TE Recommends

Hosted With HostingForAQuid.co.uk

TE Search


A Case of Crappy Timing
Written by Jon   

Strange encounters of the homeless kind and being unable to help

It started in Old Compton Street, Soho, London. It ended Thirty minutes later. It lingers on however - both depressive and uplifting to me personally at the same time.

So what was it? I got asked for change in the middle of chatting to a mate wo was just leaving anyway, by a man whom I shall call "Scotty" in a highly politically correct hint as to his ethnic origin.

Scotty needed  change, and was very highly emaciated - I've seen fatter people on video footage from Auschwitz.

Why is this depressing? Because I couldn't help. I gave my three quid or whatever - and my friend offered his food which was kindly declined - but as my friend had to take his leave to attend a meeting, Scotty and myself walked and engaged in fractured conversation.

He had eight quid and needed another eleven to pay for a hostel place. That would either house him for a week or two weeks, he couldn't recall. Though I had a horrible feeling, from my own experiences with nomadic London -that this was probably a day rate.

Time and time again - it's the same story. Abusive parents leading to failure by the social services care system to prevent a quick slide into hard drugs, dependency, and general hopelessness.

Scotty told me a couple of things - about his recent sobriety, how he refused to give in to the temptation to engage in petty theft, how faith in Jesus kept him trucking - despite the lack of concern on the part of the general public, and the welfare services especially - because after all - if you've got no ID, you're not really a human being.

More depressing still, was that I tried too hard maybe, attempting to inject some positivity and bulshy pro-activity to the problems at hard. "Let's get that tenner" I said, and we went into a betting shop.

"Excuse me gents" I said addressing three guys sitting around a poker machine. "My mate only needs a couple of quid to get a bed for the night and I was wondering if you could help?" One guy put his hand in his pocket and pulled it out empty, another guy ignored us, and the last guy replied: "hang on a second I'm on a win here..."

Meanwhile Scotty by the doorway got claustrophobic or something and called me to leave... "This is fucking embarrassing man, let's go" he said. So we went. I was thinking to myself: 'fuck the embarrassment, do you want that money or not?', and was attempting to formulate a diplomatic way to put that but stopped myself - after all - his choice.

Approaching Oxford Street Scotty was fractious in the extreme, going through each of his worries and the brick walls of 'what to do'. I got the feeling I wasn't helping and was just winding him up somewhat with my matter of fact approach. Who does like begging? I didn't - that's why I sold poems, but then - I was never completely without hope - never without friends or a free meal or a fiver loan between benefits.

Anyway, I tried to get him to take some tobacco, yet he would only accept the one rollie from me, I was going to call a  mate to find out about a local church that didn't charge for nightly shelter - but that wasn't good for Scotty - he obviously didn't think much from previous experience.

So we parted ways, and to be honest, I was somewhat pissed off by my own impotence to wave a magic wand, and he was pissed off probably with my optimism and meaninglessness: "you'll be OK mate keep going how you are, keep trying".

As I smoked in Oxford Street and watched the crowds barge by one another a hand touched my elbow. It was the guy from the betting shop. "Where's your friend?" he asked. "He's gone now" I said. He pulled a fiver out of his pocket and said if we had only waited one minute, why couldn't we wait?

"I think I embarrassed him or something" I said... "it sucks, we're not going to find him now". Five minutes had passed, and Scotty was off northwards to get to the shelter he didn't have enough money for amongst the rush hour crowds.

"It's fuck all good being embarrassed when you've got nothing and nowhere." The man said, then continued: "being a shrinking violet don't get you nowhere here, and I've been there..."

"Me too mate" I replied, wondering if I really had, in the same way. "oh well, see ya" the man said crossing the road. "yeah - take care mate" I said with the same air of disappointment in my voice.

So what's uplifting about this story? Not much I admit - apart from that man's willingness to help another... as I rode home on the train with my random thoughts at the back of it all I wondered if even though I couldn't scam Scotty that eleven quid - did someone trying to try and trying to care give Scotty any comfort or hope? Probably not I resolved, but I'm never going to give up the hope that one day, and in a small way - it won't always be like this.