Mr Chao and his Machine

 Mr. Chao : A Story 

Mr. Chao immigrated to Canada in 1975 when he was 15 years old from Mainland China. Although he had attended Chinese school for ten years, he never learned English. When he arrived in British Columbia, there were 150 people from China, all brought there for the construction of the railroad. Mr. Chao worked on the rugged terrain of the mountains for ten years.

One day, all the foreign workers of the railroad came under attack by the local natives. Many of them were brutally killed, and some managed to flee. Mr. Chao escaped with a wounded leg and spent four months in the mountains. He survived by eating wild berries and insects. One day, an English hunter rescued him and brought him to Banff. In exchange for food, clothing, and shelter, Mr. Chao worked in a lumber factory.

While working in the lumber factory, he had to go to the forest to cut down trees and load them onto trucks. It was very dangerous work, and he narrowly escaped the clutches of bears many times. He eventually decided to leave the job but didn't know where to go. He wandered on the roads for many days.

After a long journey, he arrived in Toronto, although he couldn't remember how he got there. He had ridden on a train, made multiple stops, begged for food, and eventually found himself at Union Station. He knew nothing about the city and ended up living in the station for days, begging for money for food. One day, a businessman offered him a job.

The businessman noticed Mr. Chao sitting next to the washroom with a placard that said "help for food." After observing him closely, the businessman dropped a few coins into the cup. Mr. Chao's eyes were sharp and alive, and his physique was strong and fit. The businessman kindly asked for his name and offered him a job. Mr. Chao was initially speechless. It was the first time someone had asked his name and offered him a job. Overwhelmed with emotion, he asked if it was a joke. The businessman explained that he was looking for someone to work in his factory, specifically in packaging and cleaning. Mr. Chao agreed to work with him, and the businessman took him to his house and provided shelter in his basement.

The next day, the businessman took Mr. Chao to a barber shop for a haircut and then to a clinic for a medical check-up. On the following day, he took him to the factory for work. Mr. Chao received training on packaging and cleaning, and he quickly picked up the tasks faster than other employees. He was honest and hardworking, often arriving half an hour early and staying late to complete all his tasks. His dedication and hard work led to his promotion as a machine operator, but he knew it wasn't his final destination.

Mr. Chao fell in love with a coworker in the same company who worked in a different department. However, their relationship was unknown to their boss. One day, the boss called Mr. Chao into his office and asked if he needed any help with the wedding. Mr. Chao was surprised to learn that his boss knew about their affair and wedding plans. At the same time, he was promoted to supervisor. One day, while working, he fell off a ladder and suffered a serious injury. He was hospitalized and eventually had to have his left leg amputated.

This unfortunate incident caused both physical and mental problems for Mr. Chao. He postponed his wedding, and although his boss was willing to offer a modified job, he had no insurance coverage. He was not entitled to disability benefits. However, his girlfriend, Mary, supported him emotionally until the end of his life and was ready to marry him. It was a moment of great happiness for both Mr. Chao and his boss. They arranged a modest wedding in a local church.

As the days passed, Mr. Chao began advocating for the rights of people who were injured in the workplace and lacked insurance coverage. Many victims of workplace injuries were left unsupported due to their company's lack of registration or negligence.

After years of advocating for the rights of disabled individuals in the workplace, Mr. Chao and his wife decided to open a group home. The purpose of this home was to assist people who were left destitute after experiencing traumatic incidents at work. They not only provided emotional and financial support but also offered legal assistance to those in need.

By opening the group home, Mr. Chao and his wife aimed to create a safe and supportive environment for individuals who had been affected by workplace injuries. They wanted to ensure that these individuals received the care and attention they deserved, helping them rebuild their lives and navigate through the challenges they faced.

Together, Mr. Chao, his wife, and their dedicated team worked tirelessly to provide a comprehensive support system for the injured workers. Their group home became a beacon of hope for those in need, offering a place where they could find solace, rehabilitation, and the resources required to pursue their legal rights.

Mr. Chao's own experience had fueled his passion for helping others in similar situations. He understood firsthand the struggles they faced and was determined to make a difference. Through their group home and advocacy efforts, they sought to bring about positive change in the lives of those affected by workplace injuries, ensuring they received the support they deserved.

Their journey was not without challenges, but their unwavering commitment and compassion allowed them to overcome obstacles along the way. Together, they continued to fight for the rights of injured workers, providing them with a voice and a chance to rebuild their lives after facing adversity.

