A couple weeks ago, I went to see the Broadway play Rent with my good friend Hadassah. We had gotten tickets, courtesy of Broadway In Tucson, through a business trade. We provice flowers for the actors, backstage and they provide us with free opening night tickets and an invite to the cast party.
And then a funny thing happened on the way to the show. We ran into a homeless man, who wanted some money, but we ignored him thinking the same thing: he's just gonna spend it on booze. But then I thought, living life on the streets cant be easy so who am I to tell him he shouldn't have booze? And maybe he didn’t even want booze. Maybe he wanted a nice warm sandwich, layered high with turkey and ham, Swiss and provolone cheese and maybe an exotic mustard or two, to kick it up a notch. So I thought maybe a nice turkey sandwich and a bottle of malt liquor would be nice. But by that time, the homeless man got tired of us just standing there and barked at us to stop staring at him. So unbelievably rude and so not the way to get money. So we left the starving and sober homeless man and made our way to the play.
For the next two and a half hours we were enthralled with a fascinating story of eight twenty-something friends living in New York, dealing with AIDS, love, and most importantly the homeless. Although real life homeless don’t sing as much as they do in Rent, they cried for our compassion and support, pretty much the same way. And it made me feel bad that I ignored one while learning about them. From then on, I vowed to do better. After all, I did have some experience with them, so really how hard could it be to become friends with one? I would soon find out.
Directly across from Alice’s Flower Shop, in the lobby of the Frontier Building, was Kitty’s Shoe Shine Stand. Ms. Kitty was an odd lady with long fingernails that looked more like claws and an outrageous bouffant hairstyle that covered the sides of her face and made her look more like a lion than a human. Combined with her prance-like walk and the fact that she extended her eye line with black mascara, like she was Cleopatra, made Ms. Kitty even more cat-like. And weird. Her entire personality gave us enough reason to mock her and laugh behind her back. I mean, who wouldn’t laugh at a fifty-something that wears low cut tops and shakes her old, leathered breasts, to show she “still got’s it,” as she shines shoes? But it wasn’t just her sun/age-spotted breasts or the fact that she bought shoes at thrift stores and tried turning a profit for them by displaying them on plastic milk carton crates, that made us wonder about her. It was that she would hire homeless men to work for her. And then she would take them into her home, giving them room and board. And then she would sleep with them,.
Of course, no one knew the men that worked for her were homeless. We just thought they were gross when they picked food out of the trash and ate it. Jimmy was such a case in point. He had long grey hair and liked to stare off into space, wondering about...actually, I’m not sure what homeless people wonder about. Maybe a nice, fancy Thanksgiving Day dinner in front of a roaring fire place? Or it could have been the simple fact that Jimmy was stoned, since he liked to have a joint twice a day. Some might say, Jimmy had a good life. He had a nice warm bed and a bed partner that would perform unspeakably filthy acts of love on him(that’s one conversation I could have done without, during my lifetime on earth!). He learned a trade, had a job, and was now able to buy cigarettes from the store, rather than pick them out of the ashtrays. But earlier last week, Jimmy’s dreams fell apart.
According to Chamo, the cook who worked next door at the The Jungle Square Restaurant, Jimmy stole $500 from Ms. Kitty and her car and went on a wild road trip to God only knows where. When he came back, he told Ms. Kitty that his brother was in the hospital and he needed the money to help pay for his bills. Classic drug-addict excuse. Still, she forgave him…until Jimmy’s brother, Timmy, came to town. That’s when Ms. Kitty found out Timmy was never in the hospital and that Jimmy had lied to her. Duh. Before you could say “Out on the street!” Ms. Kitty kicked Jimmy out of her house and threw him, well, out on the street. He begged and pleaded for his job back. He loved her and proclaimed it in the lobby of the Frontier Building, for all the world to hear. He even threw a leather bag in her face, hoping to knock some sense into her. But nothing worked. She was done with him. She was done with all his lies and his sex. And when she demanded back the boots he was wearing, because she could still turn a profit for them, we all knew it was over.
Two days later, Ms. Kitty picked up another stray. He was filthy, disgusting and oh, so vile. Had a stench that went on for miles. He wore a thick bandana across his head and cuffed his boots. His teeth were grey and yellow and his hair was dark and oily. He looked like he had just come back from a Pirates of the Caribbean screen test, as Pirate Number Five, and we thought of calling him “Bummy Depp.” But according to my Boss Alice, that was blaspheme against the hottest man in the world, Johnny Depp. Whatev. The point was, it wasn’t until Injun Joe (his real name) started working for Ms. Kitty that we found out all her past employees were homeless men. The moment I found out, I wondered if this was maybe God’s way of giving me a challenge. I had wanted to be friendly with the homeless and now I had my chance.
