Bless me readers, for I have sinned.
It's been a few days since my last blog post, and... ah, who am I kidding? I was never good at being Catholic when I was young, so how can I remember this confession stuff now?
I confess nothing. NOTHING!
I was in Toronto all weekend, and there was just no time to ramble.
Alas and alack, I am back to bring you tales of shambled-nicity.
Yesterday afternoon, I found myself aimlessly wandering downtown Toronto by myself. A meeting had ended early and I wasn't due to meet my sister for another couple of hours. Insane freezing cold weather aside, it was kinda nice to just hang out alone and re-discover all the familiar places from King West and Queen West to Yonge & Dundas.
A li'l Kris time never hurt.
While wandering, I saw a guy ahead of me who was asking people for money. Not a rare Toronto sight by any means, of course.
He was well-dressed. Expensive shoes, new jeans, nice hat, and a warm jacket. When I saw that he wasn't just asking for change and backing away, I knew what I was in for.
Lucky me - when I got to the corner he stood at, the light turned red. I was stuck.
Right away, he turns to me and says, "Do you have any money for me?"
I shook my head and said sorry. I didn't have any change to spare.
Lemme put this in perspective... when I see people on the street asking for change, and they are non-invasive and you can tell they really need it? I'll give change if I have it. In my old 'hood there was a guy that my ex and I gave change to when we could. He was nice, he needed it, and he appreciated it.
But this guy? Different story. And he refused to believe that I had no change.
So, we stand on the corner. I'm freezing my ass off while he seems quite comfortable in his big warm coat and nice clothes. After I politely tell him that I have no change, he becomes pissy and gets right in my face.
"You know what, lady?" he half-yells, "I've seen 6 other black men asking for money on the street today. No whites. Because all white people are rich and don't give a shit about the poor black man. You rich white people don't care."
I explained to my dear new friend that, although white, I was not rich by any stretch of the imagination. I decided not to point out that his clothes were much nicer than mine. Likely wouldn't help the cause.
He disagreed with me anyway.
"Poor white people is a myth. All you white people get $4,000 cheques every week and laugh at the poor black men. Don't try to tell me that you don't, white girl. You're not hunting for a job."
Knowing that I'd be fighting a losing battle, I bit anyway.
"There are no $4,000 cheques in my mailbox, and I busted my ass in a job hunt for a long time. I know a hell of a lot about being poor. And that white man in tattered clothes asking for spare change across the street may disagree with your views."
The light changed green. Perfect timing.
When I looked back, my well-dressed yet misguided debater was already onto the next "rich white girl."
Just another day in downtown Trawnna.