Mr. Chao's story serves as an inspiration, showing the transformative power of resilience, love, and dedication. His journey from a young immigrant to an advocate and supporter for the injured is a testament to the strength of the human spirit and the impact one person can make in the lives of others.

 " You are too late. You fucking Indian", a guy shouted at me when I was delivering a pizza from the Uber eats. 

" I'm sorry sir. I was stuck on the traffic. There was a Blue Jays game", I said politely. 

" I don't fucking care of anything. If you can not do your job just let other people do," saying this, he slammed the door behind. 

I heard another notification of the new order. It was from John's wings. The total distance was eight kilometer and it will pay me $ 6.75. I picked it because I had to make some money to pay my bills. I went to the restaurant and asked for the order. The guy in the white coat requested to wait for a minute. I had no options. I waited for more than ten minutes. 

"Here you go, sir. thank you waiting", the lady told me when handing over the order. 

" At least, you could have told me the correct waiting time. Ten minutes is not one minute" I said and left the store hurriedly. When exiting the restaurant, somebody honked from the behind and passed me showing the middle finger. 

I thought it was my mistake. I was hurried to deliver the food as quickly as possible; so that, I can make another order. I have already spent hour in two orders which totals $15. If I count the gas on, it would be just $10 for an hour. 

After delivering the second order, there was no notification on the screen. I parked by the MacDonald's parking lot and waited for another order. I was restless looking every time on the screen. After fifteen minutes waiting, another order popped up on the screen. It was the order of $10 for five kilometers. I picked up the order from the Subway nest to the MacDonald where I was parking. Order was ready when I arrived to the restaurant and delivered in less than fifteen minutes. It was a decent order to boost my serotonin. 

As soon as I checked out the order, another order popped out for $6 and total kilometer 7.5. It decreased the serotonin level. I picked up the order after waiting for 15 minutes and embarked for the delivery. It was town house at the busy area. There were hundred s of the townhomes in that area and the road was confusing for the GPS. It circled me more than five time the same road, but I couldn't locate the house. Then I called the customer to get more specific location. But it was more confusing. The GPS directs to the location, but as soon as it arrived it reconfigures. I spent almost half an hour. I took a deep breath before throwing the food at someone's door and quit. 

I called the customer service and notified that the address wasn't accurate. She gave me the link of the address. It was the same. I called the customer and informed that I couldn't find her place. She sounded grumpy on the other side, although I apologized politely and aske  to cancel the order, so that she could reorder. 

I lost the delivery fee of $6. I probably burned $10 gas and time. I regrated for the job I quited to drive Uber eats. It was not the same everyday. I was about the sign out for the day and go home, a notification popped up. It was $25 order for 10 kilometer. I picked up the order impulsively. It was beer delivery from the Beer store. When I went to the Beer Store, the lady handed me five boxes of beers. They were heavy. I had parked on the street. It was difficult to carry all of them to the highrise apartment. 

I cancelled the order and went to the car where a city police was writing a parking violation ticket. It was $35 ticket. I counted the total income of the day. It was $35 before gas and maintenance.

I grabbed the ticket from the officer and thanked him, because there was no option. once they've written the ticket, There was not the chance to cancel it. i have to go to the court. 

I came to home and deleted the Uber eats app and slept peacefully.  

 Sir, can I have a cigarette?" a lanky, red-skinned man asked me. I was waiting for a subway with a fear of being late for work. It would be the third warning from my robotic manager if I could not be on time today.

"I'm sorry, I don't have a cigarette," I said and moved forward.

"Thank you. Have a nice day!" he said. I was surprised. I never expected such a courteous response from a beggar.

I regretted ignoring his request and not even looking at his face. I could have looked at him and greeted him. His voice echoed throughout the day.

That evening, while returning from work, I stopped at the same area to see if the beggar was still there. I wanted to see into his eyes. I wanted to see through his eyes and know the feeling of being disrespected by people like me. Everyone passing him never looked into his eyes or heard his voice; they only heard.

There were other beggars, maybe not the right word to call them. They were poor, for sure, because they did not have money to buy food. They had no money to buy a cigarette or a cup of McDonald's coffee. But they had value as human beings.

One man said, "These people are lazy asses. They don't want to work. They are given allowances from the government, but they spend that free money to buy drugs and liquor."

It made me think for a while. Do all beggars get allowances from the government? In my home country, beggars are not given any allowances from the government. They are not even polite like the beggars here in downtown Edmonton. It was said that the beggars of Pasupathi temple are rich. They send their children to expensive private schools.

