Canyoneering 2 -- Beautiful Places On Earth

FYI:  Xan (from Xanadu) + Terra (Earth) = Xanterra

If you’ve seen the 1987 film “Matewan” you might recall that the story involved a group of coal miners who lived in a ‘company town’.   That is, they lived in housing provided by the company.  They shopped in stores owned by the company.  They were paid in scrip that could only be used within the limits of the company’s town.  In a sense, the miners had become victims of circumstance, owing their livelihood (if not their existence) to the all-powerful Company.  (If you’ve not seen the movie, it’s worth your time to see it, imo.  Follow the link(s) provided here and in the first line of this paragraph.)

There’s a parallel between the circumstances of the Matewan miners and the employees of Xanterra here at the Grand Canyon.  Let me be clear about a few things:  Xanterra pays its employees in good old-fashioned US greenbacks, not scrip.  People are free to come and go as they please.  Xanterra doesn’t ‘own’ the GC; the federal government owns the land which it operates through the National Park Service.  The company operates restaurants and hotels (concessions) by right of being the highest bidder to offer such services.  In fact, there are other companies here that operate other services.  An example would be DNC (Delaware North Companies) which operates the Park’s General Stores.

The parallels I speak of have more to do with the practical side of living and working in the GC.  All the housing for Xanterra employees is provided by the company.  As I explained in a previous post, almost everyone here shares living accommodations.  This can be a one or two bedroom apartment with up to 10 people in a unit, or Trailer Village where I live in a tiny, cramped room.  Most male employees will stay in the Victor Hall dorm while females stay primarily in Coulter Hall.

The cost of housing for shared accommodations is very cheap, no more than $16 a week, including utilities.  In fact, the cheap housing is a reason you can actually save a fair amount of money despite the near-minimum wage salaries.  It’s also a reason many people elect to follow the lifestyle of staying in the parks; it’s not unusual for employees to transfer from one park to another every 6 months or so.  You can find plenty of people who have done this for decades.  Interestingly (to me anyway), many of these folks look like burned out hippies and they all seem to be devoted NPR listeners.  Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

So most Xanterra employees live in company housing (including managers who qualify for separate apartments offered at impressively low rents taken directly out of the paycheck).  We employees also tend to eat at the company-owned restaurant and cafes on the property.  Foodstuffs can be bought at the General Stores, but the prices have horrendous markups since they cater to tourists as much as residents.  (And since it’s not owned by Xanterra, there is no employee discount).  We generally receive 50% off food prices at the company owned restaurant.  Given that prices are high to begin with (a hamburger  - no sides – will run at least $6 plus tax), it makes our cost only slightly less outrageous than it normally would.

There are no fast food franchises like McDonalds or Wendy’s inside the park.  Those establishments can be found in the neighboring small hamlet of Tusayan (pronounced, ‘To-Saigon’) the so-called gateway to the GC.  You’ll find a number of hotels in the area along with a gas station, several small restaurants and bars.  You’ll also find the same high prices found in the GC.  Even Mickey D’s is uncommonly expensive there.  (Several co-workers who moonlight at that McD’s say they constantly have field questions from angry tourists demanding to know why they have no Dollar Menu .)  There’s also a general store; but since it’s owned by DNC it has the same high prices as its counterpart in the GC.  If you live here you’re caught in a different type of tourist trap:  You’re a resident paying hugely inflated tourist prices.

The General Store -- with Major Markups

I’ll have more to say concerning the tourist trade in the next post.  In the meantime, you know the old saying, “Can't live with ‘em, can’t live without ‘em?”  That pretty well sums up the employees’ attitude toward the tourists.

Canyoneering 1 -- Escape From Victim Hall

So it’s been a while since we last communicated.  Suffice to say, Your Humble Narrator has had no trouble staying occupied with stuff to do.  Indeed, since arriving in the Grand Canyon in June he has managed to scald his arm with boiling oil (much like the stuff you see in the medieval movies; in this case the liquid was contained in a deep fryer instead of a cauldron); had a brief affair with a female of the ‘foreign national’ persuasion (that being the politically correct term for our foreign employees); pissed off some Food & Beverage bigwigs by calling off a transfer to another restaurant in the park; and unknowingly walked headlong into a herd of elk during a midnight walk from work.

