Robo Hobo Homo #092

While I was taking care of this business, Pally moved out and Andreski moved to the back hall. Have I talked about the back hall? Hold on, I will later. With those two gone, there were only four people in our emergency room. That meant I could move to a downstairs bunk and quit tripping over Wheelchair Guy. He's a good guy, but living quarters are especially tight when you're talking about someone in a wheelchair. Take the personal space you need and multiply it by 50% and that's probably just the down-payment on the personal space someone in a wheelchair needs.

I took a shower and when I came back, I had a fresh feeling, my duties in order, and a space of my own.

I did not, however, have enough time to get any sleep. I broke down and bit the bullet. Before arriving here, I drank a lot of caffeine. Like, "familiar with caffeine overdose symptoms," a lot. When I'd quit on the 14th, I'd lucked out that I hadn't lost a day to withdrawal. I was proud of the fact that despite the ready access to coffee a Purgatory Shelter, I hadn't had any.

Until that night.

Some mail had come in for me while I was gone. It was a letter from the Food Stamps guys about how I needed to set up an appointment for an interview. It didn't really say for what, but because of the weekend, it'd be until Tuesday until I could get in there and see what was up. I could have called, but I really don't find phone calls to be...satisfying or definitive.

Robo Hobo Homo #087

It wasn't even a place that gave out hygiene products. It was a free shower place.

Of course. I got him to take First Street in a straight shot back to downtown and hung a left to get to the Safeway. We talked about a few things, nothing in particular. He misses his grandkids and can't wait to get his Social Security money.

I hope he gets it. I talk a lot of shit about Larry, but given that he's an ex-con over fifty who doesn't want to work, I'd rather he get some money to take care of himself than end up living in shelters for the rest of his life.

Deep down, I'm afraid that there is no money coming. He tells a great story about pretending to be insane to get the money and how he's always just waiting on it, but sometimes I don't know if he's pretending for us, telling us that things will be okay when he's going to be spending the rest of his life in one shelter like this or another.

Larry is kind of my closest friend right now and I want to help him so much but I can't.

But on that Friday we talked, I bought him a sandwich and gatorade with my EBT card, and wished him good luck.

Robo Hobo Homo #086

Oh, right. Larry.

He caught me just before the eleven o'clock buses pulled in. I walked over and he offered to show me where the hygiene dispensing place was. Finally happy to have him show me this mythical valhalla of deodorant and shaving cream, I accepted.

Because we'd be missing lunch at the shelter in order to go on our adventure, I offered to break open my EBT card and buy us both sandwiches at the Safeway. He showed me how to call and check the balance on my card.

Larry has a habit of hitting someone in the arm to begin a sentence. It's like the upside down exclamation point of his personal punctuation scheme. In the first five minutes of our trip, my left arm was already aching.

We had a a nice trip up First Street. A few blocks west of downtown proper, he turned up a dirt and gravel road that pulled up a hill between an abandoned shop and an auto parts store. His path cut to the left and he began pointing out familiar buildings with me as we continued on a side-street further west.

Eventually, my curiosity gave way to frustration and my frustration gave way to the sort of pure amusement that only life's inevitable, blithe stupidity can evoke.

The twisting path we'd followed and Larry's incoherent directions both led me to a small building just next door to the Thrift Store.

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 #080

Mr. McCoy had a degree in environmental science. He'd tried to get a job on the mountain, but he ended up working at the unemployment office. He had spent three years volunteering in park though and didn't seem to think too much of the questions I'd asked him.

I'm definitely planning on talking to him again, about the mountain and a few other things.

We eventually did get down to business. He had a thick packet of resources I could use. Resources I wish I'd thought to utilize whenever I was living in San Antonio. Back then, I either had the resources to do something or I didn't. I never considered getting help moving forward with my life, then getting to the point where I didn't need help. Just doing everything full-bore instantly had been my approach.

He was insistent that I use those resources. Really insistent because even though I know they're a good idea to use, even though I know it's that reluctance that got me here, even though I know people want to help, it's still so hard for me to ask for help.

Eventually, the time came for my job interview and I had to go.

Robo Hobo Homo #079

When I was at the Academy, we'd have to march to football games. In the parking lot, you'd have a lot of tailgates set up by different classes. The Class of '88, the Class of '72...you get the point. The most surprising one was The Class of NoClass, academy drop-outs who still showed up for Navy games and proudly tailgated under the banner of having left a school years or even decades ago.

I mean, at least Al Bundy made four touchdowns in a single game. That at least puts the "glory" in "glory days."

What I'm trying to say is that I don't look back on my time in the Navy with any particular fondness. Technically I am a veteran, but I've never felt like one.

