Meet me down at Save-on-Meats

I stopped by Save-on-Meats on Hastings Street for a late breakfast. It was bustling. I'd stayed away for a few months after hearing someone say bad things about the state of their kitchen. But in a moment of hunger and honesty I remembered that I'd seen the staff eat there, and that weird things live everywhere. I've eaten there many times. I'm still standing.

I ate my burger and watched many different people, construction workers, old men, disabled people, order and eat. Some people had a lot of difficulty talking, or making themselves understood.

I thought about political correctness as a way to deal with differences. It's important to talk about people respectfully (and more important to listen and learn, which is this missing component of political correctness).

But the people who work down on Hastings live and navigate differences. I doubt they've taken sensitivity training. Dealing with someone who can hardly stand up, is twisting in some sort of nervous-system damaged dance, is just part of the deal.

Political correctness misses a lot of the point.