Adventures in Lotus Land - Of Bottle Returns and Homelessness

Well, Double-Ds and I have been in town for over three months now, and it's been a mostly smooth transition for me back into the Vic City groove...with a few notable exceptions. Many of these have been fermenting in my brain, so expect later posts on them (if I'm not in jail because these freakin' pedestrians DO NOT LOOK BEFORE THEY STEP OUT INTO THE ROAD and with all of the elderly drivers here not to mention the ROWDY TEENAGERS and DRUNKS and PEOPLE WHO TALK ON THEIR PHONES do you really want to PUT YOUR LIFE INTO THE HANDS OF A COMPLETE STANGER'S REFLEXES although thankfully for you mine have been honed by non-stop Rock Band sessions which is seriously THE BEST GAME ON EARTH).

One area that makes us sorely miss O-Town (and Ontario in general) is liquor stores. In the big province, it's still a provincial crown corporation, and boy, is the LCBO a yuppies dream. Big spacious stores, attractive colour schemes, a gift section, free glossy magazine with recipes and pretty pictures. Together with the Beer Store (which is basically every beer-lover's fantasy - a building that's 1/4 open space and 3/4 fridge) they dot the Ontario landscape, beckoning to thirsty people with their size, cleanliness and consistent pricing which includes taxes right on the shelf tag.

A couple of years ago, Ontario also got on the bottle deposit bandwagon - for alcoholic beverages only. Now, this was actually a bit of a pain for the DD and I, because I, as a good little west-coaster, have been recycling since utero, and therefore needed no incentive to keep containers out of the garbage other than the feeling of satisfaction and smug superiority that comes with practicing the three Rs. Still, we dutifully stacked our empty booze holders in the garage, and packed them away with us to the beer store when we when to pick up our next case. There, we would wait in line to return the empty bottles and get the little ticket stub which was immediately put towards purchasing full bottles - thus completing the circle of life.

So it was a bit of a shock when we went to our yuppie wine store in downtown Vic City and, rather than a friendly greeting and recognition of our civic mindfulness, we were awkwardly given a flat and a wine crate and - I kid you not - asked to leave the store to sort them. Yes, leave the store, crouch over on the sidewalk, and rummage through our empties like (and if you are from this city, have been to this city, or know anything about this city then you know how this ends...) street people.

Because it seems that - in all my years away - recycling empties has gone from the noble task of suburbanites and high school sports teams to a dirty thing that only the pariahs of our beautiful city participate in. And, since it's now a task of the "undesirables", the business who must, poor dears, interact with these ruffians have NO OTHER CHOICE than to make the entire process as difficult and humiliating as possible.

And why not? This is, after all, the city which has bravely sought to tackle the tragic, complex and difficult question of homelessness, and the implicated issues of addiction and mental illness, by passing random by-laws which are so blatant and short-sighted as to fall short of being "band-aid" solution - these, my friends, are "little pieces of tissue that guys put on their face when they nick themselves while shaving" solutions. Like the genius one back when I was in high school which a bunch of us learned about while waiting for the crowd to disperse after watching New Year's Eve fireworks downtown and a couple of cops came up to us and told us to stop what we were doing (and we thought they were kidding so they had to repeat themselves that) sitting on the sidewalk was illegal. And, of course, the next big one which was famously struck down just this last week - the "Oh, you have no where to sleep and it's cold and raining? Screw you!" by-law.

Not that I have all the answers (well I do, but it involves people diverting resources for the good of their fellow citizens with noting but the warm fuzzy feeling that comes with being a decent human being in return, which makes me a socialiest/commie/terrorist bastard, I guess), but it's amazing what 2 minutes hunched over a cold sidewalk pawing empty bottles does the ol' empathy gland.

Nerve centre? Cortex? Empathy cortex...yeah, that sounds right.