The System

The morning started off as a typical day at Safetynet. I battled the traffic and the pop-up road construction that always seems to accompany the first warm days of spring, arriving at the charity around 8:30 a.m. Mark was scurrying around the building packaging diapers, constantly changing direction whenever another task popped into his head.

I was sitting at my computer when I noticed a woman hunched over in the women’s section of the clothing bank. Safetynet doesn’t open until 9:30, but some of the homeless clients arrive early because they prefer to remain unnoticed.

A few moments later, the woman approached the checkout counter, and one of our students hurried over to help her. We gave her a gift card for Tim’s, which made her smile. I looked at her closely. Her face was sunburnt, her hands were muddied, yet she managed to maintain her pressed-on nails. I tried to guess her age, but with people living on the streets, it’s difficult. Exposure to the elements ages faces long before their time.

She looked deeply sad and kept her eyes fixed on the ground as she was being checked out.

“You okay?” I asked.

“No,” she quietly responded.

“What’s going on?” I persisted.

“I’ve been sleeping at the GO station, but the police kicked me out. I have nowhere to go…”

I told her I would try to find a bed for her. She looked at me with a brief flicker of optimism, quickly followed by resignation.

After 35 years in social services, there are still days when I’m amazed by how naïve I can be.

I immediately started calling shelters in the area — though in Oakville, there are very few. The first shelter didn’t answer, so I looked them up online only to discover they housed men only.

I moved on to the next shelter, where I was informed they only accepted clients brought in by police. Given her experience at the GO station the night before, that was clearly not an option.

I contacted another shelter, only to be told she had to be a Halton resident and provide proof of residency.

I told them, “She’s homeless. She has no residence.”

“I’m sorry,” they replied, “she has to return to the last city where she resided.”

My frustration must have been palpable. She looked at me with a knowing smile and said, “This is our experience every day.”

Still clinging to my naïveté, I told her I would try one more place. She gave me the same half-smile and said she was going out for a smoke while I made the call.

The final shelter gave me a list of requirements she would need to meet before qualifying for a bed.

I hurried back out to the parking lot, but she was gone.

She had disappeared into the day and never returned.

I had the luxury of frustration.

She carried the burden of hopelessness.