Monday, June 1, 2009

New Places, New Faces

Holla,

Throughout the past 27 posts, I've often referenced meetings with various homeless/crazy people in the hood in which I currently reside. There was the man that digs through my garbage, the multitude of grocery cart pushers, and who could forget crazy Joe? While the North Park homeless population is alive and thriving, I've recently been exposed to an entirely new level of derelictedness in a separate part of the city.

Downtown San Diego brings homelessness to an entirely new level. There is a greater variety and a greater volume of transients that I interact with now on a nightly basis. My current employer is a bar located just off the main street of entertainment in the downtown area. While I'm headed into the office, I rarely notice the homeless. They are disguised by the large masses of people that are headed to their preferred happy hour locale or favorite watering hole. The homeless are like the garbage cans and lampposts of any downtown area. You realize that they are there, but don't take immediate notice of them in the daylight hours.

And then, when I leave work each night, often between the hours of 1 and 3 am, they are as apparent as they are in North Park. There is the couple that sleeps in the alcove next to the restaurant, the group of kids that hang near the fountain, the massive black guy in the parking lot, among others. I have grown to know the regulars, and have become comfortable seeing them on a nightly basis.

Work is just far enough away from my house that I have to drive there for each shift. I have found certain parking spots that are open on a fairly regular basis, which have become my go-to location each night. These spots just happen to be located on the same street as the Greyhound bus station. This is no coincidence, as this is the epicenter of homelessness downtown, and the majority of upstanding citizens avoid approaching this area.

For me, the benefits of an open parking spot outweigh the shadiness of the derelicts. However, I can't say that I've never been in an uneasy situation. There is a 711 that is a block away from the epicenter, and it often attracts some of the homeless that have collected enough change to purchase a hot dog or a Hostess cupcake.

By 3 in the morning, I'm craving snacks like a college burnout. Due to this, I have developed a nasty habit of stopping at this 711 on my way home each evening. In the fluorescent lighting of the store, I can fully capture the visual stimuli that these individuals are providing. There is the man that wears the low-cut, white dress and striped soccer socks, the man with the three foot long beard, and the smelly guy in flannel that reads the prices off of the bags of chips. My personal favorite is this older lady that smiles and says hello to everyone that comes through the doorway. With a shower and a change of clothes, she would fit right in at the front of a WalMart.

The other night, there was a guy that was watching the hot dogs and taquitos cook on the rollers near the check out. He had an impressive pony tail and a beat up Chargers hat on his head. I didn't think too much about him as I approached the counter with my Gatorade and granola bar. I said hello to the employee that is there every night. We've reached the point that we recognize each other, and he asked how my night had been. We exchanged small talk for a moment, and then I left the store.

I noticed the pony tail leave the store after me, and prepared myself for the upcoming interaction. He asked if I could spare any money so that he could get something to eat. I gave him a couple of bucks, hoping that he would head back inside and purchase the taquito that he had been eying up a moment beforehand.

Much to my dismay, he took the gift as an opening to ask for more money. He told me that he had just arrived in the city, and really needed a place to stay. I told him that I couldn't spare any more, as I was nearly homeless myself. I excused myself from the conversation, and walked at a faster pace down the sidewalk.

He must have started following me at some point, because, by the time I reached my car, he was about 15 feet behind me. I fumbled for my keys for a moment, unlocked my car, and got inside, just as he approached the passenger side window. He looked in at me, and asked me for some more money, as I started up the engine.

I don't know if it was my rice-rocket muffler, or the scared look on my face that caused him to back away for a moment, but I took the opportunity to drive away as fast as possible. He didn't look like he had been living in the streets for long, and he probably had some cognitive thought still running through his brain, but that didn't stop me from envisioning him cutting me with a shiv or trying to strangle me.

I would say that I'm pretty comfortable with the homeless population. After years of living in Madison, Chicago, and now San Diego, I've been fairly exposed to a variety of types of vagabonds. Does that mean that I want to hang out with them and learn their life stories? No. Maybe since the Crazy Joe situation, I've become a little more wary of the homeless and slightly insane. Does that make me an intolerant person? I'd like to think not. Just a little more cautious.

I'm still going to maintain my parking spot, and visit the same 711, but I might reconsider interacting with the 1st street All-Stars from here on out. A puncture would in my side is much less appealing than coming home to sleep.

More to come...

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