So when I sat down with Mr. McCoy and his first question was to tell him what the Academy was like, I considered it more of a challenge to my authenticity than a genuine icebreaker.

I launched into a series of stories which both showed my familiarity with the academy's organizational structure and underlined my somewhat awkward fit into its social structure.

He seemed amused and we talked a bit more. He'd been in the Navy as well and had retired to a nice place in southern California before—say it with me now—moving out here and loving it.

Seriously, this place has more SoCal transplants than a Utah weed farm.

Robo Hobo Homo #077

The rest of our quest to get the bus passes was uneventful. We showed some IDs, filled out some paperwork, and did an interview. I didn't expect the interview, but the lady was really nice. She apparently handled a whole department inside of LoCap (actual function other than general civic...civicness is still a bit vague to me) that was also designed to help people that needed help.

Really, within four blocks of this city, there was a mind-boggling concentration of buildings and organizations dedicated to helping out people in need. I'm really, really glad that they're here, but it's frightening that there's so much infrastructure built up around people who can't find work, can't find employment that pays their bills, and have to fight uphill every second of their day to try to get somewhere better.

It's like the system has learned to function around a critical dysfunction.

Robo Hobo Homo #067

I also had my weekly interview with Daryl today. Since we're both going to be indisposed tomorrow, we opted to do it today.

Even though I'd already looked up the things he wanted me to look into, it was a struggle to get that across to him. I told him I'd looked up the information on how to order my birth certificate, the cost, and the ways I could pay. Then he rolls right into a bit about how I can order my birth certificate. No lie. That's exactly what happened.

Nothing says, "I'm a professional, I care, and I'm here to help" like a halting speech telling me how to look up the thing that I already did that I just told you about.

In all honesty, I was almost proud of him when I mentioned in passing that I was going to the Mental Health Office and he asked why and just as I was putting the words together he excused himself to take care of another issue with another guy. When he got back, he changed the subject entirely. It was epic.

He told me to spend my first paycheck on getting all of that paperwork in order (Social Security card, birth certificate, and new driver's license). I get the feeling he spends a lot of people's first paychecks checking off boxes on his own paperwork.

Robo Hobo Homo #066

I did some landscaping because it needed doing. We're shorthanded. Actually, I should have a person doing dishes with me in the evenings. We just lost six slots of lobby duty, about twelve hours for the week gone from the schedule. I picked up two hours for Friday, and I might have to pick up more if no one else does. Picking up a shift tonight, Thursday, was right out; I have a job interview tomorrow.

Oh, yeah, about that. The plan was that after Eric and I got our bus passes (fingers crossed), I could fall out out to the local help get people employed office to, amongst other reasons, print out a resume. There's a game store downtown. I can't even tell you the name. Partially because everything I write about here is hidden behind a really, really thin veil of pseudonyms, but mostly because the name is hilariously bad.

The store looks cool though, but then a Hill Giant looks good to a Magic: the Gathering player who hasn't shuffled up a deck in as long as I have.

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 #063

The walk home Wednesday from the library wasn't any better or worse than before. It might have contributed to my computer's accelerated decline, but I can't be sure anymore. It seems to be doing okay in this exact moment. It spent all day in the computer room with me so maybe it's just following the example of good computers.

Anyway, because the city is an unreliable grid, there are only three major routes home. I went the route I like to call 8th and I, because it hinges on the intersection of 8th Street and I Street and because it's an in-joke from my time at The Academy.

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.

Robo Hobo Homo #055

Whenever I signed up for DSHS, I passed on a cash option. First thing Wednesday morning, I popped back in there and checked on that. I had to sign in, but the information lady at the front answered all of my questions and had me on my (cashless) way in no time. It was really productive.

The DMV was pretty quick too. I needed to check on the price of transferring my license locally, from Louisiana to this state. It was, considering my current financial status—hell, even considering my immediately prior financial status—pretty expensive. It was good to know though.

Between those three, I stopped by the local helping people find employment office. It hasn’t been too useful to me, except that I can print out applications and resumes from it. Daryl asked that I get him a copy of my resume and suggested (sagely) that I print out a few more besides. I did that, but I messed up the saving before I printed and to make a long story short I have scratch paper now.

Also, another job lead on a job that specifically pays $9.50 to veterans.

(That’s not a lot of money.)

Robo Hobo Homo #044, Clarification Online

When I said earlier that there's "no standard" for passwords, I meant for social services cites. Sometimes they need a symbol, "!" or something. Sometimes, they need eleven characters. I can change my password to match the site, but the thing is that I never remember which modified password matches which site.

