Robo Hobo Homo #085

Before I tell another Larry story, let me talk a bit more about Mr. McCoy. He is a pretty great guy. I don't know if I could have a bigger advocate for me in the unemployment office that doesn't feel like an unemployment office.

He is also a poster-child for the pretty libertarian ideas out here. Whenever he mentioned living in San Diego, he mentioned he had to leave he made mention of Tijuana and explained, “because trash blows up against the fence.” He clarified that he meant actual waste poured into the Pacific Ocean by Tijuana, but it didn't dispel the “dirty immigrants” implications of his initial station.

I also reordered a copy of my DD214. I have a scanned copy, but Daryl told me that a new copy would be better to have on hand. I don't think he's wrong and McCoy was the guy to get it for me. He was reluctant to have it sent to Purgatory Shelter though. Very reluctant.

We need a word that means, “eventually just shy of eventually,” or “right before the end.” Because it was at that stage in our conversation that he relented and agreed to send it there. However, when I finally checked my email on Wednesday, I saw that he had changed his mind.

I've never had a problem getting mail here. Writing this up a week later I'm still waiting for my Safelink phone, but that's not a receipt problem. Look, we're a bunch of homeless dudes, but we're just guys living in a rough circumstance. This isn't a den of thieves. This isn't Lord of the Flies. Sure, some guys are getting past drug problems and occasionally we'll get a guy who isn't past them. Sometimes, we'll get folks with intense mental problems. There are some problems here, but Purgatory House is a good place with good people in it.

I don't know if Mr. McCoy's problem comes from a personal experience or an ugly bigotry against the homeless who aren't of the anointed military caste, but his actions are a repulsive mark on an otherwise impressive and warm character.

Robo Hobo Homo #084

After I was done with my email, I followed-up with Mr. McCoy. He was super-enthused that I'd gotten the job and even though the hours were still uncertain, he was ready to get me with Scotty from the local housing assistance program to get me into an apartment Saturday morning.

I am only slightly exaggerating about his enthusiasm.

After that, I updated my information with the Food Stamps office (that typo in my address line carried over from my healthcare application) and headed to the bus stop to hurry back home and complete the mountain of paperwork I needed to finish for my night shift.

As I was waiting, Larry called out to me from across the bus center.

Robo Hobo Homo #083

I walked back to the unemployment office that doesn't feel like an unemployment office and logged on to ask my old roommates to send me a copy of my birth certificate. I filed everything away pretty well for record-keeping purposes so I was hoping they could find it and send it to me.

These guys have helped me out so much I felt bad for asking them to spend money to send it to me, but I needed it to get this job and I hoped they would understand.

To give you a sense of how life works down here, I would receive the certificate in the mail before I could check my email to see their response. Anyone who tells you that “snail mail” is obsolete has the privilege of regular internet access.

Robo Hobo Homo #078

Bus pass in hand, I walked down the hall to the local helping people find employment office, which I realized later that day was what passed for an employment office around these parts. These places had resources that helped people get jobs, knowledgeable staff, and did not feel at all the way I expected and employment office to feel. Very impressive stuff.

At the request of Daryl, I was going to talk to the local military guy. Ever hungry for paperwork, Daryl wanted me to put in a request for a hard copy of my DD214 with the military guy they had on site.

As I do, I obeyed and Friday morning I met Mr. McCoy.

Robo Hobo Homo #068

As Daryl often does though, he did give me a sliver of actual help. Well, mostly help for his quest to get all of my paperwork. I like paperwork and I think it is a good idea for me to have a lot of it. I get that. Being poor, needing social services, and having copacetic documentation all go hand-in-hand.

He knew a guy at the local helping people find employment office who might be able to get me a fresh copy of my DD214. That's the second reason I'll be stopping by there after the bus pass thing.

In the end though, he said I was doing a good job of doing the things he wanted me to do so, bravo zulu I guess?

Robo Hobo Homo #058

The courthouse was on the way to my most important stop, the Mental Health Office. I already went over it before, but I do want to impress upon you how nice everyone there was. A lady noticed that I used the word “y’all” and I confessed to being from Texas. I can’t overstate how much it meant to me, feeling broke and vulnerable, to have someone notice me as a person. It wasn’t just her. The folks at the local helping people find employment office, the Food Stamp Place, and even the DMV were really nice.
 

That the Thrift Store people and my case worker are a bit more abrupt doesn’t seem so bad.

I also saw a fellow resident at the Mental Health Office. I won’t even give him a made-up name. We shared a few words, had some small talk, and that was it. None the less, he’s a good guy and I’m glad he’s getting help too.
 

I wouldn’t have pegged him as someone who really needed counseling, but then you can never tell these things about folks just by looking at them.