It’s Just a Window. Until Someone Taps the contactless donation box

The first donation came at 6:03 a.m. It was dark, and the city was half-asleep. A man in a parka with a Tim Hortons cup in one hand paused in front of the Communty centre on Dundas Street. He squinted at the laminated sign taped to the inside of the window.

He tapped his phone on the plaque fixed to the inside. He tapped his phone screen. Then he walked on.

Inside, no one saw it. But the number ticked up.

$5.00

community center window with Superspree window upgrade kit

It was the first donation that day — one of 89 that would follow, all through a single pane of glass.

Three months earlier, the window had been just that: a window. Smudged from the inside. Scratched from the outside. Posters for food drives and coat donations faded in the sun. A few hopeful words in block letters:“We’re Still Here. Still Helping.”

But barely.

“We were invisible,” said the centre’s director. She leaned back in her office chair, coat still zipped up. “You could walk by and feel something happening here — smell the soup, see the kids, notice the lights on at all hours. But there was no way to act on that moment. No cash box. No open doors after dark. Just… glass.”

She tapped her fingernail against the windowpane. It clicked softly.

Then she smiled.

“Now? The glass talks back.”

The Superspree Window Upgrade Kit came in a nondescript brown envelope. Delia thought it was a bill. It wasn’t.

It was a square the size of a CD case, with simple instructions:

1. Peel backing.

2. Stick to window (inside).

3. Let people help.

   
   

There were no QR codes. No links to websites. Just a contactless tap point, always on.

"it was all so… friendly. Simple message: Tap your mobile to Give.”

They set the donation at $5. That was enough to buy one warm meal, or a pair of dry socks. They called it “the human unit.”

On weekdays, the first taps came from commuters. On weekends, it was couples walking home from bars, or dog walkers in hoodies. Some didn’t stop — just hovered their phone over the window and kept moving.

There was no bell. No chime.

Overnights, the window earned more than their annual Christmas fundraiser.

“Windows used to be what separated us,” Delia said. “Now, it’s where connection happens. We see the taps in real time. Every time someone donates, we get a ping in our system. It’s like — someone saw us.”

The Notes

It started with a single yellow sticky note.

“For the man who gave me a sandwich here in 2019. I’m finally back on my feet.”

Delia found it fluttering beside the tap panel one morning. She left it there. By the end of the week, there were four more:

“Wish I could give more. Stay strong.”“You helped my brother get clean.”“This one’s for the woman who gave me her gloves.”“Thank you for not giving up on us.”

Some were heartfelt. Others cryptic. One was scrawled on the back of a TTC transfer.

Then, a call came from Superspree.

“We’ve been piloting something,” the voice on the other end said. “It’s called Story mode. Want to try it?”

Story Mode was a second contactless donation box this time connected to a new kind of prompt:“Tap Again to Leave a Message.”

Donors could speak a short note, take a video or type one in. Anonymous. Emotional.

“This one’s for my dad — he used to volunteer here.”“I was on the street in 2022. You kept me alive.”“Not much. But it’s what I’ve got today.”“❤️ I see you. You’re doing good work.”

She keeps a digital archive of every message. “One day I want to make a wall of them inside. So the people we help can see just how many people are rooting for them.”

The Echo

In just three months, the Centre raised over $24,000 through the glass. They added an extra hot lunch day. Bought emergency boots and blankets. Covered transit for people in crisis. And they did it without grants, without galas — just one tap at a time.

“It’s just a pane of glass,” Delia says. “But now, it lets people in — without them ever opening the door.”

She pauses. Then adds:

“Sometimes I stand here at closing time, just to see who shows up. There’s always someone.”

The Last Tap of the contactless donation box

The man in the parka came back last week.

Same time — just after six. Same coffee in hand. He tapped the screen, watched it flash, then reached into his coat pocket.

He pulled out a folded sticky note. Pressed it gently to the window. And walked away.

Delia waited a moment before stepping outside to read it.

“I’m okay now. Thought you should know.”

She left it there.

Sometimes, it’s not just about the donation.

Sometimes, it’s the message.