It happens with job applications too. Every company has their own standard of password which ostensibly exists for my own good, but is usually a fast-track to a password reset email.

I appreciate that these folks want to protect me while I'm trying to work for them, but it becomes a real hassle really quickly. I could just write down the passwords; I don't honestly think that anyone is going to steal my healthcare password (and I know they couldn't decipher it if they did get a hold of the book I'd inevitably write it on). 

The practical answer is for companies and agencies to list the password requirements of their site on their login pages. Not necessarily directly on it, but available under a button so I can more easily recall which set of bullshit, atypical features my password has to have for site #119383498.

Robo Hobo Homo #043

I also did some shuttle runs between the computer and the public phone.

A letter from the healthcare selection department (not my actual healthcare provider) confirmed my fears; I'd entered the address incorrectly whenever I'd signed up. I tried to fix it online, but I've logged into so many systems over the past week that I've completely forgotten all of my logins and passwords because there isn't a standard. So I was locked out of my account and had to shuttle run to the phone to handle it there.

A nice guy named Judge helped me out and we had a few laughs about how the mailman took my mail to the right address anyway and how I used to do call center work and other stuff until I was fixed up.

Then I shuttled back to the computer.

I was trying to get the SafeLink phone hooked up (still). According to the internet, my application was canceled. I turns out I originally filed under “really poor” because I have no money, but it turns out I needed to file under “receiving food stamps.” The woman in India who has a job was very polite and explained what had happened and what needed to happen.

I returned to the computer and started my third (fourth?) SafeLink application. At the end, it needed my Food Stamp ID number, which I'd never gotten from the food stamp people. So I had to shuttle run back to the phone to call the Food Stamp people and get my number.

The number they gave me was eight digits, but SafeLink needed nine (naturally). Stymied, I put a '0' in front of my number and it went through. All I needed was for SafeLink to talk to the Food Stamp department and verify that I was on food stamps, then they'd put the phone in the mail.

Until then, it's shuttle runs and getting call-backs at the front counter of a homeless shelter.

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, #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.

Robo Hobo Homo #035

The last two things my case worker brought up were actually about finding work. 

Do I have a resume and a social security card? No. I lost my resumes with my good backpack at a gay bar in the city the night before I arrived. I didn't tell him that; I'm not an alcoholic and the how isn't as important as the now.

I'd already told him what happened to my social security card, but he'd forgotten. I told him that I'd destroyed it and he made the exact same face as when I'd told him the first time. He still never asked why, but instead told me to get another one. I'll be doing that Wednesday.

I'm not sure about the copy of my resume. I'll talk about that more later.

Finally, he told me a thing that would help me work to get money from a third party! There's a company that hires folks to work in their lodges during the tourist season and moves them around to different locations year round. If I was willing to travel it was an option.

I said yes.

So he set me up with a computer and I went to their website. Of course their only opening was a fantastic executive sales position so of course I applied to it.

I also took the opportunity to reapply to SafeLink. My application on Saturday had ended on a vague error message asking me to call them. I'd called that afternoon while waiting for Daryl's schedule to clear (no matter what else I say about the guy, he keeps busy) and they didn't have any record of my application.

Starting from scratch, I applied again, this time getting stuck when they asked for me to upload a picture of my Food Stamps card. Now my laptop doesn't have photo capturing software and I don't have a phone to take pictures with, so in order to get a phone to make calls, receive calls, and take pictures, I need to ask someone to take a picture of my Food Stamps card and sent it to SafeLink. It rubs me in exactly 359° of wrong directions, but it's doable.

Eventually, it was time for dinner and I had to take off.

Robo Hobo Homo #033

I set up quickly and started ordering a brand new prepaid phone from eBay. The one that met my requirements was about $60, and it would be another $50 for the phone card. It was a lot, but my PayPal money wasn't of any use to me until I got a bank account. Worst case scenario; I could hock the phone and have cash in my pocket at a minimal loss. If it's one thing I've learned from gaming, it's that a hundred of a resource I can't use is worth one of a resource I desperately need.

It wouldn't be until later that day that I would realize my new Food Stamp card made another shot at Safelink a good idea.

After that, I checked my email for job replies and messages. My brother's birthday is coming up and he asked if I was still in Texas. I told him I wasn't because there was nothing there for me and left it at that. Curt, but at this point, there's nothing more to say.

Terrence messaged me back, too. His grandmother had just died and he wished me luck. I couldn't think to do anything but apologize for the timing. He lost his brother about two years ago and I feel like I just wanted to make this a little bit less shitty for him.

I scoped a few jobs and restarted my computer about four times, so the fifty minutes passed pretty quickly.

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.