On his second day of work, Injun came up to me and asked if he could borrow the flower shop phone. I was beyond thrilled to give him the phone, with my blessing. I didn’t know why he needed it for, but it made me feel good for lending out a helping hand. That is, until I heard who he was speaking to. For the next ten minutes, Injun Joe spoke to a buddy of his and talked about how good life was. He had food, a bed, and “a nice piece of ass.” Ew. Calling Ms. Kitty and her dimpled thighs, “a nice piece of ass” made me want to puncture my eardrums and gouge out my eyes. Struggling to hold down my throw up, I waited for the phone to return. When it did, Injun Joe asked me if I would make a crank call to Ms. Kitty, telling her our sink overflowed and that the water had made its way to the shoe stand, ruining all her shoes. Not only was it the stupidest thing I ever heard, it was the most immature thought a grown man could ever come up with. But he was a homeless man, so maybe he didn’t know better. I would just have to teach him. Some people were called to save whales. Some were called to help children learn how to read. I was called to befriend the homeless.
At lunchtime, I asked Injun Joe if he wanted anything to eat, since our shop had credit at Mike’s Coffee Shop and he gladly accepted a Chicken Bacon Avocado sandwich. Then, while I was working, he went back to the coffee shop and ordered a Mocha Latte, a strawberry smoothie, and a chocolate fudge brownie. On our credit. Feed a man a sandwich and he will eat for a day. Teach him that you have credit at a local coffee shop and he will feed his lady friend and himself desert. After promising to pay us back later, I wondered if maybe I was doing something wrong. I mean, I was trying to be kind. I was trying to be friendly. Why then did I feel like I was being taken advantage of?
The final nail that broke the camels back (or is it the final straw in the coffin?) happened when I was trying to help a customer and Injun Joe came back behind the counter, making sad puppy eyes with a whimpering sound as he held out his hand and began to “dial” a number. I looked at him for a few brief moments in disbelief that a grown man would try and pull off such a stunt. And while I was trying to help a customer. It was beyond rude and I ignored him while I finished with my customer, who gave me a “glad I don’t work with that mess” look. He stood there, sniveling, hoping I would I knew exactly what Injun Joe wanted. But I was too mad to give it to him. He wanted to use the phone? There was one down the street, next to the public library for all I cared.
I wasn’t mad. And I’ll tell you why I was mad. Because I wasn’t mad. How did I let someone like Injun Joe get to me? I mean, I’ve dealt with homeless people before, but are there just some that are hopeless?
And then a funny thing happened on the way to the show. We ran into a homeless man, who wanted some money, but we ignored him thinking the same thing: he's just gonna spend it on booze. But then I thought, living life on the streets cant be easy so who am I to tell him he shouldn't have booze? And maybe he didn’t even want booze. Maybe he wanted a nice warm sandwich, layered high with turkey and ham, Swiss and provolone cheese and maybe an exotic mustard or two, to kick it up a notch. So I thought maybe a nice turkey sandwich and a bottle of malt liquor would be nice. But by that time, the homeless man got tired of us just standing there and barked at us to stop staring at him. So unbelievably rude and so not the way to get money. So we left the starving and sober homeless man and made our way to the play.
For the next two and a half hours we were enthralled with a fascinating story of eight twenty-something friends living in New York, dealing with AIDS, love, and most importantly the homeless. Although real life homeless don’t sing as much as they do in Rent, they cried for our compassion and support, pretty much the same way. And it made me feel bad that I ignored one while learning about them. From then on, I vowed to do better. After all, I did have some experience with them, so really how hard could it be to become friends with one? I would soon find out.
Directly across from Alice’s Flower Shop, in the lobby of the Frontier Building, was Kitty’s Shoe Shine Stand. Ms. Kitty was an odd lady with long fingernails that looked more like claws and an outrageous bouffant hairstyle that covered the sides of her face and made her look more like a lion than a human. Combined with her prance-like walk and the fact that she extended her eye line with black mascara, like she was Cleopatra, made Ms. Kitty even more cat-like. And weird. Her entire personality gave us enough reason to mock her and laugh behind her back. I mean, who wouldn’t laugh at a fifty-something that wears low cut tops and shakes her old, leathered breasts, to show she “still got’s it,” as she shines shoes? But it wasn’t just her sun/age-spotted breasts or the fact that she bought shoes at thrift stores and tried turning a profit for them by displaying them on plastic milk carton crates, that made us wonder about her. It was that she would hire homeless men to work for her. And then she would take them into her home, giving them room and board. And then she would sleep with them,.
