Happy belated Thanksgiving to you all. Hope it was filled with turkey and pumpkin pie all served up in a nice, cozy Norman Rockwell-like setting. For myself, I had a nice dinner served to me by the kind folks from Circus Circus. Well, it was served to everyone at the Salvation Arny Vocational Building, not just me. But those guys and gals made me feel like they were serving only me. Also in attendance was a news crew, filming the event for the requisite warm and fuzzy feed-the-homeless segment you see on all the local news channels.
The only thing missing was the roving reporter taking part in handing out the meals to the hopeless, homeless transients. Maybe we didn't look indigent enough to warrant a guest serving from one of the reporters. For the most part I spent turkey day in the SA kitchens where I am now assigned, and for the record saw none of the football games, which was always a Thanksgiving Day tradition with me. And you thought homelessness wasn't difficult? Lord, the hardships I endure!
If you're not too wasted from your tryptophan rush (or too obliterated by fighting the Black Friday crowds; incidentally, what did you buy me?), read on for more updates from the homeless front courtesy of yours truly. Like I said in the last installment, I'll try to move the narrative ahead a bit faster so I can bring up up to date on all the enervating events and captivating characters I've met during my sojourn at the Salvation Army. So where was I ...
Ah, yes. I was staying in the SA homeless shelter men's dormitories and I was about to tell you about the farting that took place every single night I was there. The omnipresent flatulence was actually less annoying that the concomitant snoring that assaulted my ears. That's because there is only so much gas the human body can expel through the anus whereas snoring is a byproduct of breathing. It's times like these that I thank the heavenly powers that the anus was not designed for breathing. Imagine methane being expelled in every breath; now that I think of it. that's kind of what went on in those dorms at night: Anal breathing. Yes, it's a nice phrase but don't bother copying it because it's already registered. (By the way, have I used the words anus and anal enough for you? Does it make me an a-hole?)
I've often thought the quality of human farts can be described as military weapons, and much of this will be self-explanatory: You have the Bombers, which blast the air with a particularly horrible fecal stench, accompanied by an ear-shattering blast of noise. Conversely you have the stealth variety of gas attacks, popularly known as SBDs (Silent But Deadly). These farts are especially treacherous, given there is no advance warning which makes the offensive odor even more noxious than usual.
Then there are the Intermittent Burst variety of fart, which seem to shoot out of the offender's backside with a machine-gun like cadence. Screechers emit a high-pitched whine which sound like air being let out of a balloon. Bunker Busters are related to the aforementioned Bombers. The BBs however, are emit an especially deep, gutty roar from remote regions of the intestines and can sound more like a belch than a fart*. You can usually tell what the offender previously ate for lunch or dinner from the smell of this classification of fart.
(*Of course, one could refer to a fart as an anal belch, and a belch as an oral fart.)
As it now occurs to me that I, a 51-year-old man (and supposed adult), have been delineating the nature of flatulence for the past several minutes, I can't help but wonder if this is one of the character defects that led me to my current unhappy circumstance(s). At any rate, you get the idea. To use the military weapon analogy to conclude this segment, let's say the SA dorms were battlegrounds of flatulent warfare all night long.
Now then. You had to be out of the dorms by 7am, at which time the building was locked and cleaned. Occupants aren't able to enter the dorms again until 5pm. Many of the guys had part-time or full-time jobs they went to. Others apparently drifted about town the entire day. There was one guy who rode the bus back and forth across town all day. Other guys would go off and panhandle. Still others would just wander around the SA courtyard visiting with other homeless friends who were 'roughing it' on the street, or would hang out in the DRC building playing cards or dominoes. Usually they would stay outside where they could freely smoke.
Directly in front of the SA building on West Owens you'll often see a line of transients hanging around. They're waiting for the occasional church group of community activist group that arrives semi-regularly in a parking lot across the street. These groups usually bring meals, toiletries, clothing and other items for the homeless (I personally received food and toiletries and a brand-new blanket from one of these groups. One of their reps just walked over and gave me the stuff. I must appear more destitute than I intended.)
As mentioned, the area of North Las Vegas where the SA shelter is located is home to other agencies that seek to help the homeless. I say "seek" to help them because not all of the homeless want help -- from the SA or anyone else. Maybe it's an unpopular notion to say (or write) this, but here goes. Many homeless people are homeless because they choose to be. They prefer that particular lifestyle and have no desire to participate in conventional society.
