Robo Hobo Homo #105

I blazed through the dishes, despite it being a chili night and everything I said earlier about tomato-based dishes.

If I thought the gas here was bad before, Chili Night must be the most ill omen in The Great Book of Ill Omens. He who reaps the chili will reap the chili winds.

Part of why the dishes went so well is because I had Future Octavio come in to help. Future Octavio looks like the forty-year-old version of my friend Octavio.

When I mentioned earlier that Wagner had a lot of radio components, I wasn't kidding. As it turns out, he and Tosh are kind of close friends. I saw them carting some stuff in while I was in the lobby after doing the dishes. It turns out that Wagner had scored “a few” radio parts from a dealer somewhere in town and they were unloading them from his car.

I like both of those guys and it sounded like an opportunity to do something cool, so I volunteered to help. There were radio parts two boxes deep in every surface of Wagner's car except for the driver's seat. Then he opened the trunk. It was a dazzling amount of old radios, resistors, circuits, transformers, and a couple of things I couldn't identify.

I talked with Wagner a bit about it while striking up a conversation with Tosh about Star Trek. Tosh likes Voyager, but if it's one good thing I can say about Star Trek (2009) it's that it makes liking Voyager more endearing than grating.

Wagner's hard for me to get a handle on. I know I use words like “good guy” and “nice” to describe people fairly often, but Wagner is a good guy. Like me, he's a bit weird, but he's just a slightly different type of weird.

Oh, and everyone made a joke about how we're building a time machine.

Robo Hobo Homo #102

I got the mail, which included the phone I ordered on eBay. I really liked the lobby shift. It was basically barge work plus standing a watch. I managed to take some phone calls, remind guys when they had mail and laundry, and otherwise just do stuff for two hours straight. I really liked it.

I also finally got around to doing my laundry. I had forgotten on Thursday do it, and in all of the confusion had to put it off Friday and I finally got a heap o' stuff washed. Bono called in and he said he was going to be working late with his disabled brother and wanted me to pass that on to Yesbert, who—as I'd suspected—told me that a phone call about that shit wasn't enough.

A lot of folks here are recovering from drug problems so it's important that they not be able to vanish for a night and simply come back in the morning. Purgatory House doesn't want to help folks that are just going to crash here between getting high, so suddenly going on an unauthorized absence with no notice is a red flag.

I rebuilt the personnel list and discovered that I didn't have a card on file. You know what they say, the misfile you find may be your own. I kind of miss me being on lobby because everyone since then has misspelled my name.

Lunch rolled around, and I guess Dennis is adamant that folks on lobby can't duck out to get food. I'd like to stay on his good side, so I was resigned to not having any, but Wheelchair Guy offered to get me some. Heart of gold, that guy.

Between being on watch and having to shake people down for watches, I've been learning a lot of people's names.

Robo Hobo Homo #099

Inside of work was Kitty. She was friendly with a slight accent or maybe a speech impediment that picked up when she was on a call. I think it was a change in her voice that she used to put people at ease. I kind of do the same thing with my very, very understated southern dialect.

The work was straightforward. We answer call queues where we provide information, take messages or alert on-call staff. We remotely monitor equipment and log or dispatch personnel. It's pretty straightforward in retrospect, but that night, tired as I was, it was overwhelming.

When I arrived, my email account didn't have some group permissions, but everything else was set up just fine. Navigating the system was a great way for me to try and stay awake while learning things, but it wasn't effective enough.

I was drained, but I didn't want to make any trouble by brewing coffee. Eventually I remembered that I'd packed some raisins and water and, remembering my SEAL training (Watching G.I. Jane counts as SEAL training!), rationed them out to try to help things.

The night didn't go well. I left thinking that I'd found another job I couldn't stand and afraid I'd never find one that I could.

Robo Hobo Homo #093

I did have some time before dinner came and I had to wash dishes. Until then, I had a few moments and I saw Wagner working on a piece of electronics equipment at the lobby desk. We talked about it a bit. I understood the general principles of what he was saying, so I could keep up, but the guy does RF like no one's business. He's a geeky type and he looks every inch of it. He's usually pretty quiet and exudes a serious anxiousness most of the time, so it was great to see him light up as he described it all.

