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 #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 #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 #076 Friday, Friday, Friday

Friday was intense. I'm writing this midday Saturday and it just took me thirty minutes to get my notes on the past thirty-six hours together.

I found some really good resources, my moods have been (predictably) up and down, I've asked for help from folks back home, I started a job, I hate that job and want to get a better one, I finally started standing watches in the lobby and I love that, and I have been through the wringer.

Friday started off easily enough. A city resource called LoCap gives out monthly bus passes from eight to elven on three mornings a month. They only have ten. First come, first serve. Lines start outside of the main doors.

Eric clued me into them, so he and I went. The first buses don't get downtown until 0715, but he wanted to get there earlier so he arranged to ride with Wayne into town on his way to work. Sharon got clued into the whole deal and the three of us piled into Wayne's little sedan and made our way over.

It was a bit cold when we arrived, but I didn't think much of it. We were the first ones there by a country mile and over the next hour, only one other person came by to join us. Even he didn't stay very long.

But we did have a wait and while we did, we talked a bit. It turns out that each of us had been in the service. Sharon had actually served as a Navy corpsman in Vietnam, attached to the Marines. Eric had been in the Army. I'd been in The Navy, naturally. We talked a bit about that.

We all had different stories to tell, about our upbringing, living here, and our service histories. I had always gotten on fairly well with those two, but it was good to learn that we had so much in common.

I had also thought that the problem of homeless veterans was a bit like shark attacks; not statistically significant, but noteworthy because it catches headlines. Talk about some out-of-work civilian and folks generally imagine he's a life-long fuck up. Bring up a homeless veteran and people start getting tears in their eyes and talking about how pointless Vietnam was.

Maybe I should look into that.

Robo Hobo Homo #075

For the record, someone pays for this place. They let me keep my stuff here, including my bloody carcass. I don't have a rack; I'm allowed to sleep on someone else's bed. I don't have a locker; it's permitted that I put my clothes in their locker. I'm a guest in their house and chores are a way of me keeping their house in good order while they're not here. 

Daryl and the other case workers, as much flak as a I give Daryl, are in charge of managing this place that we are allowed to stay. None of us are honored guests; they're trying to keep us from wrecking this place until more people can come through here. None of that is predicated on the assumption that case workers craft perfect law.

Robo Hobo Homo #074 Troy's Bong

So one of the guys here, Troy, has a hookah. You might remember him from the racist incident. He was carrying it around. Someone called it a bong because that's what a hookah looks like when you're carrying it around a homeless shelter full of guys who are recovering from drug abuse.

Troy stopped by and corrected everyoneso that they definitely knew this thing he had was a hookah and not a bong. I just happened to be around.

So during our meeting on Thursday, Daryl covers a few basic areas; don't pee in the bushes outside, we still haven't gotten a maintenance guy to look at the hot water knob for the kitchen, only smoke in front of the building between ten at night and four in the morning. Any questions?