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 #031

I found the guy I was looking for, Richard, and he directed me to Vivian. I spent the next few hours learning a lot about thrift stores. They take in a lot of stuff. They have to bulk process and store all of it. There's not a lot of consideration that can be given to individual items.

Not a lot, but some. While I was there, Vivian came across an animatronic parrot that Richard identified as being a collector's item from Disney's Pirate of Pensance. I was checking a line of identical yoga pants to ensure that they were hung properly, facing the correct direction, and tagged in preparation of pricing while she dug through the bag looking for a parrot's remote control.

I also took a pickup's load of used clothes and shoes to a little shed where they'd be sent to another charity. While I was putting some baskets on top of some more baskets in a basket corner, I noticed a glass...thing had been broken and had to stop to clean it up. Then there were some Fall and Halloween boxes needed to be put upstairs. There was a shopping cart of leather-bound Western books that I had to push/drag/lift across a gravel parking lot to a warehouse.

A guy pulled up with a pickup truck of his aunt's (or whatever's) old clothes. I was asked to bring them to the shed outback for Vivian. The guy was flabbergasted that we wouldn't be immediately hanging them alongside our very own Purgatory Thrift Store Prized Collection and displaying them proudly for people to adore. 

I mean, gods, man! Old women clothes aren't oil. I don't want to be crass, but the ratio of womens:mens clothes is hanging tough at about 9:1. Thanks for bringing them by and while I can't tell you the whys and wherefores, rest assured they're going somewhere for someone.

Really. Thank you. But “Thrift Store” is an old white man word for “closer than the garbage dump" don't expect the stuff you're barely not throwing away to get you a nomination for Nobel Peace Prize.

Robo Hobo Homo #030

On Saturday, the guys at the thrift store told me that if I volunteered on Monday, I shouldn't come in exactly when the Thrift Store opened at nine thirty. Probably great advice, but I don't have a watch.

I'd explored the building that contained both EmployFolks and the Community Public Relations. For my trouble, I found a DMV office that was closed on Mondays. I stopped by one of the banks on my list— National Bank C, for those of you keeping track at home—and learned they had a $50 minimum balance. While they were aware of PayPal (or faked it, which is good enough for me), they couldn't transfer the funds in without an account existing. And they couldn't make an account without funds on hand. Chicken and the egg, but an understandable one.

After seven blocks, I made it to the Thrift Store, but I had no idea what time it was. The door was open, but it still seemed too soon. I walked down two blocks further. I'd circled both of the local blocks when I'd arrived too early on my Saturday visit and I wanted to expand my horizons.

Wasn't much to see though, except that there was surprisingly more city east of where I was. Having nothing else to do and no sense of the time, I went in.

Robo Hobo Homo #018

At the Purgatory Thrift Store, the underwear and socks were a whole different issue. They were in one of many bins which contained baseball caps, knit caps, gloves, jockstraps, scarves, a few t-shirts, a women's girdle, two pairs of womens' underwear, and a cup of coffee. An empty cup of coffee. A cup of coffee that was empty when I found it.

There were several pairs of socks and underwear that were stained with the coffee. I tried to bring them to the lady who worked at the front desk but she directed me, as she had done when she saw my voucher, towards the folks at the back.

For their part, they were nicer to me, but they said that "it happens" and didn't seem to give it a second thought. They pointed me at the garbage can to throw the coffee cup (and when I found it later, the stirrer) away.

So then, holding three shirts and two pants in one hand I tried to find a pair of boxer-briefs in my size that looked like they'd been donated by someone too modest to wear them even once. I then compromised on any underwear in my size that looked like it had been donated quickly after wearing. Hey, I believe in the power of washing machines.

Eventually, I had to settle for a single pair of tighty-whities that looked like most of the wear was mechanical. The best socks they had were fifty-cents and coffee-stained, but they looked like good socks.

When I brought everything to the back to check out and they said my voucher had a bit more left on it. Tactfully, I brought up the possibility of a coat. It was a pretty chilly day. They agreed and I came back a bit later with a button-up corduroy jacket with fleece fringe.

Now, I thought fleece collars were just for show. Let me tell you, there are only, like, two body parts that feel better than your neck when they transition from exposed, cold winds to immersion in warm wool.

No, now that I think about it, it's probably every body part.

Robo Hobo Homo #017

So a while back I mentioned a voucher for me to get clothes.

I rolled into town with just the shirts on my back. No jacket. A blanket because, hey, Hitchhiker's Guide to The Galaxy, am I right?

Those got funky quickly and I got a voucher and on my fourth day here I got to take a bus into town and cash in my voucher at the Purgatory Thrift Store. It turns out they're related to the shelter I'm staying at.

Not that it did me any favors. They were not happy to see me. Maybe it's because I wasn't moving quickly and they assumed I knew what the deal was but was stupid or maybe they were just busy.

My voucher listed pants and shirt for an interview, underwear, socks, shoes, and a belt. It took me a second to find the mens' corner. I guess that they just don't receive a lot of men's clothes. We don't usually buy much and if other men are like my friends, we just wear what we do buy into the ground. Not much of a secondary market there.

So none of the belts were better than the one I had on. None of the shoes fit my size 10EEE foot (not even close). I'm 5' 8” and 160lbs, so my shirts are as small as my feet are large. There are far more large and extra-large shirts out there than mediums for some reason. That reality was reflected in the options available.

But there were options. The pants were slim pickings as well, but I eventually found a pair that fit well, even if they were a bit sheer. They also had some light stains which weren't immediately visible under the light of the thrift shop. I chose them and a second pair with the hopes that the lights of an actual interview would be equally forgiving.

Gonna say right now, "Probably not."

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.