By Mike Sauve

While this blog will often take a comic look at injustice, ironies and general crapulence that we witness in Toronto, this is not that kind of story.

I’ve lived above Allan Gardens for six years. It’s right across the street from the crack/booze demons of George Street and Seton House shelter, so in this otherwise idyllic park, once the stomping ground of late 19th century socialites—I’ve witnessed my share of sad and desperate scenes.

The mouth-wash drunk is most often responsible for the ugliest incidents. You might blame Ontario’s monopoly on alcohol for this. In the States a homeless guy might scrape up the money needed for a low-end mickey of vodka or whiskey, in Ontario, where that would cost $13, he doesn’t stand a chance.

So these addicts turn to Listerine for its high alcohol-content, it rots their guts, and makes them far less coherent than the average drunk. I can’t imagine they even enjoy the first sip. You know that feeling when you crack a cold beer on a hot day, you don’t get that with a frothy cup of Listerine.

Today, I witnessed the most disturbing site of my relatively sheltered life. A man, walking at a good clip, seemingly for no reason, fell, with great momentum, directly on his face, smashing up his nose, and busting his glasses which then lacerated the sagging skin around his eyes. The blood poured out. He also suffered a broken arm and a very prominent dislocated shoulder. Several witnesses and I could only hold hands to our open mouths, gaping in collective anguish.

A dutiful, dog-walking homosexual ran to find a phone. A saintly Indian woman who appeared to have some nursing background also called 911. She provided a better bedside manner than I could have hoped to. I simply stood on grimacing in horror, shaking my head at this sad, somehow inevitable happening.

“I was almost home,” he said when he regained consciousness, amazing us with his good humour. She laughed a kind, ringing laugh, that suggested maybe she had witnessed some pain in her life. She offered what was most needed: spiritual aid to the man, who was, despite his intense pain, more than anything–embarrassed.

He was in his 60s, and even managed to joke, “Why do all Canadians hate Americans?” and told us he was from Miami. The fire truck arrived first and the men did a fine job cleaning up this poor suffering man and getting him on a stretcher.

Commiserating with one of the emergency workers, we agreed that it was a blessing in disguise that the man was so drunk (he was a known Listerine-abuser). Someone even half as drunk might have got a hand up to break their fall, perhaps, but I’d hate to consider the physical sensation a sober man might feel after landing hard on the bones in his face.

It reminded me that evil events are out there, waiting to happen. I saw the man approaching, there was no reason for him to trip, his legs simply gave out in the worst possible fashion and projected his face onto that pavement. The best way to avoid that evil is to be reasonably sober and lucid, but that’s easier-said-than-done at the tail-end of a hard life.

Good article on mouthwash abuse from The Eyeopener, Ryerson’s Student Paper, sadly, the only media that seems to care.