I was driving down the street one-day close to the Homeless Shelter. There was the dude in camo shorts, American flag logo shirt, flying a sign asking for money. The sign said something like “God Bless America, I appreciate your support with $$” or something like that. I was having a bad day and was annoyed he was in my sight to be honest. He came up to my window and asked for money. I told him straight up, “get a fucking job and get the fuck out of my face”. The man didn’t even say anything, I was surprised. That day I was prepared to get out of the car a beat his ass to be honest. After the fact, the next few days, I didn’t really think anything of it to be honest.
So I was living life and getting on with it. I started having some issues with my current living situation and I lost my job also. Emotionally, I was not well at all. I was in such a fucked up mental state that I didn’t even tell anyone or ask for help. Men tend to suffer quietly. A man will go into the woods to die and no one would even care, not knowing even what happened. At the time one of my friends, an ex-girlfriend told me to call this help line or whatever it was, I did. Next thing you know, I was living in a homeless shelter. Sure, I know I am skipping a lot.
It was nice to not live in a Car, constantly moving around. You wouldn’t believe how stinky and dirty a car gets when you are living in it. Hygiene is next level annoying, unlike having an actual home. Being at a homeless shelter with a car, you are seen as a king, or a leader, you have something everyone wants there. There are secrets about living homeless which I don’t want to get into. After all, this isn’t a homeless survival guide.
I’ve lived an interesting life overall. My family is pretty well off these days. I love them very much. It wasn’t always like that when I was younger. We have had our differences and things, like anyone has. At the time, I found myself having a real defeatist attitude. I definitely had a victim mentality, and I was mentally stuck. For whatever reason, I was at war with my mind, and I could not control it. Sure, there is more to this story. Maybe I’ll discuss more at a different time. This is not a Biography
So here I was. The lady from the shelter called me and said they had a bed open. OMG a shelter no way dude, I’ve hit rock bottom, what the fuck. I can’t do it. I do not want to be around all these fuck-ups. Wait! I am a fuck-up? I need help, though. As I was going towards the shelter, this internal monologue was deafening. I had to proceed or just die.
As I walked up to the door of the shelter. Quite a few people outside smoking cigarettes and things. One of the dudes noticed I drove up, he asked me for a ride and also asked me for a cigarette. I haven’t even settled in and people are asking me for shit already. I noticed all the riff raft around at various tables in the main room. The shelter is no hotel or anything. This particular shelter had a max stay time of 90 days (3 Months) there were exceptions though. The bathroom had sewer flies, they were everywhere, rampant. Sure, the shelter would go through waves of bed bugs, but they would be removed eventually. Another funny detail, the homeless people would always get confused thinking I was a staff member at first. I am not sure why they thought this. I think it’s my voice and the way I carry myself in general. Externally, I didn’t look that fucked up, poor enough or mentally unhinged?
Big Jon was one of the Homeless shelter tenants. No one liked him. Anytime you talked to him, he would have an attitude and generally be a grumpy bitch. I liked him and helped him move around. Call me strange, I kind of like a grumpy ass old men. You know exactly what to expect from an old grumpy fucker. He was intimidating, no one helped him really except the homeless shelter staff or me. Big John was over 6’5 tall Black dude, he was in a wheelchair most of the time. He struggled to go from his chair to the wheelchair, one of the staff would help him most of the time. In the evening one night, a staff member was shouting from the bathroom, he needed help. Big John was hunched over on the toilet with his pants down around his ankles, he was unconscious. We dragged his body out into the dining room area after pulling his pants up. His body was lifeless. They took the defibrillator kit off the wall, and they were hitting his body right there as over 30+ people ate and watched. His body jerked, the electricity tried to bring him back to our world. Everyone was eating, yeah, in the middle of dinner, the homeless were feeding, and Big John died. Something about this experience made me a better person, sure it was sad. Jon wasn’t the only one that died during my time in the shelter.
Sorry, I kind of went off on a tangent. So less than a week of being in the shelter. I saw someone familiar over in the library parking lot, many homeless hung around there. I recognized the dude from the stop light from a few years earlier. Yeah, that’s right.. I told him to get a fucking job, remember? Something inside me made my feet move in his direction. Was it guilt? Was I confronting the Karma?
Clint was his name. So I ended up talking to him for the evening, pretty much. I started the conversation off by telling him that I had seen him around at stop lights, flying a sign. If you were to see Clint, to be honest, you would probably assume he is an ex biker that served in the military. After all, he is wearing all camo and black, wearing American flag propaganda. Shirts that had keywords like army ,military, patriots, protect and serve ect. Surprisingly, when I asked him, he said he was not in the military, nor had he ever served in the military. I found this very interesting. This made me even more curious. He didn’t really realize it, but I was doing a full interview and psychological profile on him at this point. Basically, he had no job or anything and generally congregated around the shelter. I did notice some odd shit about him when he started talking about his political views.
Clint started talking about Politics, life, liberty freedom and all that type of shit. He did not come off as a gentle or tender person. He told me the government was oppressing him. Not only that, but he also talked about the government putting voices inside peoples heads to make them do shit. Even his email, yes, you guessed it, is being tracked by the government. He was complaining about pretty much everything. I was finding it a little confusing because he was receiving free meals from the shelter. The government was also sending him checks for disability, if I am not mistaken. Clint was always fighting with the staff at the shelter, accusing them of serving dog food and so on. He would never accept a bed from the shelter. They offered him a bed many times, and he always refused over the years. Yet, he really seems pissed at everyone, either offering help or just helping.
At this point, I felt it was appropriate that I come clean about my previous interaction with him. I asked him if he remembered a dude telling him “get a fucking job” one day at the intersection of Reston Parkway and Elden street, a year or so previously. I wasn’t a bitch, I told him what I said. Maybe I was thinking it would free my soul or something and gain some humanity back? Maybe I really told him because I thought he would think the whole thing ironic and perhaps entertaining? Now that I was homeless and all. I didn’t feel previously sympathetic for the bum beggar. He told me “no”, He didn’t remember that situation because people tell him that shit all the time. “People tell me to get a job, call me a loser, drug addict all the time”… Whew, I am glad I got that out of the way, I was thinking. He did not seem upset at me because of what I said. Nice.
Eventually it was around dinner time at the shelter and I even sat with him during the meal. Clint continued his theme to the others around, making conversation. Constantly complaining. Freely talking about conspiracies and telling people they are doomed, there is no hope for the future and so on. Even though I have actually developed some sympathy for Clint at this point. I was kind of getting worn down mentally, and I was hoping he would shut the fuck up. I am literally trying to climb out of a hole myself, and didn’t find Clint’s Rhetoric useful for me in general. We both finished our food, and we headed outside together to smoke a cigarette. He was walking towards the library, and I was following him.
We stopped walking and said our goodbyes. He then got in a brand new Honda Civic Hybrid.
So you are probably wondering at this point. What is the point of this tale I told? Personally, I find it interesting. Here I am yelling at the homeless dude with heavy judgement. I then become homeless. Feeling empathetic, I try to make amends for my prior behavior. At the end, I question it all becuase he gets into a brand-new car, second guessing everything I thought. Is there a moral to the story? I am not sure, you tell me.