Judge Not

Sure, I hadn’t shaved for days; and maybe I hadn’t had a haircut in months. And yes, I’d most definitely fallen into the habit of wearing my jeans till the knees wore through—though in my defense, it was sort of the fashion at the time. Still, I was my own boss, making good money—and so, who really was I trying to impress?

Turns out it was the social worker outside the Metropolitan United Church downtown, who met my eyes with such a bald expression of Christian love that I knew in that instant he thought I was homeless.

Inspired by Devastation. Image cropped from an ASOS fashion shoot.

Devastation

The #20 bus rolls along East Hastings Street like the Mars rover across an alien landscape. We passengers, safely behind glass, are like scientists observing previously unimaginable life forms. We pass shabby storefronts, Edwardian hotels fallen to flophouses, crumbled hoardings, junk-strewn alleys, and on the sidewalk, piles of filthy garments, soiled sleeping bags, broken personal effects, and humans: brothers, daughters, sons. Some are slumped in unconscious disarray. Some stagger or shuffle desultorily, bent at the waist in the fentanyl fold. Others huddle in conversation, a community despite everything. We pass through blocks of devastation, en route to pristine Stanley Park.

Inspired by Now That’s Customer Service and a recent ramble through Vancouver's Downtown Eastside. Photo from r/UrbanHell.

Now That’s Customer Service

On a train from Ottawa, we’re told, due to maintenance, there’ll be an hour-long detour towards the Toronto end of the line. We slow to a crawl—stop for minutes at a time—than inch forward again.

     An announcement comes on: “Attention passengers, the detour today isn’t going very well. Thanks for your understanding.”

     We erupt in laughter. Then the train starts going backwards. 

     Another announcement: “In case you were wondering, we’re not heading back to Ottawa, we’re just backing up to merge onto another track. Thanks for your understanding.”

     When we finally make it to Toronto, we’re still laughing.

Inspired by a recent train trip. Photo by Via Rail Canada.

Just for the record, the real answer was No.

I started Grade 6 with a kid whose favourite dirty word by far was dick. And he sure got to use it a lot, because even now I’m surprised how often that topic came up in a schoolyard full of eleven-year-old boys, and probably still does.

     Then the administration decided to add sex education to our gym classes.

     Then I got the chicken pox, and those damn spots got everywhere.

     “Even on your penis?” he asked.

     “None of your business, Kevin.”

     Though I’ve got to say I’m still pretty impressed that even he had started using the correct anatomical terms.

Inspired by Birds, Bees, Viruses. Original photo by Jenny Walters.