I don't fear very much, but I do fear homeless people. I know, this is unfair. I shouldn't fear someone because he or she is unwashed or maybe smelling of substances of questionable legality. And, in reality, that's not why I fear homeless people. It has more to do with the truly insane ones that I met on the docks of downtown Seattle when I was five and separated from my family. But that's another story.
This fear of homeless people...well, maybe it didn't increase so much as it shifted to "creeped out and slightly amused by homeless people" in December. I was leaving the Provo library (one of my favorite libraries, incidentally) to walk the three blocks home just after nine in the morning when I was approached by a homeless man.
He asked if he could speak to me for a minute, and I said sure, mostly because I feel guilty saying anything but yes to homeless people. Also,I'm a little afraid to say anything but yes to homeless people. But I digress.
So he starts telling me this story. I have to admit that I couldn't understand about three-quarters of what he was saying to me. It was a combination of accent, word choice, and fear that mushed his words to an incomprehensible jumble in my ears. But I did understand the start of his story, which was "I moved down here a few months ago," and the end, which was "And somehow I ended up homeless."
You know, somehow that ending didn't really make me sympathetic to his cause. I've never been homeless (which is perhaps another reason I fear homeless people--I fear the state of homelessness), but it seems to me that homelessness isn't one of those bombs that fate drops out of nowhere. I mean, there's usually a train--lose your job, can't pay rent, get kicked out, whatever. Sickness comes out of nowhere. Losing your job comes out of nowhere. Living under a bridge is usually one of those things you're able to fight against, or at least see coming.
And it seems to me that if "and somehow I ended up homeless" is the best slogan the homeless of Provo have, it's no wonder they're homeless. Perhaps the Provo library, where they all spend their days (doing what, I don't know) could offer some free marketing classes to their biggest patrons. Maybe "'Somehow I Ended Up Homeless' and Other Lines that Don't Get You Breakfast," "How to Gain the Sympathy and Money of Unsuspecting Victims," and "Looking Worse Off than You Actually Are" could be some possible topics. Just a suggestion.
But again, I digress. So after I told the homeless man that I had no money (the truth!) he asked if he could at least know my name. I told him my first name, and he told me his, which I couldn't understand. Something with "Jr." at the end. He shook my hand--and then held onto it. For much longer than necessary. And looked into my eyes.
I was getting pretty nervous, so I pulled my hand back and said that I had to go. And he concluded the whole interview with, "Goodbye, beautiful."
The whole meeting almost seems like a scene out of a bad romance, except for the incomprehensible homeless man playing the lead male role, which shifts the whole incident from "romantic" to "creepy." And I'm left wondering if I can actually take the his last words to me as a compliment. I mean, it's entirely possible that he would say the same thing to a six hundred pound walrus with a mustache if he thought the walrus would give him money, or at least a fish. Not that I need to hear compliments from strangers and homeless people. But it would maybe make me feel a little better about the whole episode.
(On a side note, I seem to keep coming back to fish, don't I? What's up with that?)
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