After ten to fifteen minutes, I went into the City mall to buy a coffee from Tim's. At the corner of the store, I noticed a man dozing on one of the chairs. I looked at him closely and recognized him by his red hoodie. I waited for him to wake up so that I could talk to him or buy him a cup of coffee. However, the man did not wake up. I sat on one of the chairs and sipped coffee, thinking about the man's life.

In the meantime, two security guards stretched protection gloves and stood in front of him in a proper defensive position.

I stood up and went to the counter to ask a lady who looked stressed if the gentleman had done anything wrong.

"He cannot sleep here. He can die," she said. Then she looked at me like a suspicious stranger. I stepped back and went to my earlier seat.

"Sir, can you leave here?" one of the security guards spoke.

"Excuse me, are you awake?" another security guard added.

The gentleman did not respond. He was snoring intermittently. I could see him dreaming of someone offering him a cigarette or a cup of coffee.

One of the guards, who was taller than the other, grabbed him by the arm and shook him gently. After a moment, he opened his eyelids and looked at them in a state of perplexity.

"Hurry up, collect your belongings, and leave the property," said the guard who was hanging both hands on the buckle of his belt and leaning forward.

The man grabbed his empty Tim Horton's cup, cigarette butts, and a grocery bag. Before leaving the store, he looked at the cashier and said, "Thank you."

The two security guards followed him until he left the mall. I also exited from another door and went close to the gentleman. This time, he didn't ask for a cigarette; instead, he was picking empty cans

of public spaces like the mall or the subway station, just because he doesn't fit the norm of what is considered acceptable?

These questions kept me awake for hours. I couldn't help but think about the man in the red hoodie and the other beggars I saw that day. They are often looked down upon by society, ignored, and even vilified. But what if we take a moment to see them as human beings with their own stories, struggles, and aspirations? What if we extend our compassion and offer them a helping hand instead of a judgmental stare or a dismissal?

As I lay in bed, I made a decision. The next time I see a beggar, I won't ignore them or walk away. I will look them in the eyes, greet them with respect, and offer them a small gesture of kindness, whether it's a dollar or a smile or a cup of coffee. It may not change their life, but it can certainly make their day a little brighter and remind them that they matter.

The next day, as I walked to the subway station, I saw a beggar sitting on the sidewalk, holding a cardboard sign that read "Anything Helps". I took a deep breath and walked towards him. He looked up at me with weary eyes, and I smiled at him.

"Good morning, sir. Can I buy you a coffee or a sandwich?" I said, extending my hand.

He looked at me for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Thank you, young man. That would be very kind of you."

I went to the nearest Tim Hortons and bought him a coffee and a bagel. When I returned to him, he thanked me and we started talking. His name was John, and he used to work as a construction worker until he got injured and couldn't work anymore. He lost his apartment, his savings, and his dignity. Now he relies on the kindness of strangers and the few dollars he gets from collecting cans and bottles.

As we talked, I realized that John was not just a beggar, but a person with a rich life experience, a sense of humor, and a desire to connect with others. He reminded me that we are all human beings, regardless of our status or circumstances, and that we can all learn from each other and help each other in small but meaningful ways.

When it was time for me to go to work, I said goodbye to John, promising to see him again soon. He smiled at me, and I felt a warmth in my heart that I had never felt before. I knew that I had made a difference in his life, and in mine.

From that day on, I made it a habit to acknowledge and help beggars whenever I could. I learned that a small act of kindness can have a big impact, not just on the person receiving it, but on the giver as well. It made me more compassionate, more grateful, and more aware of the diverse realities of the world we live in.

As I boarded the subway and headed to my work, I felt a sense of peace and purpose that I had never felt before. I knew that, even if I got a warning from my robotic manager, I had done something more important than meeting a deadline or fulfilling a task. I had connected with another human being, and that was worth more than anything else.

'Did he die of cold, hunger or he was murdered?"

 " Sir, can I have a cigarette? ", a lanky, red skinned man asked me. I was waiting for a subway with a fear of being late to my work. It will be third warning from my robotic Manager if I can not be on time for my work today. 

"I'm sorry, I don't have a cigarette", I said and moved forward. 

"Thank you. Have a nice day!', he said. I was surprised. I never expected such a courteous response from a beggar. 

I regretted for ignoring his request and even not looking on his face. I could have looked at his face and greeted him. His voice echoed throughout the day. 

That evening while returning from the work, I stopped at the same areas to see the beggar if he was still there. I wanted to see into his eyes. I wanted to see through his eyes and know the feelings of being disrespected by the people like me. Everyone passing from his never looked into his eyes and see it. They never listen the voice, but only heard. 

