I have compassion for individuals who are homeless
because of circumstances beyond their control. On the other hand, I can
understand why people don’t want them squatting in their front yards.
Homelessness is a sad, tough problem with no easy solution.
I never actually was homeless, but there was one time in
my life that I felt as if I were. And during another time, technically, I guess
I really was.
In the late seventies we lived rent-free in an old
bunkhouse on a ranch north of Tucson. I lived there at the whim of the owner
who didn’t like me, despite never having done anything to cause her to dislike
me. Initially, both late Other Half and I had been promised work there, but my
bookkeeping job fell through. In hindsight, I suspect that the owner never intended
to hire me.
To make a very long story short, I hated living there. I never had felt so lonely before--- or since. I don’t suffer from depression. Good
thing, too, because living in that place was depressing. The ranch was located
in the Catalina Mountains, aka the middle of nowhere.
After doing a few household chores, I had nothing to do
for the rest of the day. Because of the drug drops rumored to be taking place
at a nearby airstrip, I was warned not to wander outside the ranch grounds. So
my leisure activities generally were limited to: 1) hanging out with the ranch
cats, or 2) visiting the foreman’s wife and watching what seemed like endless
soap operas while listening to her complain about everything and everyone.
I frequently woke up at night wondering if I would ever
get off the mountain. Worse, not having been employed for months, I wondered if
anyone would ever hire me again. Oh, yeah, I did have a job in town for a short
while. I quit after a couple of weeks. I just wasn’t cut out to be a bartender.
Eventually, I did get off the mountain.
After a week of unsuccessfully looking for work, I walked
into the personnel office of a big box store and almost begged the clerk for a
job. She called the controller, who came down and interviewed me. I walked out
with a job in the accounting department. I think the controller hired me
against his better judgement because he realized I was semi-desperate for a job.
After I had worked there for a couple of months, he told another employee, “I
hired her off the street. I didn’t think she would stay.”
But I stayed for a little over two years. Fun times.
I left the store when I went to work at the university. I
am grateful for that university job, not only because it later looked good on
my resume, but also because of the many college credits I was able to accumulate for a
very low cost.
Fast forward several years. Those university credits transferred to
another college during the time of my second experience with perceived
homelessness.
I was living in an apartment that was close to my job and
to the college I attended. But it wasn’t my apartment; I was never on the
rental agreement. Fortunately the landlord was cool with me being there. And the
legal tenant acted as a buffer between me and . . . well, not going for the
long explanation at this time.
However, it didn’t take me long to discover that there
was an individual in the area who was not thrilled to see me there. And unlike
my experience with the ranch owner, I confess that this person probably had a valid
reason to feel that way. Person probably was delighted to learn I was moving back
to the West shortly after finishing my last class.
I still joke about living at the post office box I rented for several years while I was completing the requirements for my degree.
