Spring BreakPosted: March 25, 2011
I have spent the last month couch-surfing.
Now I understand why homeless people are so depressed all the time. Ba-dum-ching!
No, but seriously, it blows.
I’ve accomplished nothing in this entire month. I just walked around all day in my big, furry, shit-colored coat with my mutton chops and mustache looking all radical, and a bitter grimace plastered on my face. I glanced at everyone I passed and they avoided me like the plague. I am frequently avoided by friends and strangers alike.
I can’t understand though. Why would anyone want to evade this handsome devil?
A day after I became homeless, I needed to go to the dermatologist’s and get a mole removed.
It was under my left nipple and was shaped like Mickey Mouse. I thought it added character to my pale, skinny body but, alas, nuanced conversation pieces about one’s flawed perception of themselves that form some semblance of an identity must be sacrificed for “health concerns” I guess.
It sucked. I was feeling really lost and unstable because of my living situation and then an annoying, nagging, uncomfortable pain was added to the mix with my mole removal.
My friend Sasha made me feel much better when she suggested that I stay with her for a week at her house in Pennsylvania.
On the train ride to her house, I started to calm down and felt a bit better about how my Spring break was going. Sure I’m homeless, mole-less, and all-around pathetic, but at least I’ll be able to spend the week with my good friend and relax.
When I came in the house, her mother was nailing a mezuzah to the doorway. She turned and said to me, “Thanks for coming over and, you know, being Sasha’s chauffeur.”
That’s when I remembered that Sasha got a DUI a couple months ago and wasn’t allowed to drive. Also, she needed to do a certain amount of hours of community service at the “Y” and I had to drive her all week.
I hate driving. This is how the week went down:
I would drop her off at the stupid recreation center, go to Arby’s, eat an over-stuffed beef n’ cheddar sandwich, curly fries, and a mountian dew; drive back to her house, lie down and watch movies for hours; all while she was thanklessly cleaning wretched bathrooms and work-out equipment.
It was miserable for me.
After a week of eating and driving, we decided to take a train to Philadelphia and stay with a friend. When we arrived, it was very similar to the waning enthusiasm that was felt when I had gotten to Sasha’s house.
We were carrying 40’s and were all revved up to get plastered and gallivant about Philly. That’s when we approached our friend and suddenly remembered that they had just gotten out of rehab.
The first thing we did in Philly: Go to an AA meeting.
AA is all about sharing, so we went around the room and everyone had to read a passage from the “on the wagon” guidebook.
The guy that read before me was mildly illiterate. He clearly needed help reading and it made everyone in the room very somber as he stumbled over every other word. It took him a really long time to finish his passage and then it was my turn.
I nervously started to hyper-read my passage with lightning precision. This made me even more nervous and awkward as it appeared as though I was showing up the guy before me and highlighting the fact that he couldn’t read.
To remedy that, I slowed down a lot and started to stumble over words, as not to parade my reading skills and make the guy feel bad.
This made things worse because then it looked like I was trying talk down to him or make fun of him or something as it was already clear from my lightning-fast reading that I’m not illiterate.
While I was reading and changing my pace with every other sentence, Sasha was attempting to circumvent the entire crowd of recovering alcoholics to reach the coffee and cookies on the other side of the church.
The floor was extremely creaky and so she was trying to tip-toe at molasses speed as not to interrupt my awkwardness with more awkwardness.
We spent the rest of the meeting waiting for an opportune moment to get up and leave without drawing too much attention.
All in all, my spring break was uncomfortable, precarious, mildly painful, awkward, fat, and weird.
But at least…….. actually, that’s it.