nickels and dimes off on me, telling me it was about Can$2.35.

Of course that’s what he did.

Panhandling has the necessary ROI to support a healthy drug habit; collecting bottles not so much.

Drug dealers, however, do not—I’m told—like to deal in fiddling small change. They want $10 and $20 bills.

Panhandlers convert their haul of coins wherever they can.

Fast-food restaurants and coffee shops are usually happy to get the change.

He wouldn’t waste high-value coins on me. He’d take the opportunity to get rid of some nickels and dimes—he did take the opportunity.

How happy were panhandlers when Canada finally “retired” the penny?

I should just be happy that he paid me. Not that it’s much money.

But I got money from a panhandler—that’s a change!