There were other beggars, may be not the right word to call them. They were poor for sure because they did not have money to buy food. They had no money to buy a cigarette or a cup of MacDonald coffee. But they have value as a human being. 

One man said," These  people are lazy ass. They don't want to work. They are given allowances from the government, but they spend that free money to buy drugs and liquors." 

It made me think for a while. Do all the beggars get allowances form the government? In my home country, the beggars are given any allowances from the government. They are not even polite like the beggars here in downtown Edmonton. It was said that the beggars of Pasupathi temple are rich. They are send their children in expensive private schools. 

After ten/ fifteen minutes I went into the City mall to buy a coffee from Tims. At the corner of the store, I noticed a man dodging on one of the chairs. I looked him closely and recognized him by his red hoodie. I waited him to be awake so that I can talk to him or may buy a cup of coffee. However, the man did not wake up. I sat on one of the chair and sipped coffee thinking abut the man's life. 

At the mean time, there came two security guards stretching protection gloves and stood Infront of him in a proper defensing  position.  

I stood up and went to the counter to ask a lady who was looked stressful if the gentleman did anything wrong. 

" He can not sleep here. He can die", she said. Then she looked at me like a suspicious stranger. I stepped back and went to my earlier seat. 

"Sir, I can you leave here?," one of the securities spoke. 

'Excuse me, are you awake?", another security guard added. 

The gentleman did not response. He was snoring intermittently. I can see his dreaming someone offering him a cigarette or a cup of coffee. 

One of the Guard who was taller than other grabbed him on his arm and shook him gently. After a moment, he opened his eyelid and looked at them in a state of perplexing. 

"Hurry up, collect your belongings and leave the property", said the guard who was hanging his both hands on the buckle of the belt and leaning forward.

' The man grabbed his empty Tim Horton's cup, and cigarette buts and a grocery bag. Before leaving the store, he looked at the cashier and said " thank you'. 

The two security guards followed him until he left the mall. I too exited from the another door and went close to the gentleman. This time, he didn't ask for a cigarette; instead, was picking empty cans from the thrash bins and putting in the grocery bag. 

I stood about hundred meter away and observed what he was doing. I wanted to talk to him and ask about his life story. It was cold and cloudy. He was probably in his mid fifties and I could notice wrinkles and gray hair in his withering skull. He checked every thrash bins on the both sides of the road. He was not only the person who collect empty canes or the bottles from the bins. I saw them lining up in the Bottle Depo to exchange with a few dollars and with that dollar they buy a few canes of beer. 

While he was still checking one of the bin, I approached to him and said "hello". He looked me with a surprise as if I was from the Mars. He didnt  reply the hello back. He might have thought that the 'hello' wasn't for him. he might not have heard it for years. 

I went closer to him and said 'hello' again. He looked at me with a frowning demeanor and moved forward. His gesture made me confused. I recalled his voice that morning saying 'have a nice day'. I was expecting if he would ask for a change so that I can offer him a dollar or two and start a conversation. But he didn't stop there.

The darkness of replaced by the neon lights of the city. I rode a bus and came home. I was tired. I was worried yesterday about my condition. At least I had a roof to protect my family from heat and cold. I had a job which would pay for my rent and the grocery. I had a value which the society gives value too.  I can come to my room anytime I like, and go out when I like. I had choices. 

Did the gentleman had all the choices I have? Does the society value him? Will he be frequently kicked out of the stores where he goes to find a place to dodge? Despite of all these obstacles, he is smiling and respecting people. Although people ignore his request, he responses politely. 

 I couldn't sleep immediately after I went to the bed. Empathetic memory of the gentleman pinched my soul. I felt heaviness in my head when woke up in the morning. I checked the temperature in my cell phone. It was -35 degree, feel like -45 degree. I put on the layers of clothes and packed some leftover from the last night in the plastic lunch bag and left for work. It was the same route everyday. 

When I arrived the subway station, I saw an ambulance and the police van on the other side of the road. Skyscrapers looking upwards protecting thousands of dreamers from the cold. However, beneath those skyscrapers, there was a frozen body surrounded by the police offices and first responders. 

My heart started pounding looking at the scene. As the areas was yellow taped, I couldn't go to closer. I looked from the distance. Even though I couldn't spot his face, I could see the yellow jacket, a grocery bag and the Tim Horton's cup. 

I asked what had happened to security guard who was standing out of the yellowed taped area. He cleared his throat before uttering his words " a homeless guy died". A sharp razor blade passed through my chest. I couldn't look at the scene. 

'Did he die of cold, hunger or he was murdered?"