It's the time for giving, and receiving; TV ads urge you to do good and give to help people in faraway places. Many provide food and cash locally to shelters and help groups and food banks...
I did better, years ago: I cut out the middle-man. I gave a huge chunk of cash to a begging junkie. Sure, at first, I expected him to give at least some of it back to me, especially because it was supposed to be a loan. But I knew what I was getting into from the start.
It was probably 1997; I was working at L'Échange, the first ''job I've always dreamed of'' that ever let me down (we'll get to that eventually, I promise). Everyday, walking up or down St-Denis street, either while going to or from work, or just hanging out with friends, I'd cross him as he was asking for change. He had a friendly demeanour and stories galore, but I'd never stay too long.
Eventually, he started coming into the store to exchange some of the change he'd collected for bills, sometimes asking if he could page his dealer from the store phone. It only took a few months before he started coming in with 'hot' merchandise he needed to unload for cash. Being the authority figure at the store by that time, I'd always have to be the one to kick him out when he was selling stuff. But as Spring came along, he had a bike for sale: $10. I knew it was wrong, but it was a great deal, and someone was sure to buy it from him at that price, so I bought it; thing is, I only had a 20 on me, and not enough change in the register to trade, so I gave him the 20 in exchange for a promise to bring me back my change, which he did, 5 hours later.
One night, after going out, a bunch of friends and I were looking for a place to eat up on St-Denis when he comes up to me and asks for spare change, but I didn't have any. That's when he first asked to borrow money. I was in a good mood, and perhaps under the influence, so I gave him a $20 bill, right then and there, despite my friends telling me I was nuts. He promised to come bring it back the next day, right and my workplace; which he did.
Came another occasion where he borrowed another 20, which he gave back. Then 40. Same result. Then another 40. But that one never made it back. And every time I'd cross him on the street, he'd promise that he would, eventually, give it back. Then I was fired.
That's when he promised to not only give it back, but with interest - an extra 5 dollars a week taht h would be late for. We were probably in 2000 by this point, and I'd start seeing him more and more - but never on St-Denis. Now he was hanging around Place-Des-Arts, sometimes at McGill. Always remembering our ''new'' arrangement, always up-to-date with his current debt, neevr more than $5 in his pockets at a time, but always ''on the verge of getting clean, man, I swear, I'll be on methadone next week'', which, of course, never happened.
I stopped adding to his debt towards me at $80 - it was just unfair.
And I stopped seeing him around in 2003. I hope he isn't dead; not just because I want my money back, also because he was genuinely a good-natured junkie, one that only lied to those who knew the deal and weren't going to fall for it anyhow, and was polite to the rest.
It'd be too much to hope that he'd gotten out of it, that he'd overcome his habit; only those who can afford to can manage to get off heroin - I'm talking Hollywood-type money; most people are on it until death comes to free them.
There are two ways to look at it - either I got screwed out of $40 and helped feed his demons and make his dealer rich - or I had money I didn't really need at the time (it'd be a totally different story nowadays) and made someone happy for a minute. These days, I'm eyeing #2.
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