As you know I've been experimenting with telling this story in the first and third person, with my own editorial comments included. The last installment was was truncated and presented as a 'flash forward' of sorts; and update on what's going on now as opposed to detailing the events that led me to my present circumstances. It occurs to me that all the shifting back and forth between first and third person, plus the time shifting from past to present and back again could understandably result in some "Lost" type confusion for the reader -- especially the casual reader who might not follow this blog on a daily basis. If that's you, then I demand you wear a hair shirt and whip your backside with a razor strop; with enough 'mea culpas' I may deign to forgive you. Or not.
Anyway, I think I'll endeavor to speed up the narrative and stick to the first person for the time being to alleviate any potential confusion. No need to thank, just throw money. So, to continue:
I got the bed at Salvation Army and was ushered into the men's dormitory. Located a few feet away from the women's dorm, it's a plain white one-story building with a slate blue colored door. When you enter, a dorm monitor checks your name and issues you clean sheets, a blanket, pillow and pillowcase, and a bath towel with two small bars of soap (kind of like the ones you get at most hotels).
I was assigned a locker with a rusty bottom, but I didn't care. I was so tired of lugging the carry-on that I would have set it down in a puddle of raw sewage just to get rid of the weight. Within the men's dorm are approximately 50-60 bunk beds and accompanying lockers. The good news: My bed was on the top bunk. The bad news: There was no ladder to access the top bunk. I had to climb up the metal frame of the bed to reach the top. This meant stepping on a thin rail that cut into the soles of my feel like a knife; it eventually became painful to walk on that foot.
But a bed was a bed, and if I had to make like Spider-Man to get up there and sleep I could deal with it. You are issued a set of rules upon entry and while you are given the tour. Off to the south side of the building are communal showers and sinks. On the other side of a concrete divider are approximately 10 toilets and 10 urinals. Almost every night I was there at least one toilet overflowed.
Among the dorm rules: You have from 5pm until 7 to enter the building and be accounted for. If you arrive after 7, you are denied entry until 5:30 the following morning unless you have a valid excuse (work, emergency, etc). Visitors are required to shower daily for as long as they reside in the dorm. That rule is one of their better ideas, imo. Many of the guys staying there have been on the street for some while, and could easily be carrying some sort of sickness or infectious condition. I heard that lice and bedbugs were problems, but I never had any problems with that while I was there.
No having lived in a dorm before, I admit I was taken aback by the idea of having to shower nude in front of a bunch of strangers. Every prison rape scene I ever saw in a movie constantly played through my mind as I headed for the showers that first night. When I got there it was half-filled with older white and black guys (this constituted the bulk of the ethnic makeup of the dorm I was in. There were a few Latinos and Asians as well; I was surprised by the presence of that latter group. For some reason I never imagined Asians as homeless or on the street.
As far as showering went, I simply decided to go all in. I stripped, did my best to ignore the other guys, and stepped under the faucet. Thankfully, the water was hot, the stream steady. I'll admit it felt good taking that hot shower, getting the street grime and sweat off my body. After that first night the process got easier. One thing I noticed was an unwritten rule followed by most guys while in the shower: No conversation. No looking around, either. Everyone kept their gaze straight ahead, like a horse with blinders.
I expect no one wanted to be suspected as being a homosexual, should they chance a sneak peek at another guy's junk. Personally, I kept my gaze straight for two reasons: I was too scared to look around and I didn't want to feel more inferior than I already do regarding the size of my manhood. Didn't I have enough problems without worrying about whether I can hang with the well-hung in a Salvation Army shower?
More rules: Lights out at 9 pm; lights on at 5:30 am. Visitors have until 7 am to shave, bathe, go to the bathroom, etc) at which time they are expected to leave the building. There is no way to reenter the dorm until 5 pm that night. In other words, you better have your gear together because you won't be seeing it again for at least ten hours. It also means you better have somewhere to go to kill all that time. I discovered that some guys actually maintain full or part
So it would be a misnomer to describe all the guys staying at the Salvation Army shelter as 'homeless' or on the street. Many of them are responsible, hard-working people who simply need the cheapest dwelling available while they save up for a car, an apartment, etc. Conversely, there are many occupants who are truly homeless and on the street. The save up enough money from performing odd jobs or panhandling to afford a bed for a few nights and get off the street. (Those with no money for a bed can go to the Salvation Army Rescue Mission a few miles away. I've never been there, but I'm told accommodation and food are far worse than in the SA dorms.)
