Homelessness: It's Not Just For Crackheads Anymore Part Nine

Previously on HINJFCA:

Unassuming writer and voice actor Jim Morris had been overtaken by his archenemy Major Depressive Disorder.  Despite Jim's valiant attempts to fight off the mental malefactor, he finally was overcome by the Major's power and succumbed to his hated -- and mysterious foe?  Mysterious?  Indeed.  You see, the Major had never fully revealed himself until January of 2011.  But the Major is a devious foe and carefully calculated his appearances.  First as headaches and feelings of confusion experienced by Jim.  Then as episodes of severe depression (yes the Major more than lived up to his name), resulting in extended crying jags, thoughts of suicide, and finally the rejection of his entire life.  The Major basically caused Jim to simply stop caring about anything:  Food, survival, sex, sports, movies, you name it.  All the things Jim cared about -- including himself -- were flushed down the proverbial toilet.

The Major savored his victory as Jim was evicted from his apartment, lost most of his possessions, and was near penniless as he was cast onto the mean streets of Las Vegas.  This looked like the end for our hero ... But wait!  After spending a long night in a public park, a  distant ally helped Jim with enough cash to afford a hotel room the following night.  Later, Jim found his way to North Las Vegas and the Salvation Army (all recounted in this HINJFCA blog).  After some night staying in the homeless shelter dorm, he was accepted into the SA vocational program with the target of working in their kitchens in order to become eligible for their culinary course co-sponsored by the State of Nevada and a local college.  Well!  It seemed as though things were brightening up for our hero.  Or were they?  He was still homeless and jobless.  And now he was confronted with a whole new challenge in terms of learning about the food service business and dealing with the many volatile personalities found in SA.  Will Jim survive?  Can he continue his comeback against the Major and ultimately defeat his foe?  And most important, will Jim ever get a PS3?  These and more answers forthcoming as the HINJFCA saga continues ...

The above was written for readers who are new to this blog and may have wandered in during the middle of these events.  My name is Jim Morris.  I'm just a guy who has never been in trouble with the law, always played by the rules, and just happened to be afflicted with Major Depressive Disorder.  That led to my becoming homeless and having to adapt to a whole new lifestyle as I try to get myself (and my life) back together as I work within the Salvation Army vocational program.  This blog is officially called "Homelessness: It's Not Just For Crackheads Anymore" but I use the admittedly convoluted acronym "HINJFCA".  For the record, I have never done crack.  I don't drink, I don't do drugs, and I don't gamble.  I've never been incarcerated, nor have I ever been arrested.  My 'rap sheet' would consist of a single moving violation that occurred nearly 30 years ago -- and that was expunged after taking a driver's ed class.  My record, as such, makes me an anomaly among my fellow Salvation Army clients (our official designation).

So that's a brief recap.  And now, I'm going to wrap up the events that led me to become a client (or perhaps an enlistee) of the Salvation Army:  After passing the interviews for the SA vocational programs, I was transferred from the homeless shelter dorms into the Vocation Building located across the driveway from the shelter.  (Note that I went through many interviews with SA before being accepted.  When I groused about why the process was so tedious, by cousin -- an HR bigwig -- suggested it was to see if my behavior or appearance varied from one meeting to the next.  That is, did I come in wasted, drunk, smelling like a goat, etc.  Turns out, my cousin was exactly right.  Well done, cuz.) 

So guess what happened my first day in the new digs?  I went to a bare bones classroom where I had to fill out yet another pile of forms, releases, etc.  I was given an ID badge and assigned a caseworker by the name of Carla.  She's a tall, gull-bodied black woman with a strident voice and energetic personality.  I must say I was transfixed by her rear end, which resembled a couple of soccer balls struggling to escape a tight skirt.  She showed me around the facility.  It's a three story building with minimal decorations save for a few pictures with a patriotic theme and many notices and bulletins plastered throughout.  Across from the main lobby on the first floor is the common room which contains a large flat screen TV which has been the cause of many near-fatal disputes among clients.  There's also a pool table, a foosball table, and a small 'library' consisting of books donated to SA.  Clients must sign in and out at the front lobby whenever they leave the campus area and ID badges must be left there and retrieved upon return.  Curfew is 8pm S-Th, midnight on F-Sat.

The first floor contains the kitchens and adjacent cafe area with several round dining tables.  The cafe is open to the general public for breakfast, lunch and dinner with meals costing approximately $3.  Next door to that is a large room filled with long tables which serves as the clients' eating area.  This is where I take the majority of my meals at SA.  Food is served cafeteria-style with trays, self-serve sections and the main food counter.  To get meals, clients must present both their photo ID and a valid meal card, the color of which changes upon issuance on a weekly basis.  To get the meal card, SA requires that you apply for Food Stamps (SNAP), which is actually a plastic EBT card ala a debit card.  You must apply for this within 3 days of acceptance into the vocational program (informally called simply, 'the program' by staff and clients). 

I applied at the Welfare located within the Catholic Charities complex.  I was expecting a drawn-out, day-long experience, but such was not the case.  I sat in a crowded room filling out a lot of paperwork, which in returned.  I was told I would have my interview with a caseworker that very day (within an hour, actually).  While waiting I noticed that many Welfare applicants got into arguments with the workers there.  It seemed there was a lot of confusion and chaos applicable to both sides.  (Not helping matters is that other social services have offices located within the same room, so it's very cramped.)  I saw several people shouting and finally escorted away by security guards.  One woman broke down in tears after being told she would have to fill out an entire new application; she filled out the previous one with information that was apparently falsified.  After meeting my caseworker (a guy who looked like Beau Bridges and spoke with a drawl) he said I was approved and would have my EBT card before leaving the office.  That amazed me; I was expecting it to be mailed to me within 2-3 weeks.  I guess my homeless circumstance and SA connection helped expedite matters.  Anyway, I walked out of the office with my very own EBT card.  It took 51 years, but I finally joined all the impoverished masses subsisting on Food Stamps and suckling the Government (or should that be 'Givernment') teat.  Go, me!!

