“So there I was,” I say to no one in particular. There were people milling around the street corner, moving past me on the way to New America Avenue, to work or a coffee shop or something, I don’t know. All I know is that none of them were stopping to hear my story. Not that my story was particularly important, but it was certainly worthy enough to fall on at least one set of ears.
“So there I was,” I repeat to the same indefinite mass of people, looking for a pause. There was no pause. They probably thought I was on a headset. You see enough people walking around this city with headsets, you only mistake them trying to talk to you once. And that’s embarrassing. I was at a urinal one time, and some person just saunters up next to me. After a few seconds, he says, “Hello,” and me, I’m trying to get everything back in my pants. I say, “Hello,” back to him, and he turns his head, points to a headset, and looks at me like I’m the biggest asshole in the world. I sheepishly exit stage right.
Newsflash, urinal guy. You’re the biggest asshole on the world. Who talks to someone on the phone while they’re in the bathroom, for chrissakes? Just because it’s a hands free headset... I mean, come on, it’s damn silly. Rude. Other like sounding words.
“So there I was,” I say, this time a little more definitely. I’m wearing a suit, as I used to be employed less than ten minutes ago. I have a briefcase that is filled with the possessions of my desk: A few pencils that have my name imprinted on them (not very expensive), a coffee mug proclaiming me to be the World’s Best Supervisor (also not expensive, purchased for myself), some loose business cards (eggshell white, more expensive but I was reimbursed), and a small desktop gumball machine that I stole from Mr. Ang, my boss (free!).
I clear my throat, hoping to catch some attention with my phlegm. Apparently clearing your throat is no big thing, either.
I try a different beginning to my story this time. “I was there, and this is what happened next,” but like a crappy angler, there’s no one on the line.
There is a homeless man across the street, and he has a cardboard sign that says “Jesus is cummin.” I wonder if he did that deliberately. I shouldn’t second guess his education, though. After all, I’m an educated man, and I’m probably going to be in his place in a few weeks. It makes me wonder, however, if you can buy clothes already tattered and browned like that. I want to perfect the homeless look before I’m actually homeless, give myself a leg up on the competition.
The thing that drives me crazy about that homeless guy is that he has a group of people around him. They’re all listening. I’m not even sure he’s speaking English, but man is he going on about something.
“SO THERE I WAS!” I shout. I figure, as long as I say it with passion, I should get a response. Homeless Joe is doing pretty well for himself.
After a few seconds, I decide that maybe it is the clothes. I mean, no one wants to stop to listen to me – I’m well dressed. My theories might not be crazy. But that guy, he might live off nothing but crack and rat hair, and then he’s really the guy you should listen to. Maybe the people all around him are nothing but tourists, people looking for a story to take back home as a cheap souvenir, “I actually met a real homeless guy! And he didn’t have a home and he was actually real crazy!”
There’s a preacher up the block handing out bottled water. I would pass him every day on my way to work and think nothing of it. I walk up to him, without saying anything, and try to take a bottle. He shakes his head, “No.”
I stare at him.
He calmly takes a swig of beverage out of a coffee thermos.
I try again, and he slaps at my hand.
I sigh. “So there I was,” I try to tell him, but he’s already moving his cooler. It has wheels on it, the cooler does, probably so that he can escape from crazy people and still help God hand out water, respite in liquid form.
I bet Homeless Joe would get some water if Homeless Joe wanted some water... And then, I swear, I swear by my dear mother’s restless leg syndrome, Homeless Joe smirks at me. That son of a bitch is smirking at me from across the street, proud that he’s doing so much better than I am. I try to control my breathing, but the air comes out shallow and ragged.
The people around him applaud. That is the sound of my complete and utter deflation.
I try one more time.
“So there I was.”
Everyone in the world stops to listen.
No, I wish. The world kept spinning, I kept being ignored.
Time to go home.
The walk is short, as I lived only six blocks from my office, and on most days, it is quite tolerable. Now, it is a walk of shame. Returning to the apartment, the small hole in the wall that I had carefully set up to manage a fractured existence, without a job, without a means to support myself.
It was worse than college. Worse than sleeping with that kind of lesbian looking drama goth girl after a few beers at some party that you were surprised she was invited to – but then again, you’re at the party, so maybe the guest list isn’t that up to scratch – and having to walk back to your dorm in your old clothes.
I walk through the front door, and Wagner, my Monday through Thursday front desk buddy, points to his watch, as if to inquire as to why I was so early returning.
I turn, and quickly say, this time with flourish, “So there I was,” but he answers a ringing phone and holds up a single finger to inform me that I will have to wait. Instead, I go to the stairwell.
Four floors up. I used to count the stairs as I went.
The metal door opens into the hallway, the pea green rug looking even sicklier now with the dying fluorescent lights. I move – I would say shuffle, because at this point, I am no longer lifting my feet. I am Frankenstein’s monster, my arms and legs rigid, my body dead.
The key turns in the lock. I hear a shuffling down the hall and turn to see Alice, my live-in, carrying bags of groceries. I hold the door open for her as she steps inside.
She smiles at me, but I can’t manage a smile. I’m thinking about Homeless Joe, the American hero, the crowd gatherer and recipient of free water. I set my briefcase down by the door with enough force to shatter the desktop gumball machine (free!).
Alice sets her bag down in the counter, and turns to look at me.
I sigh. She has her head cocked to the side like a curious puppy.
I raise my arms up in a shrug. “So there I was.”
She does not move.
I blink twice and repeat myself. “So there I was.”
Alice half smiles. “What happens next?”
Why it was rejected for publicaiton
