LOCAL PANHANDLER LEAVES BAD TASTE

The other day, I was coming out of Save-On-Foods and walking to my car when
I was approached by a peculiar woman. She said, "I'm sorry...I feel like
killing myself...I'm so hungry...I have no money."

I was stunned. I didn't know how to react.

This was not Downtown Vancouver where one expects to encounter the
faceless, homeless panhandler begging for money on the streets. This was
Richmond on a bright, sunny afternoon. This was not a scruffy-looking hobo
in tattered rags. This was a young, white female who was well-groomed and
sensibly dressed.

On the brink of tears, she began to explain that her sister was out of town
and that she was alone. She claimed that she had never asked anyone for
money before, but that she was starving.

I looked down at the bag of groceries in my hand, and I looked up at her
emaciated body in sharp, piercing glances. A wave of guilt washed over me.
I felt sorry for her.

I didn't have any cash on me except for a couple of quarters, so I
apologized to her. I told her I knew how it felt to go through hard times.
I advised her to seek out food banks and local shelters; I directed her to
the unemployment office for assistance.

In response, she mumbled something about looking up a phone book, thanked
me, walked away, and approached an Asian couple nearby.

Curious, I went inside Save-On-Foods and spoke with Customer Service. They
told me that this woman had been scouring the parking lot on several
earlier occasions.

What was she looking for? Drug money.

The remnants of my initial guilt flared into anger. I felt like a naive
idiot. I wanted my 50 cents back.

Of course, it all made sense now: those were drug-induced gaunt cheeks. She
was a drug addict on a desperate, frenzied search for her next high.

But why hadn't that possibility crossed my mind? Why had I been caught
off-guard?

I believe it is because this happened in Richmond. As someone who has lived
here for 16 years, there was a part of me that wanted to believe that my
quiet community was unblemished by drugs and untarnished by illicit
activity. At least, not out in the open. Not in public.

Sure, the streets aren't as safe as they once were, but I still thought of
Richmond as a safe-haven, a step above the rest of Vancouver. From outer
appearances, Richmond was an epitome of middle-class safety.

Maybe Richmond hasn't changed. Maybe it has always been like this. After
all, drug addictions cut across all ethnic, geographic, and socioeconomic
lines. However, it is unsettling to experience it first-hand and to stare
at it in the face-especially two blocks from home.

I will not be so shocked or accepting of the next similar episode. I refuse
to feed a drug habit. I will assert my right to walk on the streets without
being harassed in Richmond or anywhere else. I am still a compassionate,
caring person, and I still feel sympathy for people who are less
privileged. I can do my part by making donations to local food banks and
charities.

The main difference is that my eyes have hardened this summer.

Mina Myong
Richmond