Apparently, he'd gotten it cheap because it was broken. Once he opened it up, it turned out that the gearing on some of the resistor banks were out. After swapping out the gears it worked just fine and he'd been using it to fine-tune his wi-fi ever since. Well, he'd been using that or one of the other RF Generators he had for that. Dude has a lot of electronics, as I'd learn later.

Robo Hobo Homo #070

Dennis runs the chores around here. He's a simple, salt-of-the-earth guy. He does his job, has a moustache, a hat he always wears, and generally treats people well. He's over fifty so he has a hard time finding a job. He's got a tumor on his spine and he needs a hip replaced. We're shorthanded around here to he helped me finish up the dishes tonight, in addition to everything else he was doing.

He's homeless, but he's getting the tumor removed soon and he's also receiving a hip replacement.

Thanks Obama.

Robo Hobo Homo #065

On Thursday, Eric came up with some finalized plans. We were going to get a ride with Wayne Friday morning before breakfast was served. Then we'd wait for the bus passes.

When I got locked out of the computer room without my stuff, I ended up wandering around. I saw Tosh and we had an awkward conversation about Star Trek, but later I heard him talking with a guy about how he's a "big trekkie," but "only likes the newer movies, not the older stuff."

Just an update, I still can't use The Force to choke the unworthy.

Robo Hobo Homo #064

I'm not sure if it was Wednesday or Tuesday, but I finally apologized to Wagner. Probably Tuesday after all the 'Stache Saga. We use three sinks for laundry. They empty into a common basin, so it's important to only drain one sink at a time. That's what I did, but none the less, the basin still overflowed and I had to start mopping up in addition to all of my other messes I'd had to clean up.

Anyway, Wagner was in there and he wanted to help me out, good guy that he is. I decided that I was about five minutes too late to apologize to him, but I did it anyway.

Let that be a lesson to me about not putting off apologizing to people.

Robo Hobo Homo #059

With my computer acting up a bit, I finally asked about getting access to the computers at the library. The librarian said that she could get me a guest pass, but that a regular card required a bit more. I needed to have verification of my address in the area. I’m not sure if all of my healthcare paperwork counts, but that’s kind of moot because of the second requirement.

It’s $30 for six months and $60 for a year. I was surprised, but then this is a pretty nice place. The library isn’t particularly impressive except, of course, for the fact that it still exists in this day and age.

I don’t think libraries are obsolete, I just know that it’s hard for libraries to keep their doors open when people think that all of their essential functions can be served by the internet.

As a homeless person, it’s a place where I can access the internet on a reliable computer, access data related to jobs (they do have a copy of HTML and CSS for Dummies), and keep up with current events. As quiet as libraries are, they’re a social center that can connect folks together.

Even my roommate.

Robo Hobo Homo #052

I tend not to hide my homosexuality. Oh, I’m quiet about it, but I tend not to lie about it or swerve too far out of the way to cover it. Unless it amuses me.

However, that means that I generally want to establish another reputation before it becomes public knowledge and that I want to avoid any “gay stuff” that might be misconstrued as predatory in retrospect.

I’d rather it go, “That guy who’s good at washing dishes is gay too, did you know?” Rather than, “that gay guy is good at doing dishes.” It’s a subtle difference, but a really important one. To that end, I’m happy about the praise I get as a dishwasher, but at some point enough becomes enough and I start looking like a teacher’s pet.

Whenever I went to find Tosh, I learned that he lived in one of the nicer rooms of the shelter. Some of the rooms let you pay a very low rent and you get a nicer rent and some more privacy. You still have to do chores and I think your stay is still limited to 90 days, but they’re better, cheaper digs while you recuperate and put money aside for living solo again.

When I knocked on Tosh’s door, I really thought I heard him say, “come in.” The rule is that you never enter someone else’s room unless folks are dying, and I abide by that. I cracked the door a bit and told him a bit about what was going on, but I wasn’t sure my very soft voice was really carrying enough, so I poked my head around the corner.