How do I know this? For a couple of days, I basically drifted about the area between those hours of 7am and 5pm trying to wrap my head around my situation. I was still shell-shocked by the confluence of events that had occurred so suddenly that I was, for want of a better term, numb to the world. So with the burden of dragging my luggage around, I was freer to walk and explore the area, and meet some of the people. I'll freely admit that for a time I considered joining those denizens of the streets. I would look at some of the stragglers and wonder if I could maintain such an existence. I can tell you that there is free food all over Las Vegas; if you hear otherwise, it's a myth.
The homeless benefit from innumerable organizations that give away clothing and other items, much like I detailed above. With a mailing address of 'General Delivery' and proof of ID (which can be accomplished by a friend vouching for you), the homeless can receiver Food Stamp benefits (although the program is now called SNAP and entails usage of an EBT Debit Card w/PIN number). There are programs that provide free medical care, fill prescriptions, and even provide free computer and Internet access (aside from the public library where I now write this). After learning all this, it became clearer to me why certain people would opt to drop out of the mainstream and live in such a fashion.
Think of it: Reaping rewards from the taxpayers without having to BE a taxpayer. All that free stuff and food. There are plenty of homeless people out there taking advantage of the system. Just because they're lacking in formal education doesn't mean they're stupid. I've had many of them tell me that they feel entitled to these benefits simply because they're homeless. And to a certain degree I think society in general feel so sympathetic to their plight that they feel justified in providing benefits to the less fortunate.
Is that to say all homeless people are gaming the system? Not at all. But there are plenty of them who share the attitude of this guy who I spoke with in the SA courtyard. When asking him if he would rather get off the streets and find a home, job, steady income, he replied: "Hell no, I don't want no damn job. F**k that shit. Man, I'm a grown-ass man. What I need to be on some motherf***er's schedule for? I'm homeless, so what? I do what the f**k I want, when the f**k I want. "I wanna get high, I get high as a motherf***er!Ain't no one tellin' my ass what to do!"
All right, that might not be the most scientific sampling, but you might be surprised how many people share that exact same sentiment (albeit expressed in different terms). And for the record, along with the usage of cigarettes, I've noticed another common trait among the homeless: The use of the word 'motherfucker', or variations thereof. While I try to control the use of profanity (especially in public settings) I'll admit to a certain scholarly fascination with this word, MF. It's one of the few words in the English language that can be used as a noun (mf), adjective (mf-ing), or as both (mf-ing mf-er). If you come up with other fun, creative uses for mf, be sure and drop me a line. It could be a nifty project for the whole family!
So for approximately 48 hours I actively considered joining the ranks of this shadow society. At the time I was so disappointed with myself and so humiliated by my circumstance that I wanted to either end my existence or eliminate evidence of my existence to such a degree that my friends and family would forget about me. I wanted to slowly fade into oblivion and enter that netherworld where nothing mattered by basic survival. In a way this was progress. Only a few weeks earlier I was making plans to commit suicide; niw at least I was seeking to stay alive. (At this moment I wish I could play this song for you: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WlBiLNN1NhQ On second thought, play it for yourself for maximum ironic impact.)
To spare you the suspense, the fact that I'm writing this blog is evidence that I didn't follow through to do myself in. Nor did I enter the netherworld of transients and stragglers. (Although I have learned that 'Netherworld' is actually an adult nightclub in Chechnya catering to below-the-belt fetishes. Google it if you don't believe me.) Instead, here I am blogging these details of my shattered existence to you, my loyal readers -- and I thank both of you.
Unfortunately your humble narrator has gotten a bit wrapped up in his discourse and so forgot to notice his time at the computer has dwindled to less than five minutes. And so I'll have to conclude this sixth segment and wrap up (finally) the events that led me to the present moment. Although by then, this will be the past moment and that point in the future will be the present moment. Whatever. We'll catch up then. In the meantime, enjoy some of my spoken word magnificence with this clip: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3iKFtagdavk, plus see what your humble narrator looks like in person. Fun!
Btw if you like this blog and the video, thanks! Now throw money or a PS3 (not necessarily in that order. If you do throw a PS3, throw a few games with it, okay? Good games like MGS 4, or any of the Drake's Fortune series. Also, Madden 12 would be nice. Just a thought. You think I'm asking for too much? Well I am homeless, after all. Not that I'm playing the guilt and/or sympathy card ...)
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