My apologies before hand to anyone who actually reads this. This really probably should have been two, maybe even three separate posts. So, it’s really long and I ramble more than a little. Just warning you.
So… I’ve been wasting away my unexpected and precious day off reading Hyperbole and a Half. If you haven’t read it, you need to. Maybe you don’t need to obsessively go back through the archives reading every single post like I have been but you must read ‘the best of’ The dogs moving almost made me pee my pants in the middle of the study area in the University’s math building. And the fish? I literally slapped my knee and had to support myself on the wall to keep from falling to the floor in hysterical giggles when I read it with my brother and sister. Yah, hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com check it out.
Needless to say that reading it so much is starting to influence the way I think in small and subtle ways. It’s made me want to blog more for one. I’m not nearly the comedian Allie is and my life is quite boring, happy(not that Allie’s life isn’t ‘happy’ perhaps calm would be a better word. I haven’t had to live in scary apartments, be molested on a bus, or try to put my pet fish down. That’s makes me life thus far seem very ‘happy’ to me), and unentertaining in comparison. Still, I find myself wanting to write a letter to my roommate, and then perhaps a couple more letters to inanimate objects. Or maybe share some of my more random thoughts. So anything here that is even probably kinda funny that crops up in the near future is probably going to be influenced by Allie.
One of the random things I now have the desire to share-
I feel like a hobo right now. I’m not a hobo. It’s just that I spend a lot of time in Salt Lake City and don’t live anywhere near Salt Lake City. It typically takes me 45-50 minutes to get from my apartment to the University campus. I happen to have this lovely and rather large chunk of time between when my classes end, and when dance classes and evening rehearsals start. With this time I usually read, do homework, play online, contemplate actually working out at the field house, eat lunch, and on occasion take a nap.
How does any of this relate to me feeling like a hobo? Often times in the afternoon between lunch and getting ready for my ballet class I find myself practically living in my car. At this very moment I’m sitting in a parking lot, bundled up and typing with gloves on because I don’t want to waste gas, attempting to leach internet from the nearby café, and contemplating taking a nap in said car.
I eat, sleep, put on make up (because I’m to tired and lazy to care in the morning), and spend my free time in my car because I have no home, (well I do, it’s just not practical to go there). And no place that accepts paying loiters, like a coffee shops, because I don’t want to spend 3 or more bucks on a cup of chai almost everyday, when I can make several dozen cups at home for the same price, just for the right to sit around someplace warm for a couple of hours.
Living in your car is something hobos do, at least that’s what they do if they still actually have a car.
Speaking of hobos…
Am I the only one who feels, snobbish, rude, sad, embarrassed, confused, justified, sorry, and guilty all simultaneously when they see a hobo holding a sign asking for money?
Usually I simply try to not look at them. You would think this would work because that’s what I do with just about every other stranger I pass on the street but no. I can feel them trying to capture my gaze, and it’s pretty hard to pretend that I can’t see them because I’m not blind. They often have a whole little blanket, cup, sign, camp set up around them and it makes them stand out. This is what makes me feel snobbish, even though I’m not actually doing it, it feels like I have my nose high up in the air and that I have an air of ‘I’m to good to help out a bum like you.’ And even though I don’t think that I feel like I look like I think that and that makes me feel guilty too.
I feel even more rude when they say something to me and I pretend to ignore them. But usually I panic, become confused and go for the smile, nod, and keep walking approach. Sometimes I even think ‘they might not even be a hobo! And if they are a hobo they’re probably just going to spend it on drugs and or booze’ So then I feel justified for ignoring them and not giving them anything. But what if I’m wrong and they really are a sweet grizzly old man who just happens to be down on their luck? Then I feel embarrassed and guilty.
Almost always, not matter what they do, or how I respond I just feel plain sad. It’s my go to emotion for bad things.
The best way for me to avoid them, especially if they talk to me directly is tell them what is usually true. “Sorry, all I have is plastic” I might have a few pennies in the coin pouch but I typically use debit for everything and don’t carry cash most of the time. Other times this is a big fat lie, but I use it anyways. This results in stronger than usual feelings of guilt.
Why not just give them some money?! Some people might ask. I do have reasons, maybe not good reasons, but reasons.
I’m not poor, but I’m hardly rich. I don’t even have a job. I’m 19 and even though I don’t live with her I still live off of my mother’s income. If I were to give a dollar to every hobo that I saw everyday (I usually see at least one a day, sometimes as many as four or five if they’re asking in groups around the capitol theatre) I’d be as poor as them in no time.
And some of the them really aren’t hobos, and some of them really do spend their charity money gathered from well to do suckers on less than useful stuff. If I am going to provide charity for the poor and homeless I will do it through a foundation that I can trust spend it on blankets, food, and other useful stuff and will be able to benefit family’s and people to proud to ask for money on the street corner. I wouldn’t mind buying a hobo a sandwich someday though now that I think about it.
Then there’s my overly friendly hobo story.
One day, walking back to my car after a saturday morning adult ballet class at the capitol theatre I was politely accosted by a hobo in front of the Shilo inn. And our conversation went something like this.
“Excuse me miss. Could ya spare a little cash so I can get some luch? I’m starving and haven’t got a penny to my name.” (These weren’t his exact words but you’ve got the idea)
I don’t know what it was but this hobo freaked me out more than most. Maybe it was his lack of recognition of personal bubbles, and maybe it was the other hoboish looking man he had been talking to who was now leaning against the concrete wall with a creepy smile. I forgot him though as I focused on the scuffy man who was far to close for my comfort.
It was time for my tried and true escape line. “I’m really sorry. I wish I could help but I don’t have any cash on me. Just plastic.” I gave him my best apologetic smile and tried to head back on my way.
My car was almost in site, less then a block away and yet so far. And I couldn’t get to it. My golden words that had saved me from social responsibility and awkwardness so many times before were as useless on him as my personal bubble.
“Aww really? Nothing at all? I’d take even a quarter! You gotta have something you can give me.” And he stared at me expectantly with those big brown hobo eyes far to close for comfort.
At this point I’d do anything to be able to run away to the safety of my car where I could restore my broken bubble.
“I might have a quarter.” I said hesitantly as I began to fish out my wallet from my pants pocket.
I opened the coin pouch and floating right there on top so that I didn’t even have to dig for them were two quarters. It was like my wallet wanted to get away too and placed them there for my convenience. I grabbed them and gave them to him with a forced smile.
“Aww thank ya so much! You’re beautiful you know that? God bless ya!”
And then.
He. Hugged. Me.
I repeat. Creepy hobo man gave me hug of thanks for two measly quarters. It was the most embarrassed, panicked, and confused I think I’ve ever been. I still can’t tell if it was a sarcastic hug or a sincere one. The deer in the headlights effect kicked in. I made no attempt to give him an awkward fake hug back. I just stood there shocked and stiff as a board.
Things gets a bit blurry once he started hugging me, but I’m pretty sure I said he was welcome as quickly as I could and made my escape as soon as he let go, saying that I had a date I needed to get to. This was kinda true because I was planning on spending that afternoon with my boyfriend. I’m pretty sure he made some comment about wishing he had a date.
Oh and then, when I reached for my wallet on the way to the car it wasn’t in my pocket and the first thing that popped into my head was that he had swiped it after I’d given him the quarters. But then I found it two seconds later in my dance bag and I felt really, really bad for assuming the worst of him.
So that’s why I don’t give money to hobos and tend to stay as far away from them as I can. Mainly to avoid feeling obligated and awkward. It would really suck if I ever became a hobo and had to ask for money so I could eat. Not only would it be kinda ironic but I’d feel like the world’s biggest hypocrite.