There he was, scrunched up on his rack, with every available limb covering his crotch as casually as possible given the circumstances. I’ve been fortunate that I’ve only been walked in on while masturbating once, but I probably had that same look of intense concern in my eyes.

I pulled back a bit, having finished my story and he simply said “I’ll be right up there.” While I made my way back to the kitchen.

I really hope, he didn’t say “don’t come in I’m touching myself,” because that’s the kind of behavior on my part that could be misconstrued as predatory.

Robo Hobo Homo #051

Look ‘Stache was a jerk about things when he didn’t have to be, but getting a nice meal at the end of your work day when you’re coming home to a homeless shelter full of farting guys is a really small request.

I finished up the dishes, signed it off, and made my way to the lobby to ask the lobby guy if I could write myself up for not watching the kitchen securely enough.

I don’t use the phrase “blew his mind” lightly because people love to say that about the things they do, but this might be the one time I legitimately blew the mind of someone over the age of twelve.

He didn’t know how to react and we talked—very civilly—about it before he got up and got Tosh for back up. They started saying really nice things and other folks were walking by and I—

I tend to get a bit of praise over here. I’ll go over the praise thing later (and the other thing with Tosh. I haven’t forgotten!), but I get a lot.

It was all a bit much, I slid off of the seat with a “This is getting awkward. I’m…gonna go now.”

With that, I took my leave and hit the rack early and unsatisfied.

Robo Hobo Homo #050, The 'Stache Saga, Part II

I went to get Tosh, the guy who runs the kitchen, and there’s another misadventure there, but when I got back, I let ‘Stache know that we didn’t have his meal and that Tosh would be up to get something for him. ‘Stache was angry and asked point blank if there was no meal and I told him no. There wasn’t. That it had been put aside, but someone else had eaten it. He’d signed up just like he was supposed to, but we fucked up.

I should have let Tosh know that ‘Stache didn’t want a consolation prize, but I didn’t think about that. I was just angry that I’d kept such poor control of my watchstation and that now a person was suffering for it.
 
Sure 'Stache was making himself a salad and he was being kind of a jerk about things, but he was right: if he signed up for the meal then he should have gotten it. I was the only person in charge of the kitchen after he cook left and it was my fault he didn’t get his meal.

Whenever Tosh arrived, instead of backing down when ‘Stache vented at him, he bowed up. The two yelled, ‘Stache yelled a little angrier, and eventually things got quiet. I had returned to doing the dishes.

Later, Tosh came in, asking if ‘Stache had yelled at me. He explained that he’d written up ‘Stache for their altercation and wanted to put the screws to him. I evaded, simply saying that I considered ‘Sache’s actions towards me to be reasonable given the context.

A guy shouldn’t get written up twice because we couldn’t make good on our commitment to him.

Robo Hobo Homo #048

So a guy with a broken ankle arrived Monday. He got it while hiking around the mountain. I’m trying to help him around, but then he says that because he’s broke he’s going to need to learn how to get around on his own anyway. But then someone else helps him and I feel like a tool.

I haven’t gotten a chance to ask him about the mountain yet.

He’s a cool guy though. He might have even been trying to do what I wanted to do. There’s no telling, really. I would like to sit down and talk with him about the mountain. Show him my map. Try to understand the lay of the land.

He got a wheelchair on Thursday so he’s getting around better. Still makes me look like a tool though. Four months he’s going to be laid up. Being a cold, homeless queer is bad, but having a being homeless and having physical handicap? Damn.

Robo Hobo Homo #042, Tuesday

Financial constraints mean that going into town is either a one and a half hour trip each way or a prohibitively expensive $1 trip on the bus. That means that I spent my first Tuesday hanging around Purgatory Shelter.

I called that janitorial job that I was so conflicted about applying to. They said the position was filled. When I was putting in apps later, I saw that it was up, but whatever.

I called the shipping manager job I'd called about Friday, but no one was there and I left a message. A few seconds later two people called the shelter back-to-back, but not for me.

