Robo Hobo Homo #096

With the dishes done around seven, I had to skedaddle to get onto the bus. I had to turn around because I forgot to sign out. It might have been some attempted self-sabotage, but it ended up being irrelevant anyway because I didn't sign back in. Procedurally, there's an accounting for overnight sign-outs but practice, again, doesn't bear that out.

 

The bus ride cost me one of my last dollars, but I thought it would be worth it. If I walked, I'd be heading into my first day of work sweaty, and that seemed like a bad idea. It was night and it stays cool up here, but I could still work up a sweat making the walk from the shelter to downtown.

The bus that serves the shelter also serves the local Native American reservation at certain times of day. I was in a seat facing forward when the guy on the bench in front of me mentioned that we'd met each other at the unemployment office that doesn't feel like an unemployment office the other day. We joked about the woman that certainly didn't know how to use that thing that he needed to use, then lapsed into an awkward silence.

Before the ride was over, his girlfriend crossed from the bench across the bus and began desperately making out with him. I think Requiem for a Dream had a sadder woman trying to make a man happy, but this was a close second.

She had a really wired energy about her. I mean, being a woman in your late twenties and desperately macking on your reluctant boyfriend on a public bus might be normal for some people. 

I'm sure there are plenty of non-drug-related reasons to do that.

Hanging out at Purgatory Shelter, certain things come up. Drugs come up a lot. Unemployment. Relationships with women. I don't know if I just have these things on the brain now or if I'm just more aware that they happen.

They got off at the reservation casino and my buoyant high managed to stick around.

Robo Hobo Homo #074 Troy's Bong

So one of the guys here, Troy, has a hookah. You might remember him from the racist incident. He was carrying it around. Someone called it a bong because that's what a hookah looks like when you're carrying it around a homeless shelter full of guys who are recovering from drug abuse.

Troy stopped by and corrected everyoneso that they definitely knew this thing he had was a hookah and not a bong. I just happened to be around.

So during our meeting on Thursday, Daryl covers a few basic areas; don't pee in the bushes outside, we still haven't gotten a maintenance guy to look at the hot water knob for the kitchen, only smoke in front of the building between ten at night and four in the morning. Any questions?

Robo Hobo Homo #071

Have I mentioned we're shorthanded? Some guys left. I think one of them got kicked out. Another one I think got his own place. Pally's getting his own place so he's moving out soon. One of my other roommates never quit doing drugs and was just staying here. He claimed the drugs helped him write and that for the first time since his girlfriend died, he was writing again. He also said the drugs were a way of him killing himself, but then he just left today because he figured he'd gone long enough without them.

At this point I'd like to note that if I talked to people, I'd know just what kind of drugs he was talking about. Man, even when white people are homeless and surrounded by people who know from drugs, we still don't talk about this stuff openly.

So there were some extra lobby positions. I initially volunteered for the 0200 to 0400 spots, since they were nice and quiet but I forgot that things run later on weekends. Plus I picked up a 2200-0000 watch because of dudes that left and that one is, I think, the worst.

I've got to make sure folks are in their racks. I've got to write up people who arrive after curfew. I've got to sign up people to get kicked out if they come in too late after curfew.

I do not want to be in this spot and I predict nothing but disaster.

Robo Hobo Homo, #037

If I handle the lobby for three shifts of two hours each, wash dishes seven days a week for an hour and a half, and volunteer at the Thrift Store for another three hours, that's 19.5 hours of work every week to stay here. Temporarily.

I'm not complaining, but it keeps me busy. I do dinner dishes so I end up falling out to the kitchen right after dinner. On Mondays and Thursdays, there's a house meeting after dinner. Daryl brings up some things and other guys go over things. New chores are announced on Monday (still dinner dishes).

This Monday had two things: new lobby training for guys who are new (such as myself) and a pitch from Oxford House.

Now, according to Daryl, 90% of the guys here have a substance abuse problem. That's heavy. Another few have mental illnesses (my mumblr from earlier definitely has mental illnesses). I'm not sure about the rest.

Oxford House is apparently about guys living together, living without substance abuse, being a community, and paying pretty low rents. It was interesting, if not really insightful.

If it's one thing I've learned, it's that social connections are more important than talent when it comes to getting along in the world. If your social connections let you spin into a cycle of drug abuse, then you've got a shitty set of options when you get out of rehab. You can either have no connections or you can immerse yourself in an old life.

I can see how organizations like Oxford House would act as a new social network to integrate oneself into.