Christmas

Ashley‘s been going nuts trying to find something for me for Christmas. Part of the problem: I don’t really want anything. That’s not to say that there’s nothing I want in this world, just that most of the things I want are either unrealistic to ask someone to buy for Christmas, or can’t be bought in a store. My mother is the same way in recent years. This year, she gave me a gift request that most people would find pretty odd: take $40, give it to people in need on the street. And give it without judgment.

I set out Friday morning to honour my mother’s request. I dutifully stopped at the Scotiabank, took out two yuppie biscuits ($20 bills) from the ATM and then changed it into four $10 dollar bills. But where to give? Ironically, it was before noon, hence none of the street people who normally frequent Granville and Robson begging for change were around. I set off to find another gift for Ashley to kill some time.

On the bus up from English Bay, a man got on the bus and begged a ride off the bus driver. As he wove his way through the passengers in the bus, he asked each person for some change to help him buy a sandwich. I fingered one of $10 bills in my pocket, drew it out and handed it to the man. He looked a little surprised and thanked me for the money.

“Don’t thank me, thank my mom.” I said.
“Oh, okay. Where is she?” he said, looking past me to the seat behind me.
“Oh, she’s not here. It’s a Christmas thing.”

I walked off the bus at my stop, noticing a few strange looks from the other passengers on the bus.

It was afternoon by this point and a few more street people were visible panhandling in the Robson area. I had three people in mind to whom I wanted to distribute the remaining $30: Harmonica Guy, the Space Cellist, and Cat Girl.

Harmonica Guy is an old man who plays harmonica on the street, pausing every couple of bars to look up and say “hi” to people as they pass. Usually he hangs out on Granville near Pender. But he wasn’t there.

Next, I tried to find the Space Cellist. I knew finding him would be hit or miss; either he’d be at his spot at Granville and Robson or he wouldn’t. The Space Cellist has been a mainstay in Vancouver since I visited the city as a kid. Basically, the Space Cellist plays a stringed instrument consisting of two hubcaps sandwiching an acoustic guitar body, acting as a bridge for a set of strings hooked up to an electric amplifier through a weird guitar peddle. He tunes the strings by sliding bolts up and down the strings to get the space cello “in tune”, though however he defines that is anyone’s guess. He bows the strings and the result is something that belongs as a background for the next Pink Floyd album. But again, he wasn’t there.

I was losing hope of finding someone I recognized at this point and Cat Girl was my last chance. Cat Girl sits wrapped in a blanket with her cat on a corner of Robson opposite a store that sells only fridge magnets. Logic suggests the store should have closed a month before it even opened. By some cruel trick of the cosmos, it’s on that corner after three years. Just like Cat Girl. Except, of course, today.

In the end, I distributed the money to two random people on the street and a Salvation Army bell ringer in front of London Drugs.

In retrospect, despite the running around I did, it was still the easiest and cheapest gift to give. Maybe more people should ask for this for Christmas.