Life As Performance Art 107

It isn't often that I do it this way, Gentle Reader, but I have decided to begin tomorrow's blog post this afternoon, while the idea is still fresh in my noggin. This is about justice, since I am particularly obsessed with justice, and with fairness and balance. I have come to learn over the years that, concerning justice and fairness, one size is never going to fit all. I will speak to a batch of privileged overgrown middle class brats in such a way that I would never think of addressing a homeless street person. I am gentle with the homeless, usually not with spoilt rich kids. There are reasons for this, and this has nothing, or almost nothing, to do with mere self-preservation, even if a stressed out guy living on the streets could get particularly unpleasant or even dangerous, shall we say, if put under even a little extra duress. This afternoon, when I arrived home from a pleasant day outing, I found a group of five or so middle class teenagers hanging out just below my apartment window, and they were being kind of loud and annoying. At first I thought that I just might as well close my window, turn the fan on at full blast, and enjoy the peace and quiet of this summer day, even if my apartment was going to feel rather stuffy for a while, till the little snot-noses had finally disbanded and I could open the window again, but I simply was not feeling very kind at the moment. Now these weren't little badass wannabes out for a good time on the mean streets. Rather, they looked like well-fed and very well and comfortably brought up, sons and daughters of privilege and that they'd just gotten lost while on their way to an Anglican church summer camp. So, in other words, they were what would be commonly referred to as "nice" kids, likely from leafy, toney upper middle class neighborhoods well away from the mean streets of downtown Vancouver. So, I called to them from my window, telling them they were making a lot of noise, and would they please move on. One of them tried to argue so I hollered at them to get lost, your mother is calling you. So, they left. My conscience is clear. There is a Tim Horton's, Blenz coffee shop and a Breka bakery and cafe, all within five minutes or less walking distance. They can sit in any one of those places, or in a Starbucks. Not so easy for some of our local homeless. And I would never talk like that to a homeless street person, and for some very good reasons, but primarily, even though I tend only to punch above my weight, and it could be argued that I was being a big bad bully towards the privileged little darlings, by the same token, I am not going to kick someone who is already down. And a homeless street person is already down. Way way down, and simply does not deserve any further shit or abuse. When some of the local homeless congregate outside my place, and I want peace and quiet, then I merely close the window and turn on the fan if I have to and try not to notice the lack of real ventilation in my place. (hey, at least I have a place to live in!). They already have nowhere to go, so I am happy to let them be, as long as they are not making too huge a racket, and as long as no one is being hurt. That is when I go downstairs to check, and that is when I might call 911, if someone is really noisy, sick or injured, having a psychotic episode, or is being assaulted. But sometimes I will also feed them, not if they're out in the back because it's too difficult to get to them, but if someone is panhandling in front of the door on the sidewalk, then sometimes I will slip them a banana or other fruit. I don't see this as kindness so much, as being simply a good neighbour. Not to mention, the homeless already get such rough and shabby treatment almost everywhere they go, unlike nice kids who look like they belong in an Anglican church camp. (I attend an Anglican church, by the way, but who could tell?) It isn't that I'm chronically mean. Who would have guessed that I was also the kind man on his bus giving up his seat for a child on an outing with a day program? But I really try to pick my battles. For example, earlier in the day, I was enjoying a rest on the bench in one of Vancouver's most beautiful medium sized parks, on the Crescent in toney Shaughnessy Heights. As usual there were a few douchebags with their dogs off-leash, not a good idea, but I really don't enjoy getting sworn at, so usually I just look the other way and mind my own business. Unless one of the dogs is trying to threaten and harass me, and then I take no prisoners! And sometimes, something needs to be said. Like to the ageing idiot leaving the liquor store next door with an off-leash pit bull. He also had the nerve to call me a nut case when I told him that his dog, being a pit bull, ought to be on leash, so I had for him a few choice words. But one gets battle fatigue and simply one just has to shut up after a while just to get on with their day. Back to the off-leash dogs in the park. A few months ago, in another upscale neighbourhood, a coyote ran off with a little poodle dog between its jaws, and I'm sure he had quite a lovely meal. The dog's owner did not have it on a leash at the time. I could offer that warning to the dumb dog owners at the park, but I am tired of getting sworn at. So, it just happened that a coyote appeared, just on the edge of the park. I shooed the coyote away in Spanish (I always talk to animals in Spanish, for some reason!), then I turned and said "Coyote" to the dumb dog owner, whose precious four-legged darling was now on a very short leash, and standing very close to his daft human owner. Idiots!!!