 

To the elk’s credit, they watched benignly as I panicked and galloped off in the opposite direction.  If I've learned one thing during my sojourn in the GC, however, it is to give these animals a wide berth.  Sporting deadly racks with points meant for impalation, the bulls are huge, appearing more like those Animatronic creations at Disneyland more than actual living, breathing creatures.  This being rutting season, they are more apt to charge humans than usual.  Let one of those monsters approach with its rack lowered and see how quickly your bowels and bladder evacuate themselves

.

When I first arrived at GC it was summer, with highs in the 90s.  This was a welcome respite from the oppressive desert heat of Vegas, were highs usually hit 100 or more on a daily basis.  Thanks to GC’s elevation (7000+  feet) the heat is considerably tempered and rendered bearable.  But GC’s elevation works against it as well.  My first few weeks here I was constantly wheezing from the slightest exertion.  I was affected by fatigue and a case of diarrhea that stubbornly persisted.  I was told this was all ‘normal’; that it, my body was adjusting to the higher elevation.  Perhaps so; while I still get winded (the elevation can shift by 100s of feet depending upon where you walk) my other symptoms have vanished.

The higher elevation also means harsher winters.  I’m told conditions can get very nasty during the winter months, to the point where the park has actually been closed due to inclement weather.  I am also told the snow turns the GC into a true winter wonderland; that is, it’s a beautiful sight to experience.  I don’t doubt it.  I also don’t doubt that I had enough of the ‘winter wonderlands’ while growing up in the Midwest.  I’m not sure if I want to willingly put myself through snow and ice if I can avoid it.  Some people have fond winter memories of snow covered land and sipping hot chocolate on a frosty day.  YHN, however, recalls too many moments of slipping on black ice and cracking his ass … Or driving along on slippery streets and narrowly avoiding colliding with oncoming traffic.  Or … well, you get the idea.

Overall, I’ve enjoyed my time here.  The people are friendly, and the atmosphere is congenial overall.  Most of the people I've met are very gracious and easy to get along with. I've met a number of attractive ladies, too.  And there are many people here from overseas.  This is one of the high points in my experience here: I've always enjoyed meeting people from other countries and learning their cultures.  (I'm also curious as to their opinion of the USA and Americans in general).

That said, there is a fair share of folks who seem to be socially awkward, or lacking in the skills of simple social interaction (conversation, for example).  I notice a lot persons might term geeks or nerds. To a certain degree I’m reminded of my time at the Salvation Army in North Las Vegas. While many of those fellow clients had quirks stemming from substance abuse or incarceration, they exhibited some of the misfit qualities I've noticed in certain employees in the GC. Like some of the people I encountered at SA, some of the employees here might be described as ‘characters’. 

 Now that term can have a positive or negative connotation, depending on the person referenced.  In this case let’s go with the latter def.  A case in point would be a roommate I briefly had.  This guy (who looked like a bony, nebbish Super Mario Brother) lived in Victor Hall, which is the main dorm for men at the GC.  Understand that all new hires will share either a dorm room or an apartment at first.  Only through job status or length of service can one qualify to live in an individual dwelling like an apartment.  (An example of job status would be this:  A cook has higher status than a busser.  When an apartment comes available, the cook has first dibs.  In terms of length of service, well the longer you work here, the more eligible you become.  Note this applies only to employees of the Xanterra Corp which runs the hotels and concessions at the behest of the US Park Service.  This is Federal land and companies like Xanterra bid for the opportunity to run such concessions.)

Anyway, back to the nebbish Mario guy:  He’s been working here for over 7 years; he qualifies for an apartment through length of service alone.  Yet he has turned down an apartment time and again.  He chooses to live in a small dorm room and put up with the excessive noise and partying for which Victor Hall is notorious (this building is often called ‘Victim Hall’ by the locals).  Enter YHN who was sharing a flat with 5 other guys when he first arrived.  Looking for more breathing space I decided to share the room in VH.  (Bear in mind I knew nothing about Mario’s background or rep as a nutcase)  The first thing I noticed upon entering the room was the impressive amount of trash strewn about the place.

