Robo Hobo Homo #023

I also happened across a janitorial job at a local small business. It pays about average for work around here. Part time. Late hours. Nothing special.

By taking it, I'd be committing to a “rebuilding” plan. I'd be working there for just a while, taking in money to springboard myself to another job. Eventually, I'd leave for something better or just, as I've done in the past, leave because I felt that I wasn't going anywhere there. It's a pattern I've gone through before. It's good for me, but it's not so great for the people who are going to have to hire and train a new janitor from scratch in my aftermath.

Then again, I could get that job, springboard myself to another part time job, and then do both of those for a while as I get housing, clothes, some training, and some other resources under me, waiting a bit longer before I take on the next step.

Y'know, an extended plan to use two people before leaving them. It's better yeah, but I guess you don't hire a part-time janitor and plan for them to retire on the job.

I guess a lot of it depends on my plan and even when my entire world has collapse in on me, even when everything has shattered because I'm not willing to answer a question, I'm still not willing to answer it.

Robo Hobo Homo #022

After I left the thrift store on Saturday, my next stop was the library. I'd created a farewell message to my family and friends, but in retrospect it was a bit more severe than I'd planned. I mean, I was planning on vanishing forever.

Seeing as how I wasn't going to be vanishing forever, I opted to put up a message that wasn't quite as extreme. However, I still wanted to contact my loved ones and let them know what was up.

My good friends, Syn and Jayne, responded with just a touch of optimism above neutral. They knew I hadn't been happy for a long time and they knew it was in my nature to take off this way. They understood and I, in turn, understood them.

Then I contacted my best friend Terrence. I was the best man at his wedding. We've been friends since forever. We're simpatico in ways that I've never been simpatico with anyone. He didn't respond at all. I understand that too.

My sister lost her shit. She never really got me and she aggressively rejects every part of my nature. We're closer to each other that we are to my brother, but that's not saying much. It was dramatic, but then in our own restrained, WASPy way, we're a pretty dramatic bunch.

I dunno. Maybe she was just giving me my dramatic exit.

Robo Hobo Homo #021

The first option is a SafeLink phone. Apparently, if you are on Food Stamps, there's a program that will get you a phone. That's cool. I looked it up online to see if it was legit. I didn't find anything to legitimize it, but I did find a lot of folks angry about entitlement government.

They were so angry that poor people were being given the “luxury” of cell phones for safety, efficiency, and, oh yeah, to find jobs. Here are a couple of things that low-income people can do to quit being low-income people: save money on health care, spend their time wisely, and find a job.

But because I'm not on Food Stamps yet and it'll still moving at the speed of bureaucracy, I looked into another option.

After I visited the Thrift Store on Saturday, I went to the library and started looking up information on phones. I'm not entirely broke. I have $140 in a PayPal account. Without a bank account, it might as well be Monopoly money.

Actually, with a bank account it's useless until June [I was writing this in mid-May], but the original point remains; I can only buy stuff online.

It turns out that the first two places I looked, Amazon and my old service provider's website, didn't take PayPal. Wankers. I even found some nice refurbished, prepaid phones that had expandable memory slots and SIM cards that would match my old phone.

I have my old phone still. I removed the SIM card (the little card that connects a physical phone with the account) because I discontinued my service and didn't need it connecting my phone with my last location after I left the city. Being paranoid and ignorant provides endless entertainment for others.

I'm 95% sure that if I get a prepaid phone with the same service provider and something happens to it, then I can swap the SIM card to my old phone and pick up no problems. I don't have a charger for it, but a new charger is cheaper than a new phone.

So I moved onto Radio Shack, who takes PayPal and sells prepaid phones with my provider, but who doesn't sell prepaid phone cards online. What the hell, Radio Shack?

Strangely, I didn't check the service that I used to get most of my PayPal cash, eBay. Well, that's something to look into Monday.

Whatever I get, I'll get something that can take pictures. That way I can post pictures of some of the things I'm talking about.

Robo Hobo Homo #020

Earlier I mentioned shutting off my phone service. I waited until the last minute because I knew it was essential to finding a job. It wasn't until I'd exhausted all hope that I shut it down and even then it was like tearing off an arm.

I was so incredibly right. Now that I don't have one, I have so many obstacles to overcome. I don't ever know what time it is. That means I'm never quite sure if I've missed a bus or not. Also, if I miss a bus, I can't call Purgatory Shelter and let them know I'm coming. So I have to plan to catch the 4:20 bus instead of the 4:40 bus if I want to eat or not miss curfew.

When employers are interested in calling me back, what number do I give them? Purgatory Shelter. That doesn't put a smiley face in the “Hire” column guys.  When they do call, you have to remember that Purgatory Shelter maintains strict confidentiality, so I have to leave a note with the guy in the lobby to answer any questions that people ask when they call.

No, that's too broad. Just answer the questions that the companies I've put in applications with have. Well, them and the hiring agencies. Well, maybe I should just say “anyone” then and waive confidentiality goodbye. Assuming, of course, that whoever is on duty reads my note, remembers it, and recognizes the name as my name when someone calls.

Fingers crossed!

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 #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."