One of the case workers was in and I got hooked up with one of the computers. An older guy named Frank was sitting next to me. He was signing up for SSI or SSDI. Whichever one doesn't shoot down nukes but gives you money for not being able to work.

I helped him out with a thing or two, and he really caught on fast. Drugs are a common way that people end up here, so we ended up talking about that. I mentioned that I'd had a boyfriend who'd done marijuana and that's how I knew I was allergic. There wasn't any awkwardness or those “I'm cool with gay people” moments, which was a relief.

We ended up talking about why I was here. I have a great line about egomaniacal shithead one charisma point shy of full-blown sociopathy. He said “Yeah, me too,” and we've kinda been friendly ever since.

Another guy, Sharon, came in and he needed help with some IRS stuff. I couldn't help him, but he came back a bit later for some other information and that was readily available.

One out of two ain't bad?

Robo Hobo Homo #029

While I was waiting on the bus over, I ran into one of the guys from the shelter. Eric taught me how to do dishes and he's done a few other mentoring things. As we waited and tried to ignore the kids that were waiting for a school bus at the same stop (that's a apparently a thing that happens in some places), we got to know each other a bit better.

He used to do construction in Las Vegas. Ran a crew of over a hundred guys. He planned whole subdivisions, but when the market fell through he got laid off. Since then, he's been trying to find good jobs, but he's over fifty so it's pretty rough. A pretty good number of the guys at the shelter are older.

Here in a bit, he's going to see a doctor to get an update on some medical care he needs. About a year ago that day, he'd been beaten within an inch of his life. He had to have surgeries to make it through. I wouldn't have known it without looking at him. He said he's been here twice before, which means that with a 90-day stay and a 1-year exclusion, around these parts at least two and a half years.

This guy got beaten to hell, but now he gets around pretty fine. I don't know if it happened at the hands of locals or our fellow homeless guys, but it's a pretty good reason for even guys as broke as us to have healthcare.

Robo Hobo Homo #019, Gas Exchange

I can't emphasize enough how lucky I was to pick Purgatory Shelter. Sure, I had my pick of the litter, but I selected it--

1

--based on its proximity to the park and because it had a website. That's it!

This place has individual shower stalls. I only got soap, but they do issue hygiene gear. They were out when I arrived, but they issue bus passes. I have a free place to stay and limited internet access to find a job. There are standards of behavior that my fellow homeless people are held to so there's no shouting or fighting and everyone takes showers and stays focused on finding work.

It's a really great--

2

--place.

But there is a downside. It's full of a bunch of dudes. Now that doesn't mean it's inevitable. I hung out with plenty of guys on barges offshore and this kind of thing doesn't happen. Homelessness is definitely a factor here. Bravos. Animals. Silence. Mumblrs.  I've seen all of 'em doing it.

It's like...oh yeah, the campfire scene in Blazing Saddles. I just doesn't fucking stop unless you leave the--

3

--building. Each of those numbers is someone burping or farting since I started writing this. I type seventy-five words a minute. Luckily, I'm in the dining area, which like holy ground where farts are concerned, but that last one was a loud, open-mouthed burp in the kitchen. I was Mike-Mark. One of the bravos.

The night I got here, there was a guy, “T,” and he did nothing but fart peanut butter farts all night. Seriously, one of them woke up everyone in the room in the middle of the night. It was fucking heinous.

My roommate has SSI, an iPad, and no compulsions to get out of bed for anything short of cupcakes or a full-on stop at the restroom. It's a problem.

Look, we've all got gas. I get it. Occasionally, one will slip out. All I really ask for is a covered mouth--

4

--that was a fart. I'm not making it up. It was a quacker.

So all I'm really asking for is a covered mouth. Maybe an “excuse me.”

Or hey, if it's not too much to ask, a job where I don't have to live with twenty guys all at once.

Robo Hobo Homo #011

The next group I want to talk about are the bravos. These guys are loud, selfish pricks. They're willing to work and they work hard, but they still have to feel powerful even when they aren't. Shouting, ignoring rules, being gregarious, giving people help, or giving people hard times are all that they're about. They're at the bottom of the social pile, but they still want to be above someone.