All types of trash:  Papers, candy and burger wrappers, empty cereal boxes, notes, pay stubs, etc.  All types of crap to wade through because it was at least calf-high; Christ knows what was breeding underneath that mess.  His bed was a mess of filthy tangled sheets, next to which was a nightstand overwhelmed by all manner of electronic gadgets and wiring.  The set-up looked like a fire hazard to begin with.  Overall Mario and his garbage occupied approximately three-quarters of the room space.  YHN was left with just enough room for a dresser and a bed.  Thankfully, the room had a full size closet otherwise I would have had nowhere to store my stuff.

I met my roommate who, to his credit, was quiet enough.  So quiet that the most I ever said to him was ‘Hello’.  I tried to initiate a conversation but was met with a blank, wide-eyed stare so I gave up.  The skinny fellow seemed nervous and twitchy enough as it was; God forbid an attempt at common human conversation upset him – hell, for all I knew he was another John Wayne Gacy waiting for another victim.  I slept nervously the first few nights to say the least.

 

Asking around, I learned of Mario’s rep as a weirdo; apparently he says little to anyone.  Just goes about his job, keeps to himself.  Fine, but he also resists any suggestion that he clean up his act, so to speak.  When I mentioned the filthy living condition to the dorm  proctor or the Housing Director, they offered resigned sighs, rolled their eyes and said something to the effect of, “Oh yeah, that guy.  We sure have had some problems with him.”  So why not make him shape up or demand he take single housing if he wants to live like a slob?  But it seems the management is content to regard the guy as the neighborhood eccentric and slap his wrist on occasion.  If nothing else you can understand why no one (knowingly) wants to room with him.

After two weeks I had had enough of the freak.  As if by kismet, one of my former flatmates offered me a chance to room with him, and I jumped at it.  Located in an area called Trailer Village, it’s a really small room (in a trailer as you would expect) but does have a private bath and shower.  Better, I can actually tolerate my roommate despite his elephantine snoring.  Plus I’m within walking distance of my job, so it works out.  The only bad part is the overabundance of deer and elk all over the damn place.  The other day I opened the door and was literally face-to-snout with one of the beasts.  Oddly, I don’t find it as charming as do other people.

More dispatches next time.  Hopefully, that won’t be a year from now(!)

HINJFCA 34: Backtracking Part 2

In all honesty, It was difficult to say goodbye to Salvation Army. While they are sometimes viewed as a bunch of naive do-gooders ringing bells at Xmas and doling out soup and secondhand clothing, I know that's a gross misrepresentation.  I found the staff there to be frank and straightforward when informing clients of what was expected of them.  Their judgment could be harsh but I never felt it to be unfair.  Many clients who found SA too strict or unreasonable simply didn't want to comply with the rules or responsibilities they agreed to in the first place.

In my time there they gave me a place to stay, fed me, clothed me, sent me to culinary class and gave me some sense of direction and purpose when it felt I was ready to check out of this life. And while it was never smooth sailing, I must credit SA with helping me to reinstall a sense of discipline and restore a sense of structure to my life. The fact that I wanted out of there is actually a mark of success in my opinion. The clients who got comfortable with that lifestyle were the ones who often got kicked out and returned to street life.

It reaffirmed for me the fact that you can't help someone who really doesn't want to be helped. SA offers so many people the chance to change their lives, yet so many people seem to resent the effort. And it's usually because those people don't want to follow rules or guidelines. They don't want to give up their booze, drugs, or other addictions; they don't want to change.

At any rate it gratified me to know that many people there appreciated my efforts and considered me a good worker. It actually made the goodbyes more difficult. There are several people at SA that I will always respect, and I do miss them. Oddly enough, I miss arriving in the SA kitchens at 4:45am and drinking the too-strong coffee, and shooting the s**t with some of the guys. I honestly never thought I'd feel that way.  What I wouldn't give to hear the 70-something F growl in his NY accent, "I'm takin' a f**kin' break and havin' a f**kin' cuppa f**kin' cawfee and there ain't f**kin' s**t you can do about it!" Always understated,that guy.

Anyway it was time to move on, and after a few days of homesickness (or should that be 'homeless-sickness?') I settled into my new routine at Grand Canyon National Park. As your humble narrator is getting lengthy again, I'll wrap up by saying this: I think homelessness is as much a state of consciousness as it is a physical condition. I can best explain it with a great quote (from whom I forget): “I've been broke but I've never been poor. Being broke is a temporary condition. Being poor is a state of mind.”

