Hobo Handbook: Memoirs of a Homeless Poet in New York (Excerpt #39)

THE HOBO HANDBOOK: MEMOIRS OF A HOMELESS POET IN NEW YORK

By Daniel Canada c.2010

CHAPTER THREE PERSONALITIES OF THE HOMELESS(Continued)

SCRUBS is kind of cute, come to think of it. She's not a bad looking Asian chick, except for the fact that she walks around, donning blue, hospital scrub gear, like an emergency room nurse on the loose. Hey! We all got to wear something. When I was homeless I didn't have much say about the type of gear I got to wear, either, you know. I had to sport what I was able to glom from the clothing drives.

The thing with “Scrubs” is she's not homeless. 

Uh oh! You think I made a mistake by including her in my memoir, don't you? I think not. And I can justify my position.

 

See, the deal with “Scrubs” is that she spends the better part of her day hanging out, way pass courtesy time at the local McDonalds on Madison Avenue and Fortieth Street, which happens to be a favorite haunt of the undomiciled. The fact is she's a medical student, working on her medical degree. She's an intellectual of sort, on some kind of sabbatical, working out the kinks in her life. At least that’s what I like to believe.

 

Perhaps “Scrubs” just broke up with her boyfriend and just needs a little time to heal. All the while, she’s keeping up with her studies in biology and organic chemistry, and what have you. You know. The type of things smart students do.

One day I was in MC D's, killing time and there was “Scrubs” with her books, writing her copious, tiny, notes upon a small notebook. Suddenly, “Scrubs” had an epiphany! She shot up from her table, abandoning her notes and paperwork and walked over to me, to tell me how much she loved me!

 

Not really. What happened next was worthy of penning down for prosperity.

She stormed right pass me and let out a loud, primal scream, the kind you use to see Jane do along with Tarzan, in one of those vintage, black and white, jungle movies. It was one of those roars you hear in prehistoric flicks about Neanderthals, who go berserk after just discovering fire for the first time. 

Yeah. I’m sad to say, it was that primeval.

How I figured it is “Scrubs” had some really deep down hurt inside, buried beneath that stoic veneer of fastidiousness and studiousness, which really, really needed to come out.

Go ahead and express yourself, sister!

 

Now, of course, as I pointed out earlier, you're probably wondering why I would include the likes of “Scrubs” in my memoirs in the first place; especially when she's not even homeless. Good question. And it shows the degree in which you’ve been paying close attention. The first answer is because it's my book, and I can goddamn do what the hell I jolly well please. 

Having said that much, the second reason is, even though “Scrubs” has a roof over her blessed head, she's "homeless" in her mind. She spends the better part of her day, like a homeless person, hanging around McDonalds and other public joints, including the Public Library.

 

You can find her on any given day of the week at these locales, scribbling furiously away in her lessons, occasionally rising up to make use of the public restrooms. Most individuals would transfer their work load to the secure confines of their homes. On the contrary, people like “Scrubs” are restless, battling inner demons within their minds and can't find any solace within the walls of their home. Therefore they roam the streets in search of asylum in public places. 

Perhaps family life isn't all that much of a bowl of cherries for people like “Scrubs,” and being outdoors is probably safer.

 

You got family?

Go home. Work that shit out.

If you find your family members, your wife, your husband, or whatever the case may be, too unbearable, move out into your own apartment or SRO. McDonalds and the public libraries or supposed to be for homeless folks, degenerate “Skeksys,” and losers like myself, trying to pass off as ordinary people.

 

You know how things go. Eventually, they're going to catch on to my shenanigans too, and commence hauling my black ass out into the mercy of the climate of the great outdoors.

 

“Scubs,” I love you. So, heed my advice and take life like an aspirin, one day at a time. 

(To be continued...)