Homeless in Vancouver: On weak gazelles and collecting spiders

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      Most container recycling blue bins in the Fairview neighbourhood live outside just like homeless people do. The bins sit behind the apartment buildings and are accessible 24 hours a day. Binners come and go and the bins are checked over and over.

      A minority of bins stay inside their apartment building and only come out once a week for recycling pickup. When they do come out they represent a week’s worth of a building’s recyclables (unless a building custodian has gotten to them first), untouched by any binners.

      Earlier today, I was lucky enough to get first crack at two such “inside” container bins out of their building ahead of tomorrow morning’s recycling pickup.

      Between 2004 and 2007, these two bins generally yielded a $20 to $40 load of returnable bottles; easily enough to satisfy two binners. Today I was happy to dig out about $6 worth of containers.

      When binners start to see spiders, it’s time for rehab

      Over a dollar’s worth were little plastic hip-flask-size vodka bottles. Each bottle, I noticed, still had a little bit of vodka in it.

      Old-school binners call this little bit of alcohol a spider.

      I combined all the little spiders into one bottle—about an eighth-full of vodka.

      I don’t know why old-time binners refer to the tiny remainder of spirits as spiders. My theory has to do with the “bite” in the phrase “hair of the dog that bit you.” In this case we’re talking about really small bites, hence spider bites.

      I know several binners who are chronic alcoholics—I see three of them nearly every morning. I’ll give the vodka to one of them.

      Better to give and receive?

      It’s not always easy to for street people to just give things to other street people.

      It’s a fair generalization, I think, to say the “street” prefers quid pro quo transactions, or favours for favours.

      It took me a while to understand this; that old timers were loathe to take things from other street people without giving something in return, even if it was something of only nominal value.

      The symbolism of not taking from—or taking advantage of—other street people is very important.

      Over a week ago I gave a fellow named Darcy something he was happy to have—I forget exactly what it was—but I remember he scrambled to find something to give me.

      He insisted I take a cereal bar. As an old-timer, he just wouldn’t be caught taking something for nothing from another street person.

      Younger street people learn this habit or don’t. And anyway, it’s a guide, not a rule.

      Some free food for thought

      Any food I find I will always give it away freely. If the recipient must give me something to satisfy their honour, fine.

      I find the practice of selling food found in or beside Dumpsters to be morally reprehensible. I’m not passing judgement on people but on conduct.

      I saw a binner many weeks ago trying to sell blocks of packaged cheddar cheese which someone had thrown out. He had quite a few blocks in his shopping cart. He was offering the cheese for $3 a block outside a bottle depot.

      I didn’t see one binner buy the cheese. The one homeless person I saw who had a block explained he’d just taken it out of the guy’s cart, that’s how much respect he had for someone trying to sell food that came out of a Dumpster. I had no objection to him just taking it either; served the other guy right.

      When I find packages of cigarettes, I just hand them out individually.

      Alcohol is a judgement call. Very often I just give it away. However I’ve sold eight percent import beer for a dollar a bottle. I’ve sold six-packs for $5 each. Over a week ago, I sold a quarter flask-bottle of whiskey to a panhandler for $2.

      That earned me a comment that I had to be a real asshole for taking money from an under-privileged person.

      As if!

      Don’t be such a weak gazelle!

      I’ve said as much before—everyone should make a much per day as a panhandler in Fairview can make. The problem with most Fairview panhandlers is that as much as they make they spend on drugs.

      Occasionally a panhandler will kid me about making 10 times what I earn collecting bottles. But I always know which of us has more money in our pockets—“It’s not what you make, it’s what you keep.”

      Mind you, I’m friends with a few Fairview panhandlers. I’m happy to share with them and help them out when I can. And I know they’ll do the same for me.

      Several, however, are little better than predators—scruffy cheetahs skilled at singling out the weak gazelle from the herd; weak being synonymous with gullible.

      Hmm… spiders and cheetahs and gazelles. Oh my!

      Where’s Marlin Perkins and Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom when I need them?

      Stanley Q. Woodvine is a homeless resident of Vancouver who has worked in the past as an illustrator, graphic designer, and writer.

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