Make of that what you will.

Next time: New Faces! New Places! New Adventures! Same old Humble Narrator!

HINJFCA 33: Backtracking Part 1

Okay, so how many of you clever trousers out there sussed out that the 'journal' was actually your humble narrator indulging in some so-called creative writing? Oh, I see – all of you figured it out from the get-go. Well, you'll never again catch me trying to be clever. You lot are far too advanced for me, it seems.

Actually, I couldn't think of another way to bridge the month+ gap between blog entries. Suffice to say that I have moved on from Las Vegas and am now living in the Grand Canyon (not actually inside the Canyon itself ... well, you get the idea).

I did have a bus trip to Flagstaff, AZ where I met some girls from Taiwan (Formosa); they were quite friendly and I've seen one of them on occasion. The 80-mile (+/-) trip from Flagstaff to GC was relatively uneventful, although the higher elevations can promote popping ears, bleeding noses, and even intestinal discomfort. I know because I've experienced these symptoms and more since arriving here in mid-June.

Upon seeing the GC from the south rim trail, I did wonder about the terrain's seemingly abstract angles and valleys and the inherent design and purpose that must lurk underneath those jagged foundations. I did mark an analogy between the Canyon and my own existence. My life has often seemed more the result of happenstance and the vagaries of chance more than the result of a definite plan. But deep down I still believe there is a design within the apparent abstraction; I just can't decipher it yet.

Ah, my self-pity detector is beeping, so I'd better take a different direction here. You may wonder wht happened when I left the Salvation Army in Sin City. After all, I stayed with SA for app. 7 months. During that time I went from sudden homelessness and embarked on a journey of sorts through parts unknown (unknown to me, that is).

I met people I likely never would have met before, given my circumstnces: Ex-cons of both genders, habitual offenders, thieves, cheats, weirdoes, wackos, wack-jobs and wack-everything in between. I met people who had been in and out of prison/jail for more that half their lives. One guy told me that I was the first person he'd ever met who had never experienced any form of incarceration. Indeed, when your humble narrator said he'd never been to jail, his fellow clients seemed to pity him.

Yes, some of those fellow clients seemed to prefer incarceration to a 'normal' life. I've heard that some of them have returned to lockup. Another tried to committ suicide and was locked up in a mental facility. I hope that many of the others are doing better but I haven't heard from many of them since I left SA.

... To be continued (always wanted to write that!) ...

HINJFCA Thirty-Two: Prairie Tales

From the journal of an anonymous traveler, dates unknown:

Well, I did it. Said my goodbyes to the kind folks in Las Vegas town and have now embarked on a strange journey to the east and north.

They was a bit put out about me leaving, really wanted me to stay. Must admit I got attached to the folks at the hospital. They was the ones who helped me recover from my shootout with the Malpaso Kid. A nurse I am fond of told me to forget my anger and let the past go, or some such. I told her I would. But by God if I ever meet up with Malpaso again I will blow a hole through that son-of-a-bitch big enough for a buffalo to roam through.

Doc Martin warned me that where I am going is still a wilderness, filled with all types of dangers from humans and animals alike. After surviving some shootouts with the galoots in Vegas town, I'll take my chances with the four-footed wildlife. The two-footed varmints were enough for me.

(At this point the Traveler was apparently en route to his destination(s); dates unknown):

... Been a easy enough ride on the train from Vegas town to Arizona. Stopped at a small fort called Flagstaff. Been let off at a rail depot where I'm supposed to pick up the next coach heading to the north. Four in the morning now and no one here but the attendant and some fellow travelers. Seem to be from the Orient, I cannot understand them at all. Three gals though, and mighty watchable.

... Two coaches were filled and left me in the dust before I finally snagged this stage. Had to bribe the driver to get a seat, too. The three gals have traveled with me and we have spoken a bit. They are real nice and say they are from a place called Formosa. I asked if that was near China and they got persnickety.

... Heading to the north I can feel the higher elevation make my ears pop. Noisy on this stage what with a couple of dudes from Germany yakking nonstop. Most of my fellow travelers seem to be from foreign lands. I hear some French and even Russian being spoken about. Alls I can understand is some Spanish and Navajo (which sounds kind of like the palaver those gals from Formosa talk) ...

