Putting out a fire in Koreatown

While cycling through Koreatown the other day I spotted a garbage bin on Bloor Street that had smoke drifting out of it. You should know that when I’m zipping along on my bike and wearing my purple helmet I feel a little bit like a superhero. It’s true. I surge with confidence and leadership skills, and so seeing what could potential be a fire, I screeched to a halt and leapt out to face the bin.

There were a few other people standing around watching the bin.

A woman walking a poodle, a consensus builder, I think, said, “We should call 311!”

Street guy: “You mean 911, lady.”

Woman: “No, 311, it’s the number you call when you have a city related question or see somebody committing graffiti!”

Street guy: “Committing graffiti?”

Woman: “ The garbage bin is city property, they must have a protocol for such an event!”

I decided to show some leadership.

Me: “ No, this isn’t a situation for government intervention, this is a time for us to come together as citizens.”

Woman: “I still think we should call 311.”

Me: “I’m going to put out the goddamn fire.”

( this is the bin that was smoking)

Street guy: “Who made you boss? I think we should just let it burn, man!”

I ignored him, reached into my knapsack and pulled out a bottle of water. I then poured all of it into the burning bin. Nothing happened.

Street Guy: “Nice job, Superman. You just poured your water into the recycling slot instead of the litter slot where the smoke is coming from.”

I put my hands on my hips and sighed.

More smoke was coming out.

Woman: “I’m calling 311.”

I pushed open the litter slot and peered in. I couldn’t see a thing.

Once again I put my hands on my hips and sighed.

Me: “I’m out of water.”

Woman: “I’m taking my dog away, this is becoming a dangerous situation.”

Street guy: “ Dangerous situation? I live on the streets, now that’s a dangerous situation!  This is nothing! Somebody flicked a cigarette butt into a fucking garbage can and now you two think the world is about to end!”

The woman quickly walked her dog away.

“Did you call 311?” I shouted after her.

She did not respond– she was gone, like a ghost.

Me: “I’m going to buy another bottle of water.”

Street guy: “Fuck the one percent. You’ll buy water for a pretend fire but not for me, and then you’ll pour that water down the wrong slot again.”

I went into the local corner store and bought two bottles of water, but when I came out the man who was running the food truck parked in front of the smoking garbage bin was spraying it down with a hose. He looked like an older, angry version of one of the Mario Brothers. When he saw me holding the two bottles of water in my hands that I had just bought he gave me a disdainful, pained look. And then he shook his head, rethinking something, “Come, come, I give you a free slushie, you do the best with what God gave you. What flavour you like?”

“Blue,” I said.

“Blue,” he repeated, “on the house.”