Spit Hoods (Part Two)

Having dealt with a fair amount of under-the-influence drifting souls, including ones rabidly upset, frothing at the mouth, in my face, looking murderous and ready to tear me limb from limb, I can tell you as a former social worker and quietly anonymous street outreach civilian volunteer, that I’ve rarely felt like my life was in imminent danger.

Potential harm to body, sure, a few times that was possible, and any moderate violence can lead to severe violence. I’ve been swung at, I’ve been kicked, I’ve been spit on. I’ve been verbally assaulted in long, raving detail at high volume by men and women stark raving madly out of their minds, often for just the sake of greeting them or offering some sort of assistance.