The lost. My bunkmate is this one. He's just here to get as much as he can for as little as he can. He can get money from the government, so he will. Surviving is good enough for him. He tried to give me pointers on faking crazy when I asked about getting legitimate psychological help. It was nice of him. I don't judge, but really I do judge.

The final one is sorta my group. The silence. We just hang out, do our thing and don't worry about it. Sometimes that manifests as the same laziness I attribute to the lost and bravos. Well, the bravos want things clean whenever they feel like making things clean and the lost at least like their own spaces clean.

Obviously, I get along best with the other silences, but I should try to approach more of them and get to know them. Well, I should do that for everyone. I should try to meet one guy and talk with that guy every day.

Robo Hobo Homo #010

It's a trope when the protagonist names the broad categories of new things as they introduce the audience to their new world. In this case, I'm going to run down the classes of homeless dudes I've met here.

Now note that I'm not personable, so I don't know any of these guys that well yet. I'm writing at least the first dozen RoboHoboHomos on my first Sunday here.

The first is the mumblr. I've only run into one real mumblr at Purgatory Shelter. Another one followed me on the street Friday. He started telling me about how he got into a fight with his old lady. He mentioned she was overseas. Then he mentioned how tough it was for soldiers overseas. Then he started talking about how they're all a bunch of “hoo-ahs,” which was so specific I became sure he was regurgitating stuff wholesale. It was about that time that I remembered that my top walking speed can outpace lots of folks' running speed, so I gunned it and he fell behind.

The guy I met at Purgatory Shelter was a lot the same. The Mumblr said a lot of things I agreed with, but they were all fragments, words without ideas or structure between them. It was a stream of thesis statements that were spat out between these shutters and slurps that I believe are related to some scars on his face. It took me fifteen minutes of trying to get a word in edgewise before I gave up on that and another fifteen to slowly extricate myself from the social situation.

I have a few theories about mumblrs. The first is that they just want to be heard. They want someone to react to them and engage them on a human level, but the fact that they never shut up or really listen to what their companions are saying fucks them over on that. They talk to reach out, but they never listen to be grasped.

The other theory is that they've been living in a world that doesn't value or listen to them for so long, they just get right to the sound byte. There's nothing else there, so the try to put out the most pertinent sound bytes they can just to get people into their sphere. It's like the first one, but it's motivated by getting people to give up money, sympathy, or respect for their wisdom and attitudes. It's like a “God Bless” cardboard sign turned up to 11 and stuck on fast forward, a survival trait evolved to an unwieldy, counter-productive extreme.

The other theory is kind of why I blog. They have all of these ideas and they want to share them, but they have no idea how to build ideas, connect to an audience, or shut the hell up.

There but for the grace of the gods go I.

For now, at least.

Robo Hobo Homo #007

So I'm not great with people. That's the “Robo” part of the RoboHoboHomo. Technically, I'm not a hobo either; I'm homeless. Anyway, most of my emotions from moment to moment are selected. I am sexually and romantically interested in men, but it's pretty rare that it comes up. I'm just not a people person.

So I'm not great with phone calls. I never have been. I've tried in the past to submit an application and call companies afterward, but it's always been an awkward, pointless exercise. If a company has too many applications to weed through, they can't surely want each of those applicants to call them. “Hey, I sent you an email.” “Gee, thanks buddy. There's been a pleasant AOL voice telling me that since 1993.”

I never saw the point of it, intellectually or through experience.

But there I was, talking to the co-resident manning Purgatory Shelter's lobby, when he mentioned that he'd gotten a job. I asked him about it and he said he cold-called companies 'til one of them mentioned a job and he took it. He said he didn't take “no” for an answer.

I'm a guy who believes in consent. I believe in respecting other people. I believe that if companies need someone, they need someone and they try to hire the most qualified person based on an application, background check, and an interview. I'm also not very good with people.

So I liked this guy's idea, but I didn't think it was really something I could do.