Of course, no one knew the men that worked for her were homeless. We just thought they were gross when they picked food out of the trash and ate it. Jimmy was such a case in point. He had long grey hair and liked to stare off into space, wondering about...actually, I’m not sure what homeless people wonder about. Maybe a nice, fancy Thanksgiving Day dinner in front of a roaring fire place? Or it could have been the simple fact that Jimmy was stoned, since he liked to have a joint twice a day. Some might say, Jimmy had a good life. He had a nice warm bed and a bed partner that would perform unspeakably filthy acts of love on him(that’s one conversation I could have done without, during my lifetime on earth!). He learned a trade, had a job, and was now able to buy cigarettes from the store, rather than pick them out of the ashtrays. But earlier last week, Jimmy’s dreams fell apart.
According to Chamo, the cook who worked next door at the The Jungle Square Restaurant, Jimmy stole $500 from Ms. Kitty and her car and went on a wild road trip to God only knows where. When he came back, he told Ms. Kitty that his brother was in the hospital and he needed the money to help pay for his bills. Classic drug-addict excuse. Still, she forgave him…until Jimmy’s brother, Timmy, came to town. That’s when Ms. Kitty found out Timmy was never in the hospital and that Jimmy had lied to her. Duh. Before you could say “Out on the street!” Ms. Kitty kicked Jimmy out of her house and threw him, well, out on the street. He begged and pleaded for his job back. He loved her and proclaimed it in the lobby of the Frontier Building, for all the world to hear. He even threw a leather bag in her face, hoping to knock some sense into her. But nothing worked. She was done with him. She was done with all his lies and his sex. And when she demanded back the boots he was wearing, because she could still turn a profit for them, we all knew it was over.
Two days later, Ms. Kitty picked up another stray. He was filthy, disgusting and oh, so vile. Had a stench that went on for miles. He wore a thick bandana across his head and cuffed his boots. His teeth were grey and yellow and his hair was dark and oily. He looked like he had just come back from a Pirates of the Caribbean screen test, as Pirate Number Five, and we thought of calling him “Bummy Depp.” But according to my Boss Alice, that was blaspheme against the hottest man in the world, Johnny Depp. Whatev. The point was, it wasn’t until Injun Joe (his real name) started working for Ms. Kitty that we found out all her past employees were homeless men. The moment I found out, I wondered if this was maybe God’s way of giving me a challenge. I had wanted to be friendly with the homeless and now I had my chance.
On his second day of work, Injun came up to me and asked if he could borrow the flower shop phone. I was beyond thrilled to give him the phone, with my blessing. I didn’t know why he needed it for, but it made me feel good for lending out a helping hand. That is, until I heard who he was speaking to. For the next ten minutes, Injun Joe spoke to a buddy of his and talked about how good life was. He had food, a bed, and “a nice piece of ass.” Ew. Calling Ms. Kitty and her dimpled thighs, “a nice piece of ass” made me want to puncture my eardrums and gouge out my eyes. Struggling to hold down my throw up, I waited for the phone to return. When it did, Injun Joe asked me if I would make a crank call to Ms. Kitty, telling her our sink overflowed and that the water had made its way to the shoe stand, ruining all her shoes. Not only was it the stupidest thing I ever heard, it was the most immature thought a grown man could ever come up with. But he was a homeless man, so maybe he didn’t know better. I would just have to teach him. Some people were called to save whales. Some were called to help children learn how to read. I was called to befriend the homeless.
At lunchtime, I asked Injun Joe if he wanted anything to eat, since our shop had credit at Mike’s Coffee Shop and he gladly accepted a Chicken Bacon Avocado sandwich. Then, while I was working, he went back to the coffee shop and ordered a Mocha Latte, a strawberry smoothie, and a chocolate fudge brownie. On our credit. Feed a man a sandwich and he will eat for a day. Teach him that you have credit at a local coffee shop and he will feed his lady friend and himself desert. After promising to pay us back later, I wondered if maybe I was doing something wrong. I mean, I was trying to be kind. I was trying to be friendly. Why then did I feel like I was being taken advantage of?
The final nail that broke the camels back (or is it the final straw in the coffin?) happened when I was trying to help a customer and Injun Joe came back behind the counter, making sad puppy eyes with a whimpering sound as he held out his hand and began to “dial” a number. I looked at him for a few brief moments in disbelief that a grown man would try and pull off such a stunt. And while I was trying to help a customer. It was beyond rude and I ignored him while I finished with my customer, who gave me a “glad I don’t work with that mess” look. He stood there, sniveling, hoping I would I knew exactly what Injun Joe wanted. But I was too mad to give it to him. He wanted to use the phone? There was one down the street, next to the public library for all I cared.
I wasn’t mad. And I’ll tell you why I was mad. Because I wasn’t mad. How did I let someone like Injun Joe get to me? I mean, I’ve dealt with homeless people before, but are there just some that are hopeless?
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