... Seeing a lot of wildlife as we get nearer to our destination. Huge elk, a lot of muledeer and coyotes can be spotted along the plains or sometimes blocking the trails. Even seen a few bear off to the sides. No bison, though. Guess the buffalo hunters have damn near wiped out the herds ...

... The plains seem to stretch on forever. Skies have been clear and blue with the higher altitudes. Someone said that's because we're getting closer to God. Didn't figure on getting that close until I was put six feet under. Driver and scout say it is only a few hours away now, our final destination.

... I hear tell the area looks like a sculptor reached out and carved abstract shapes and patterns out of the very earth and rock. Some folks say it all looks too organized, too planned out to have happened by mere chance or coincidence. I been reflecting on how that could describe my own small existence: Seemingly abstract, events occurring by happenstance without any apparent meaning; yet all along things have been guided by an unseen force, silently orchestrating a plan that I cannot understand, but continues to play out ....

... We have arrived at the place they call El Canon Gran. When I first saw this wonder of nature I felt empty and fulfilled at the same time. I still wonder why I was led here and what I will discover. Guess I will know it when I know it. All I can know for sure is, El Canon was here a long time before we got here. It will be here a long time after we are gone ...

(The journal ends here)

HINJFCA 31: Countdown Commencing In 2 ...

As in 2 weeks. As in my final 2 weeks at Salvation Army. Yeah, you read that right: I m preparing to depart the SA – complete with honorable discharge (that's what she said) – in a mere two weeks. So consider this a formal 2 weeks notice for SA, Las Vegas, and the entire state of Nevada. Because I'm heading east, to ... But your humble narrator is getting ahead of himself. Last installment I promised to recount a few stories concerning some of the characters at SA, so let's get to that. And remind me not to get out of here with telling you abut the big change in lifestyle heading my way. (But if you just can't wait, there's a clue if you follow this link.)

'Beatdown Town'

Around a month ago a fellow client and kitchen co-worker named Truck (not his real name) scored a job at Crater Lake national park in Oregon. It sounded like a great deal: Nice location, a managerial position in their lodge kitchen, and a chance to save up some money. So a week before he's due to leave, Truck gets into a seemingly harmless argument with a guy in the SA kitchen. I witnessed the exchange between Truck (a 5'9, stocky black guy) and the other man (a younger white guy approximately the same height but far slighter of build). They got nose to nose with low, intense voices, neither of them willing to back down. At one point they actually went outside but onlookers broke up a potential fight in front of the cafe entrance. Upon re-entering the cafe, they exchanged parting shots with the younger guy exiting. Truck was still visibly upset when the security people showed up to take statements (your humble narrator kept his mouth shut) although he tried to laugh the matter off. Apparently the younger guy wasn't supposed to be in the cafe in the first place. Taking statements is par for most arguments of this kind. Security people mainly go through the motions on this sort of thing because guys woof at each other all the time in SA and little ever comes of it.

I wasn't a witness to the next part of the story, so I can only tell you what was related to me by my roommate. (FYI accounts of the following differ markedly) According to my roommate Hank, he was walking a few blocks from the SA campus near the St.Vincent/Catholic Charities complex. Truck suddenly ran up to him and said, “Hold this, man!” He gave Hank his cell phone, wallet and other small items. When Hank asked what was going on, Truck simply ran across the street. The younger guy from the cafe argument was there. Hank shouted for Truck to come back, but he confronted the younger guy on the sidewalk. Shouting turned into shoving, and wild punches were thrown. Truck dove at the younger guy's legs, hoisted him by the knees and body-slammed him to the cement. Truck then used his knees to pin the guy's arms and sat on his chest. Truck proceeded to deliberately punch the guy repeatedly, connecting with solid, deliberate shots to the face. Supposedly, you could hear wet 'popping' noises as Truck's fists hammered into the guy's face.

All the while, many homeless people sat and either ignored the event or watched with detached interest. No doubt they see this sort of thing frequently. Hank ran over and managed to pull Truck away, returning his stuff and telling him to get lost as the sound of police sirens drew nearer. Truck seemed to be in a daze, mumbling, “Thanks, man, sorry. I had to do it, man ...” He walked off and Hank took a moment to look at the damage done.