On the other hand, I came out here because everything I had been doing hadn't been working. Now I'm not great with change or admitting I'm wrong either. So, I picked up the communal phone and called the company that had hired him. The lady at least pretended to check their website and said “No,” and I said “okay,” but it was progress.

So whenever I got through with my .pdf run on Friday, I logged off of the computer, went to the communal phone, and called the company. There, I got a guy named “Doug,” who seemed happy about the call and said he'd be looking it over as soon as he could.

I know it won't do any good, but I'm pretty glad that happened.

Robo Hobo Homo #005

Speaking of razors, that stuff piles up, right? I got soap when I checked in here. In terms of toiletries, I had soap, toothpaste, a toothbrush, some moist toilet paper, and a shovel as my toiletry kit walking in. I was given some soap. A guy named Keils was nice enough to spot me two razors. I had to drop $1.40 for shampoo. Even the little bottles were $1.50, so I ended up getting a full-sized bottle of VO5.

I'm lucky my hair was already cut short, otherwise I'd be walking into every interview a shaggy mess (hey, add “haircut” to the list of things I need money to buy to get a job). My fingernails are a mess and I don't have any nail clippers, but I can rip the excess off myself. They'll grow smoothly in a bit.

It's a lot of little things. When I arrived in town, I didn't know which bus I'd have to take to get to Purgatory Shelter or how far away it was. I hiked for, well, I don't know how long because I don't have a watch or any service for my phone. I hiked across town, then I hiked there and back again the next day to visit the library.

Both days I wore the same clothes and they smelled like hell by the third day. Fortunately, Larry, my bunkmate, spotted me a super-large sweater. With that, I could shower, sign up for a spot to wash my clothes, then freeball in filthy jeans and a super-large sweater while my shirt, undershirt, socks, and underwear washed.

Technically, I was supposed to get a voucher for the local thrift store that would get me some essentials, but I didn't see a case worker until Friday and I couldn't get to the Thrift Store until Saturday. I'm not complaining; it's just that things don't always go the way we expect them to.

I'm very fortunate things have gone as well as they have and to have everything I have.

Robo Hobo Homo #004

My next day was a bit better. I had that meeting with my caseworker, let's call him Dennis. Dennis is from another country. I'm not sure if it's French or Russian, but my impression is Russian. He's a nice guy, but our meeting was mostly just him filling out paperwork. My attitude doubles as a sign that says “low-maintenance,” so I'm sure he was quick to move on to his harder cases. It makes me feel like a bit of a dick, but he mentioned some of the other stuff he'd been dealing with and it sounded more important than “some unemployed shithead.”

His first priority was getting me signed up for benefits. The state's health care website was fucked, but he wanted me to sign up for it. He shoved in one of my fellow residents, a nervous guy who was apparently some kind of genius. I didn't respond well to being told that I wasn't able to fill out a form or that filling it out was simply a matter of intelligence that I lacked. After a few tense webpages were filled out, he left quietly.

The form reset itself just as I finished it and I started from scratch, discarding much of the advice of my resident helper. I think he's probably a great guy, but we met under bad circumstances. I'll have to apologize pretty soon and see if he's a cool guy.

The health care sign-up page led directly to a Food Stamps sign-up page. I'm from a prideful Southern family. On the other hand, Food Stamps fed me on more than one occasion when I was a kid.  My feelings towards them are pretty mixed, but whether I got food from the shelter or from a federal program, I was eating on someone else's dime. Assuming I want to eat while I looked for a job, I went ahead.

I declined the cash option because—even though I currently have $10.60 in my pocket—I was too proud. Like most of the things I have done out of pride, it was a mistake in hindsight. I do need money for shaving cream, razors, bus fare to job interviews, deodorant, and getting copies of paperwork I need to get a job.

Even after I'm out of here, I'm not sure I'm going to be able to pay the cost of living in these parts. In addition to rent and utilities, I'm going to need money for daily transport, laundry, a phone, and internet service. It's a really long road and I should take all of the help I can get if I want to get to one end of it instead of the other.