12/16/2024
Okay, folks, let's talk.
Tl;dr: I did not hit Justin, he is fine, he's spent the weekend in the drunk tank and the EMTs were finally able to get him to accept the treatment he's been refusing for two weeks.
For anyone who's going to click to keep reading: hello. I'm Amanda. I've owned and operated a small business in downtown Greensboro for nine years. What that means for this story is that I know all of our regular unsheltered folks by name. I know their backstories, I know their psychoses, and I know the names of the other Hospitality folk whose job it is to work and liaise with them, to be the buffer between them and the cops, to translate for the medical staff, and to check in with the businesses to keep up with who's new in the homeless community.
I've known Justin for over a year. He sometimes sleeps in my alcove (yes, that one in the post you've been seeing the past few days) because it's out of the wind and it's deep enough to stay dry on rainy days -- he's not supposed to, the property owners don't like it -- but he's gone by the time my business opens up in the morning. But he's not well, and he's not always very present, and sometimes he forgets what time it is and wanders back into my alcove. And sometimes when it's really hot or really cold, he'll come into the shop to cool off or warm up, depending on which season we're in. He speaks to people the rest of us can't see, sometimes in very vulgar language, and most of the time very loudly.
Unless he's drunk. Combine being drunk with his condition, and you end up with a man who cannot understand instructions, will drop and leave his backpack, blankets, and even shoes, and wander down the street. Drunk, he will ma******te in public and defecate against the side of buildings.
Thursday, I had managed to talk Justin into leaving my shop three times before six pm. Clear, plain words, like "Go." or "Go that way." or "You need to leave." Normally? Normally this is all he needs. But by six o'clock, someone had given Justin an entire fifth of vodka and not only was he not processing anything I said, but also unable to speak clearly himself.
At six pm I also had three other women inside the shop with me, shopping. One of whom was about nine years old and told me later how scary this whole thing had been.
And now I had a decision to make. Do I call the cops and wait for the twenty minutes it takes for a non-emergency response team? Or do I steer him back out the door about nine feet to the sidewalk?
I picked steering him back out the door. I did not hit him. I pushed. And I did not push with my hands, we're told not to do that, I held a broom.
Do I regret it? ...maybe a little bit, because I've had some of the most vile phone calls and messages from people who saw one post and made assumptions. But if you gave me the option to get him out of the building and away from my ladies versus letting him talk like that or act like that in front of a child? I'd have to say I'd do it again.
Let me be clear: I'm GLAD that woman posted about what she saw. I'm very happy to know that she thought she saw something and decided to say something. We NEED people to stand up and defend those who cannot defend themselves. I hope all of us can be that brave when things happen around us.
But follow up. She took pictures of him, and the front door of my store, and did not come in to ask if we were okay. To ask what happened. To get multiple sides of the story to see if what she saw lined up with what she assumed was going on.
And to everyone who has checked up on me: I'm okay. A little sad, a little disillusioned, still a little mad (mostly at whoever gave him the vodka). Justin will be back on the street this week, and it's going to be cold. He's not allowed on the property anymore, the building owners have made me ban him entirely now.
Thanks for reading this far. I hope we all can keep looking out for each other.