The younger guy was barely conscious. His face was beaten to the consistency of raw meat. We would later learn that he suffered a shattered jaw, a fractured eye socket and cheek bone, and several other injuries severe enough to put him in intensive care. (For the record, he did survive.) But before Hank could get away, he was detained by St.Vincent security officers and eventually questioned by police. Truck was ID'd by the guy and arrested later that night; I saw him led in handcuffs to the squad car. Hard to believe this was my co-worker and fellow student/client who was always so easy to get along with. He did have a temper, but I never thought him capable of such an action.

He would end up spending 24 days in jail (denied bond) because the guy didn't press charges and decided to move to Oregon. Most agreed that Truck dodged a bullet on that one; he could still be sitting in jail awaiting trial. His penance? Apparently no more than attending an 8-hour anger management class and he's paid his debt to society. Truck did lose his national park gig but SA allowed him to return to the kitchen. He's presently searching again for work.

When I saw him he told me his version of the story: He was walking along when the younger guy and three friends tried to jump him. Truck “knocked the f**kin' shit out that asshole” (his words) and the other three fled. “But all them bitches know they best respect my ass. You feel me?” Okay. Obviously, that conflicts with the version told to me by my roommate. Hank also had to tell his story to Vegas Metro detectives; he said it was like an episode of “Law & Order” (insert favorite franchise here) where he was taken to a small room and his statement was recorded. Hank was also summoned to attend Truck's court date although he never had to take the stand.

Many clients on the SA campus actually sided with Truck, supporting his actions regardless of which version of the story they believed. Some clients tried to make it a racial issue and another case of injustice for the black man. All I can say is that both parties were at fault (imo). There was no reason for the argument(s) to reach the level it did. As is often the case, the cause was something small. Here, the events stemmed from Truck telling the guy to take only one sausage for breakfast. The guy then threw a sausage link at Truck and it was on. All that grief over a sausage. Somewhere in porcine heaven, a piggie must be squealing with satisfaction. Truck is apparently none the worse for wear. In fact he seems to be enjoying something of a celebrity status since returning from jail, telling his tale of woe to friends who listen raptly. I worked with him earlier today serving the homeless breakfast and he's pretty much the same as before: Pushy, somewhat bossy at times, occasionally annoying. As usual, I pretend not to hear him and stay focused on what I'm doing. Truck is one of those guys I like overall, just not as a co-worker. Whatever. I'll keep the peace for two more weeks and resist any urge to throw sausage links at the guy.
Now, about that new j-o-b ... Ah, but it seems I've taken too long telling you about Truck. Guess I'll have to wait til the next installment. No, let's get it out of the way before you burst from frustration. Your humble narrator has scored a gig at a small resort located in the southwestern US. Ever hear of the Grand Canyon? Yup, that's how I roll. Go big or go home is what I say.

Anyway, I'll be working in one of the lodges or restaurants there basically as a food server. Fine with me because it doesn't involve cooking and it's a tipped position. Best, it fulfills my obligation to SA's culinary program so they won't sic the debt collectors from hell upon me. And I must admit the prospect of some new scenery appeals to me. So we'll see what develops. But for all intents and purposes the GC gig is a done deal. Next time: Eh. We'll figure something out. For now, that's a wrap!

HINJFCA The Big 3-0

Wow, it's been a few weeks since my last posting. I had meant to relate how the job search process works at Salvation Army, so without further ado ... After finishing the Essential Employment Skills course (or graduating the culinary course in my case) the client is considered in Phase 2 of the Vocational Program. This means going out into the 'real world' and basically applying for jobs. Clients are discouraged to make contacts through the old fashioned method of "Hi, are you guys hiring?" or "Yo dude, got any applications?" or some such. Rather, clients are urged to make contact via means of talking to the boss directly (in my case, the chef) by means of introducing yourself as an honest guy offering an honest days work in return for an honest paycheck -- honestly.

In Phase 2 the client's work week is reduced to 24 hours (3 days) in order to facilitate their job search. Clients are expected to make five applications or efforts each week. Each effort is to be recorded on a sheet provided by SA which notes the employer's name, address, phone #, etc. Clients must also keep a diary of sorts that records all pertinent information as well. Failure to do so can result in disciplinary action such as loss of weekly gratuity ($15 in my case); or in the case of repeated non-compliance, expulsion from the program. I've seen a number of people let go through this manner. With 4 days off, the temptation can be too much for some people to simply f**k off. SA understandably doesn't want to keep clients around who simply want to hang out on their dime.