While I don't doubt the dorm houses its share of drug addicts and alcoholics I didn't notice any such behavior on the premises while I was there. I did, however, notice many of my fellow occupants gather a few blocks away and toking on weed (or whatever) and likely indulging in other illegal substances as well. There are three dorm monitors who work the graveyard shift, and they tend to be pretty share about infractions should they occur.
Once, the old man in the bunk below me was caught trying to light a cigarette in his bunk; a big no-no. If not for his age, he likely would have been booted then and there. For the record, a patio area is left open around the clock for smokers to go outside and indulge their habit. Trust me, many guys indulge to the extreme. (Something I've always wondered about. Many of those guys will complain about being broke; yet they always seem to have money for cigarettes, drugs, booze, or whatever. Maybe it's me.)
You could classify the dorm occupants as Workers (those with full or part time employment) and Transients (those who just want a bed to get off the street). The Transients tend to hang around the DRC and courtyard all day, hanging out with peers who are still roughing it on the streets. I got to know those who stayed on the street by sight: Excessively dirty clothes and skin are giveaway, as is body odor. Many of these street people arrive at the DRC when it opens daily at 7 am to use the hot shower facilities and toilets. I was amazed at the long lines that formed everyday to use these facilities.
Likewise I was amazed that people could live their lives in such a manner. But one mystery at least was cleared up for me: I finally learned how street people manager to bathe and shave. Thank the Salvation Army. But good luck making headway through that chaotic line first thing in the morning. The more experienced folks waited until afternoon when most people had already bathed. Like the Transients, the street people congregated around the courtyard to play cards, dominoes, and smoke and smoke and smoke some more ...
While peddling is forbidden, there is plenty of evidence proving that cigarette hustling goes on constantly in the courtyard area. There are other people who operate outside of the SA grounds and in front of Catholic Charities who likewise peddle cigarettes. I don't doubt there's a decent income to be made by selling cheap smokes to the homeless. The customer base is basically made up of addicts (nicotine, drugs, booze to name a few.
Back to the dorms: The beds are made of a single, plastic-wrapped mattress. Not especially comfortable, but I slept deeply enough that first night. It is somewhat jarring when the light go on at 5:30, though. The harsh flouresecent glare really cut into my eyes. It's also strange to hear the gruntings and groanings of guys waking up in the morning. During the night, it's not unusual to hear guys talking or shouting in their sleep, as if caught in a nightmare. I often heard gasping and wheezing here and there. Plenty of coughing and sneezing, clearing of throats and so on.
One of the things that concerned me the most about staying in that environment was the health consideration. Many of those guys had lived on and off the streets so long it was likely they had picked up some sort of illness that could easily be transmittable, especially among a large group of people. I'm happy to say I never contracted an illness while in the dorm. Not even from the old guy below me who coughed so violently he shook the bed frame and sounding like he was hawking up his internal organs.
And there was snoring. Christ, was there snoring. I had never heard anything like it in my life, yet somehow I managed to sleep through it. Imagine a herd of water buffalo in the throes or coitus. Or bull elephants roaring at each other all night long. Or heavy duty machinery roaring nonstop through the wee hours. That is only some idea of the noise certain guys could make during the night. The deep, guttural, throaty rasps echoed off the cement walls in staccato fashion. Each blast of air expelled from their mouths resulted in a noise that served as a spike drilling into my head.
Sometimes I listened out of pure fascination: How could the human throat produce such inhuman, frightening noises with machine-like precision and nonstop performance. Sometimes it sounded as if certain snorers were waging an unconcsious battle between themselves to out-snore the other with ever louder barrages of offensive inhalations. Most amazing of all is that the loudest snorers were never awakened by the glottal obscenities bursting from their mouths. A disturbance of the peace that seemed to make the entire building shake as if undergoing a sonic earthquake.
Then there was the farting ... But let's leave the meaty stuff for tomorrow. After all, it's guaranteed to blow you away!
Jim
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