On My Way to Scarborough Yesterday

Toronto, ON - Michelle - Wednesday, December 19th, 2007 : goo

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I had an interesting and prolonged encounter with a homeless lady yesterday. The usual lady from my neighborhood with gray hair who sings opera tunes and has perfect white teeth. She was headed to Danforth and Midland for what I'm not sure, but joined the crowd sitting on the eastbound subway yesterday at 11:30 am. She was drinking beer out of her pocket and directing loud conversation towards one after the other of those sitting on the subway. I've seen her a number of times on the sidewalk and given her change almost equally that number of times. I have no problem stopping to talk to her on the sidewalk, but within the confines of the subway it seemed like a better idea to read my Metro and look away. In the end I give myself the excuse that it was because I wouldn't have been able to step away if the interaction got uncomfortable.

She was in fine spirits. Talking about her three dogs, singing to some random sheepish guy, beseeching the lady down the way to pray for her. She decided to sit opposite me and I put down my Metro because I can't be rude since I know her. I talk back hesitantly and luckily the lady next to me decides to talk to the homeless lady too. The homeless lady's name is Patty. Patty Petunia her father used to call her, though she hated it the most. And she sings a sad tune about her daddy before launching into a lecture about drunk-driving and then stopping off on the question as to whether she should cut her hair. I advise that she needs the insulation for the winter - hold off until spring.

The TTC decides to give us all a hassle and is running shuttle buses from Victoria Park due to icy conditions on the subway tracks. The homeless lady, Patty, shuts up every time the loud speaker comes on. She's not so unaware that she forgets she's headed somewhere. She begs someone to see her to the shuttle bus, she wants to tag along. Sure, she can tag along, sit on the seat next to me on the bus and talk nonsense or truth, I'm not sure, to the lady wearing a pink knit scarf who stands over her. The bus jostles us all. Patty, the homeless lady, trots along with her talk, her family, her dogs. Can she come to my dinner table? She's forgotten who I am and tells me I'm not the type who would drop a quarter in her cup, and I remind her that I have often enough.

She sips her beer, asks for a piece of gum. The lady next to her gives her a Halls. Patty, the homeless lady, says the Halls is good but that she still wants her beer. The bus lurches as we head to Warden station, everyone has their head cocked in our direction because Patty is the most entertaining one going. She's loud, she proclaims, but not dangerous.

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Michelle: Thanks Peter!

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