Downtown Baltimore, the addicts and the homeless

I had two business meetings downtown today.

I usually park at the exact same meter all the time--it's like that meter is waiting for me to show up. It's not exactly in the center of things, but I like walking, and it's not too far from where I need to go. Downtown Baltimore is pretty easy to make your way around on foot, especially if you're like me, and you enjoy walking.

So, I drove farther down the street where "my" parking space is usually waiting for me. A couple of blocks on down, I found one, and pulled right in. I got out of the car, armed with lots of quarters to feed the meter.

I hadn't even gotten to close the car door when I was approached by an obvious addict. "You all right, miss?" "Yes, I'm just fine." "That'll be $3.00." "Since when does paying you feed my meter?" "Oh, how much these meters cost?" "$2.00." "Oh."

At first, I wondered if I was going to be given the D.C. addict's line, of "I'll guard your car for you for $3.00." That's a common "hello" for people parking in lots and at meters in the parts of downtown where the addicts hang.

In Baltimore, the addicts hang everywhere. After I finished my first business meeting, I fed the meter again and went to the second one. This meeting was in a high-rise, on a high floor, with a nice view of the Inner Harbor.

We chatted for a few minutes about how nice it was outside (in the upper 60s, and mostly sunny), and what a nice day it was for walking around downtown.

"The homeless really hate this building, for some reason," he said. "How do you know that?" I asked, thinking that maybe they urinated on certain corners of it without fail during the night.
"Do you know that cooking grease, that they use in restaurants?" "Sure." "They take it in buckets and barrels, and put it in the grates around the building, and when it rains, the grease bubbles up from under the grates, making it really slippery outside. We have to be careful that we don't slip, because you can't see it."

Wow. I was impressed. There were a lot of restaurants in the area, so it must be pretty easy for them to go into dumpsters, or wherever the grease is being thrown out at night, grab an old bucket, and get a nice, big scoopful to spread around as they pleased. I could easily imagine my addict from earlier smiling away while dousing the grates, imagining professionals in their shined shoes and high heels having a whoopsie when the rain began and things got slick.

There's a season left of "The Wire." I wonder if David Simon and his other street-smart types will be able to use that bit of information. If I can get his ear, I'll pass it along, just in case he or any of the other writers can use it.

I wonder if they do that in other cities, or if it's a Baltimore thing, like painted screens.