Of those five efforts, one can be an online search or application. Ironic, because so many businesses today will only accept applications over the Internet. I expect that number will increase in the coming years I'm told that the time limit for finding a job is 3 months max. That figure seems to vary according to the client involved. I know several people who have hung around 4-6 months before they found work (part-time at that). Others have gotten the boot within 2 months. Then again, they might have been causing trouble I didn't know about.

(If you commit various violations like using excessive profanity or being too aggressive to staff or fellow clients you're subject to being 'written up'. Write ups are usually initiated by staff or security, but clients can write up fellow clients as well. The latter case is given low priority since the violation reported is often something on the order of "X didn't say hi to me this morning", or "X never paid me back the $5 they borrowed", and so on.) Too many write ups from the staff can result in expulsion. Again, the tolerance and punishment for certain violations varies from client to client.)

Believe it or not, some clients cheat(!) when it comes to their job search efforts. (Not your humble narrator, of course.) Some clients will simply search out businesses online or from the Yellow Pages, and fill in the pertinent info from that source. A contact name can often be found on a website or with a short phone call too find the name of the manager in charge of hiring. (This is not intended as a guide for cheating SA, btw; it's just stuff that happens) The caseworkers claim that all contact info is verified but I've never heard of that happening.  But the staff is overworked as it is without having to chase down their clients' job leads.

I myself have been concentrating on fast food restaurants.  This is mostly because there's a chance of a quicker hire and opportunity for advancement.  Unfortunately, Mickey D's, Burger King, et al tend to hire only on a part-time basis with the idea of proving yourself worthy of full-time hours.  Don't like the practice but I understand the logic.  One manager told me he has any number of people come in and get the training, then bolt after a couple of paychecks never to be heard from.  This is often done by teenagers saving up for a car downpayment or video game/electronic gear.  Junkies/alcoholics and other substance abusers are also perpetrators here;  they'll get clean long enough to get the job, then leave when they have enough cash for a couple of fixes.

To further update to progress of various former classmates and fellow clients: One guy recently got a gig with a small Italian restaurant, while another (the guy who shouts/sings "It's your love, Lord!") landed a job with the Cheesecake Factory. No word on if they allow Gospel singing on the job. But if this guy gave thanks whenever he evacuated his bowels, he must have really rejoiced when he got this job. Another guy got a job with a VFW outpost -- this after he took off for a weekend without telling anyone (including SA staff) and reportedly got so high he was detected by radar. He was found out, but allowed to stay when most other clients would have been dismissed for the same violation. (This is an example of the varying punishment/tolerance I cited earlier.)

Another fellow got booted from SA because he could no longer afford the rent.  After you find a job, you're transitioned into Phase 3.  This means you're a client in name only and no longer required to show up for roll call, turn in time sheets, or adhere to any other such rules.  However, once you have an income you are required to pay rent to SA.  It's not bad, usually around 30% of the gross.  But the arrangement makes some clients think twice (it has me).  While you are moved to a two-man dorm room and granted freedom from many client strictures, you still live under SA's roof.  That means no drugs or alcohol, no fraternization with the opposite sex -- or the same sex for that matter -- and no excessive noise, profanity, etc. 

SA sets up a savings account for the client and automatically deducts 30% off the top.  The rest of the money goes to things like a bus pass, food, clothing and other essentials (rent comprises 30% of the amount left over from these deductions).  In effect, the client must surrender their paycheck to SA, who doles it out according to this arrangement.  It's not a bad thing, but many don't like the idea of signing over their money to SA.  Still, it seems to have worked out well for many clients who have gone on to lead stable lives.  Then there are guys like the aforementioned who may never get the message.  This guy got three paychecks and blew (pun intended) all the money on lap dances.  When he was short on rent, SA showed him the door.  Can you blame them?

The strangest and perhaps most tragic story of a client literally losing it all involves an ex-classmate and friend who did something many of us found unbelievable.  But to find out what that act involved, you'll have to tune in for the next installment ...  

Late shout out to Marvel's The Avengers for shattering box office records across the globe.  You humble narrator knew it all along, of course.  SPOILER ALERT:  The shadowy character was Thanos.  Always wanted to do that!