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Roger Rabbits with |
A stream of water snaked from beneath a pile of grubby clothes and bedding in the shop doorway. And there was a plume of steam as it pooled in the middle of the footpath?
You could smell it. Urine. The homeless bloke under the pile had peed himself.
It was interesting that he had taken his shoes off before hunkering down in the doorway the night before. And he had set them tidily together, toes pointing out to the footpath. A neat-nik. Down on his luck, but he kept a tidy swag.
Tidy swag, tidy mind. There was hope.
Except for that puddle. “Excuse me?” I said to the heap in the doorway. He ponged – a smell that lingered with you. “You have pissed all over the footpath. You expect people to wade through your business?
I always felt for retailers arriving to open for business, and finding their front door transformed into a makeshift latrine.
Navigating Lake Urine
The whites of two eyes stared out at me. And when he spotted Lake Urine he leapt up in sodden jeans and apologised. “I’m sorry.” He seemed sincere. “This always happens when I’m cold.”
I wanted to blame alcohol for his mishap but it’s probably a phenomenon called cold-induced diuresis.
When we get cold, the body restricts blood flow to the skin to keep vital organs warm, which increases blood pressure and signals the kidneys to filter excess fluid. We pee a lot more when we’re cold.
The homeless man was freezing…and filtering. Now he’s draped in a blanket, he’s shaking, and he’s pacing barefoot. “I couldn’t sleep; I’ve been cold all night.” And flowing like McLaren Falls.
Regardless of whether he was forced onto the street, or it was a lifestyle choice, I felt sorry. “Coffee?” Of course he would. Could he have a large chai latte? “And two sugars please.” I liked his taste. And his cheek. Those who don’t try, don’t get. “Could I also have a mince and cheese too please?” My goodwill had just cost me $13.50 and the sun hadn’t even come up.
Compare it to Auckland where council “knocker-uppers” – or compliance wardens – wake and move on the homeless at dawn each morning. “Morning sir, Just getting everyone up, please” they’ll say.
The “knocker-uppers” are modern day Mary Smiths who, in the 1930s in London, famously used a pea shooter to rattle windows and waken workers before alarm clocks were affordable or reliable.
Back in Auckland: “Sir, you are obstructing a bench and someone else in the public space needs it”.
My new homeless friend was better off – I was providing him breakfast in bed. I hadn’t had my first green tea and he’s gorging a mince and cheese and chai latte.
‘Far too soft’
“Seagulls!” said one cafe owner in the CBD. “Show kindness and he’ll be back for more. Then there’ll be a whole flock of them.” I suppose cafes have reputations and business to protect. They’re not soup kitchens.
And they would, understandably, support the Government’s proposed kick the can down the street legislation. The proposed ‘Move on Order’, giving the police powers to order rough sleepers to move on from where they’re sitting, sleeping or begging. A breach could attract a $2000 fine, or arrest and imprisonment.
Former Tauranga MP Simon Bridges was strong on banning begging and rough sleeping in Tauranga’s CBD back in 2018. He said at the time: “I see these people on the street and they’re aggressive.” Back then he accused the council of being “far too soft” on the homeless. The mostly affable Bridges and I bickered about it during regular Monday morning press chats. “Where are they meant to go?” I would ask.
Shoes and manners
The MP insisted there was a range of government support for the “genuinely homeless”.
Local social agencies are rallying against the ‘Move-On’ legislation. They say it’s “poorly conceived and will further harm our vulnerable unhoused community”.
Numbed by the cold, my new friend wasn’t the slightest worried about ‘Move-on’
“Cos I can’t do anything about it.” He just shrugged at threat of a $2000 fine. “You can’t take something away from nothing…pfft!” Then he shuffled off towards the CBD, carrying his shoes.
“Thank you,” he offered as he left. He didn’t have much. Just shoes and manners.
Next day, that possie was occupied by a woman, all smiley and chirpy in the chill of 5.30am. “I keep smiling and staying alive.” She was processing discarded cigarette butts – re-modelling them into something smokeable. Needs must. The music being pumped onto the street keeps her “company and happy”.
She’s thoughtful about ‘Move-on’. “What’s the point of shunting me further down the street?” That’s everyone’s question.
Then she out-manoeuvres ‘Move-on’. She gathers her mess and disappears into the gloom. Have a nice day.