Of course, I had to sign the card over to SA.  Here's a bit of false advertising on their part concerning the program:  While they do cover your room, board and utilities, they don't actually pay for your food.  They do provide meals, but they keep your EBT card on file and charge $50 a week for meals (not bad considering it comes out to $7 a day for 3 full meals).  But the cost of meals is actually being paid for by Uncle Sam, not SA.  Perhaps a minor quibble but I found it a bit irritating that I had to surrender the card.  However, they do return it to you whenever you leave the program (whether by your own volition or by dismissal, which is far from uncommon here).

The second floor of the vocational building contains men's and women's dorms for those in the program.  (There's about a 8:1 ratio of men to women here)  The third floor houses veterans and others who pay monthly rent to SA.  This includes graduates of the program who have become gainfully employed and choose to stay on the campus.  Grads can do that for up to 1.5 years after graduation.  Not a bad way to save money as rent averages around $200-250/month and that includes utilities, laundry service, etc.  My dorm room houses up to four guys, as do all rooms on the second floor.  The room itself is plainly furnished with 4 single beds, nightstands and stand alone closets.  Sheets and blankets are provided by SA.  My room is located right by the railroad track, so it's not uncommon to hear trains rumbling by day and night. (The third floor usually houses 2 guys to a room but that varies)  My roommates are Frank, Will, and Derrick.

Frank is a white guy, 48, about 5'7 with a beer gut and an outgoing personality.  He works in the kitchen with me, and has an outgoing personality along with an occasionally tiresome sense of humor.  He provides a lot of unintentional humor from his stories concerning is misadventures with Internet dating and chat rooms.  I'll probably dedicate a whole segment to his stories.  Will is a black guy in his mid-late 30s from NYC who speaks rapidly and with so much slang it's difficult for me to understand him at times.  He's pretty cool although he likes to play DVDs on his laptop late at night with the sound cranked.  Derrick was likely a football player at one time.  He's around 6'5, app. 240 lbs, black, large-framed with a deep voice.  You might say he's a man of few words as he rarely speaks.  I get the sense that he's smarter than he lets on.  While he can crack the occasional joke he tends to keep to himself.  Fine with me; I'd rather had a roommate who was too quite than too talkative.  One strike against Derrick, though:  While everyone in the room snores on occasion, this guy is by far the loudest offender.  The deep snoring can make the walls vibrate.  Problem is, Derrick is so big that we're all afraid to complain to him.

After showing me to my room, Carla laid out my schedule:  Occasional meetings with her for status updates and performance reviews.  I got the schedule for Essential Employment Sessions (EES) which are classes designed to help clients reintegrate into the work force.  To be blunt, EES is aimed at the many ex-cons and recovering substance abusers within the program.  I'll recap some of my experiences in the class and the sometimes eccentric behavior of the instructor Jay in upcoming installments.  The classes meet on Tuesdays and Thursdays for around 90 minutes each.  I also got my first work assignment:  The laundry, located in the basement with the maintenance department.  I was told the kitchen crew was full and it would be two weeks before I could sign on there.  That turned out to be true.  To be honest, the laundry detail was pretty peaceful and very easy. 

Washing was simply a matter of shoving however many clothes would fit into the aluminum machines.  Detergent, bleach, etc. was added automatically in pre-measured doses.  Industrial sized dryers had most loads done with 30 minutes.  You could come and go as you pleases as long as the clothes were done.  I often read books, or took off to eat.  My partner was a 19-year-old black girl with a sweet disposition and a chunky body.  When she told me she'd been in jail several times I didn't believe her.  I would later find out that many younger girls who appeared at SA had backgrounds of criminal behavior and substance abuse.  Don't know why that surprised me but it did.  Anyway, after two weeks I was, as promised, transferred to the kitchen.  I actually regretted leaving the simple tasks of the laundry, not to mention the solitude of the basement.

I was formally introduced to the head of the kitchen, Chef Mike.  He's around 60 with a clean-shaven head that resembles the shape of the classic light bulb.  He gave me my schedule and my very own uniform -- actually a white coat with black trim.  It's necessary because it soon becomes splattered with various food and drink stains.  After a brief tour of the kitchens I was introduced to some of my future co-workers, a few of whom will figure prominently in upcoming segments. 

And you know what?  That just about brings us up to date on the events that have brought us to the present.  More detail will be added along the way, including more interactions with -- and observations concerning the many homeless and some of the characters I've met during my time in North Las Vegas.  In that regard nothing has changed.  If anything, the amount of homeless 'camps' has increased as the weather has turned colder.  Hopefully, I can provide some pictures in future updates.  For those who don't know, I type these columns from a public library in Las Vegas as I have no access to the Internet.  Also note all these columns are written as first drafts, so you might forgive any glaring mistakes or omissions (or don't; I could frankly care less, but I like to be diplomatic).  If you really want to see a polished version of these events, have some publisher throw me some bones as in $$ (I do care about that). 

At any rate if I don't get a chance to post before Christmas, let me wish you and yours Happy Holidays.  And remember that so many of our sacred traditions are actually based on pagan customs and heathen ceremonies once thought to evoke the devil and other malevolent entities from beyond the pale.  Hope that warms the cockles of your heart!