For a few weeks there in the winter, as a philanthropic effort, I was making soup and then distributing to homeless people down on Bloor Street. Unfortunately, this ended badly after the ground beef soup debacle. Apparently, the soup I made had been giving out was causing diaherra*1, which was not my intention. At any rate, it all got very ugly one day when three hobos began to scream and throw soup ( at least I hope it was soup) at me. I did not know that ground beef could go bad, thinking that if it was boiled and cured with some alcohol, it would be fine. Live and learn, I guess.
Anyway, ever since I discontinued this program, I have been looking for a new charitable activity, and decided to implement a Toronto chapter of the Guardian Angels. The Guardian Angels are a volunteer organization of unarmed citizen crime fighters. In 1979, they were developed by Curtis Sliwa in New York City as a response to escalating violence on the subway system. As I have an abundance of spare time and good will, I thought I could help protect the subway passengers of Toronto, and perhaps score a free transit pass from the city in the process.
On Monday afternoon, wearing the identifying red beret of the organization, I got on the subway at the Spadina stop. Armed with the boom box I use for our floor hockey practices, I set up shop on a crowded subway car. So that people knew who I was and what I was doing, I played angel themed music on the ghetto blaster. This is a partial list of the music that I had on my compilation:
Calling All Angels– Jane Siberry and K.D. Lang. Angel–Sarah McLachlan. My Angel is a Centerfold– J. Geils Band. Angel of the Morning–Juice Newton. Angel of Harlem—U2. I’m Your Angel—Celine Dion and R. Kelly.
As I stood there patrolling my car, a dude in a hooded New York Jets sweatshirt– who looked like a criminal– gave me a menacing look. I had been at my post for less than five minutes, at this point, and already something was afoot. He said, “Turn that fucking shit off right this second or I’m going to shove that box up your ass.”
I have to say, this was a little bit intimidating, but I stood my ground, telling him “It’s alright, I’m a Guardian Angel.” I looked at some of the other passengers for support, but they all pretended to be reading that Metro newspaper thing. I then turned the music up just a little louder, hoping to calm the guy down a bit. When I did that, the dude said “Now you done it.”
He stood up and crossed his arms across his chest, like he thought he was LL Cool J or something. I sat down and turned off the boom box, at which point the rest of the passengers on the train began to applaud. I think they were supporting my bravery.
After this challenging shift, I got off at the next stop at Bay, going to Pusateri’s to comfort myself with a piece of carrot cake and a tea.
Remember, if you see a man wearing a red beret on the TTC, know that he is your friend and protector—he is your guardian angel.
*1. How do the hobos know that it was my soup that caused the diarehha? Given the lifestyles they lead, and the crazy things they’re ingesting ( Scope, Crystal Meth, paint thinner. Tim Horton’s donuts), it could have been absolutely ANYTHING, and to blame my soup is a hostile, knee-jerk reaction, the sort of behaviour that likely contributes to being homeless.