Dear Mr. Very Tall Homeless Man,
You should know I’m pretty burned with you right now. Hurt, even. You know that I know of your existence on my construction project, after hours. I haven’t minded. You’ve been respectful. And I have only had to move your things into an unfinished closet a couple of times. Generally, you move it and make a nice pack of it.
When I leave you food and whatnot, you always give the cooler or basket back. The wiring was never pillaged, and you have never taken what did not belong to you. You always throw your trash away. I notice you mark off the days until you can’t be there anymore on the calendar I left with the date circled. One time you even left me a note and a page ripped from Peter Pan. I kept it. I felt like, even though we have never met, we had a relationship, and understanding of sorts. We get it, the boss and I. We do. And in spite of the insurance liability, we have let it be. A good bit of effort went into the convincing of your okayness.
And now this.
Why did you have to break that giant double-paned, special order window? The doors and handles were just put on. All you had to do was walk five feet to know that side door you use, was unlocked. Was this ok? No, Lord. It was not. No. And damnit, I’m hurt.
The budget on that project is not endless. I run a tight budget. Tight. As in, I refuse to go over, regardless. Under is preferable. For instance, if you had five bucks for socks, you would get the best socks you could for five bucks. And you would try to spend four bucks. That feels good, yes? Well, now I am going to be over budget in that area and behind schedule whilst waiting for a new one. This means we have to switch a bunch of things around to work around this messy mishap. And I have to start looking around at where I can save the lost funds.
Here’s the thing, Tall Man, your plight is not lost on me. I get it. I’ve never asked if you are homeless by default, out of want, or addiction. Doesn’t matter the reason. It comes from pain regardless of specifics. I know you know that I care.
Meanwhile, since you ignored my note about employment, I’m going to have to ask you to make this up to me, personally. Otherwise, the consequences will be you won’t be able to stay cool and dry at night there. When I meet with you tonight, I want you to know I’m going to have your back to some extent. The respectful things you have done will not be dismissed or minimized. However, if you are dishonest about breaking the glass, or you refuse to take responsibility, it won’t be good.
In the end, I don’t care if it’s an even money trade. I don’t care if you sort the line nail/screw bucket and write us a letter. I don’t care if you do some clean up that was not your own mess or sweep the whole place every night. I don’t care. But you must be accountable. And I want you to expect enough of yourself to want to do this.
We meet tonight. Don’t let me down.
PS. I’m bringing chicken, rice and beans for dinner. I’m bringing baby wipes. I know you love those things. This will be a new box. I’ll leave them if you care enough about what I need from you, too.
(People that know the homeless, please remind them to be courteous. Thank you.)
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Everywhere you look, all over this country, we are implementing “Zero tolerance” polices for bullying and/or intolerance. Yet the policies are being implemented and ignored. People advocate them and criticize them, demand them and reject them. But “Zero tolerance” can work and does work. Why, then, are there so many examples of it not working?

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