Fuck You

Homelessness; an ongoing issue.

Every account in this story has taken place within the last two years, after I was no longer naive about issues regarding the homeless. Before then I would sulk through every cry for help, and feel horrible about being well-off. While it still breaks my heart to see people struggling on the street, I’ve come to the realization that I can’t help everyone, and the better part of these people are too far gone to be helped at all.

It was one quiet night in a city I recall having a pleasant stroll. It was peaceful momentarily, until I walked by some tents only to hear a familiar huffing and hawing. While this couple at least had the decency to throw a few tarps up, I could plainly make out a man and woman shagging like there was no tomorrow. Despite my own embarrassment for them, I decided to brush off this unpleasant scene and continue on my walk. I mean, they had to do it somewhere, if not a bed, than the sidewalk was well-suited.

I don’t know what’s worse, but on a completely separate occasion I caught a man popping a squat at the side of an official looking office building, and defecating on the cement. However, the only thing I remember being bothered by from this instance was that he didn’t use anything to wipe, simply pulled his pants up and walked away.

Outside an A&W a crusty black woman yelled at me, “hey girl, spare some change, hey girl…” I began walking faster and decided, this time, I should pretend I’m deaf. “Hey I’m talking to you! Hey! You bitch!” Of course, at the time, I was sensitive to any harsh words, and felt terrible for completely ignoring her. But why would I turn around and give someone money, especially after being called a bitch?

Another similar instance occurred on a road trip; I stopped at a corner store to buy some goods, and noticed an annoyed lady sitting outside the front door. I shoved some snacks into my purse, and was, as expected, confronted by her as soon as I walked out.

“Hey can you give me some money?”

“I don’t have any on me, sorry.”

“No. I know you do, you just bought something in there!”

“Card! Card! I used a card!” Panicking, I handed over a fruit snack and dove into the passenger side of my friends vehicle.

“Ugh,” she scowled. I could have seen the look of disgust on her face from a mile away.

Not every experience I’ve had with homeless men/women have been bad, mostly irritating, but on the other hand, it was when I was lost in one of these cities that I asked one which bus to take back to my hostel.

“The Six, the six,” I could tell this one had some loose bolts, but he was still a friendly man. Even as I waited for my bus he whispered to his imaginary friend “the Six, she’s got to take the Six,” but I knew exactly which bus to take and couldn’t have been more grateful for his advice (I arrived safely at my destination).

Most of my encounters however, have been with some outwardly people. On one sunny day in one downtown, a homeless man, tweaked out and angry, spotted me from across the street. He pointed, and looked me dead in the eyes.

“Fuck you,” he shouted. He began walking towards me, or limping I should say, His bowleggedness kept him from walking very fast. “FUCK YOU!” Once again, I pretended I couldn’t hear and marched hastily. I was the only person on the street at the time, so I must have looked like someone he knew, or he was cracked out and decided to make a young woman rather uncomfortable. The “fuck yous” and brisk waddling continued for another three blocks. I soon stumbled upon some Latinas on their way to their soul-sucking office jobs, and shoved myself into the little group. safety.

“Ja ja, he’s mad no?” the Latina to my right chuckled.

By Camille Bliss