A Day in the Real Life Stories

Man, rough day.

I'd rather go another fifty miles on the freeway than drudge through the city.

~~~

In the morning, a freight train stopped traffic at a crossing. Three trucks transporting cars and a handful of commercial eighteen wheelers were jammed on a narrow country road.

I stole onto sloping grass to skirt around the hulks. Then we waited half an hour at the tracks for freight to move, while I entertained myself on the flute.

~~~

The city was a sight out of sorts. There were branches and palm leaves in piles along the streets, yet most businesses were open. Old Town Trolley tours made their rounds. On the main shopping boulevard, some skinny blondes entertained themselves at high-end boutiques. I felt conflicted between feeling scorn at the self-interested frivolity of the rich and glad that business was resilient for shop owners.

Inside downtown McDonald's, homeless survivors gathered in one seating booth with their phones charging together on one outlet. There was some solidarity in that, at least. Their attitudes were bitter towards the police, the relief efforts, the charities that refused to give assistance. "They don't care."

One woman wrote an open letter to the Salvation Army, who turned her away with a sandwich bag of cold scrambled eggs. 'We need real help,' she read from her letter.

I'm not surprised. As far as I've seen, the Salvation Army helps like one pregnant, sexually abused, drug addicted, minority woman and says fuck you to the rest - that is to say, they find the one person who covers every category of charity on the list and then feel they're done with their obligation.

Homeless were not evacuated before the hurricane. They claimed no one informed them to leave, or warned them about the hurricane - that I find hard to believe, because if you're out in public all day you're going to hear people talking about it. But without transportation assistance, the infirm among them wouldn't have made it out anyway.

A young homeless man said he broke into a building to get his friends out of danger. When confronted, he told the police officer just that, and was given a pass. 'Alright. Just be safe. We don't want any more casualties than we've already had,' the officer said.

~~~

I went to the Union Mission in downtown to ask for a mailing service. They had offices and parking. It felt all very white collar. Yet with ten or so staff, they were mostly useless to help me.

The front door was locked with a sign that they were out for lunch until 1 p.m. Six white collar Caucasians came out of one car and walked past me holding bags of take-out hot wings. They walked inside and locked the door behind them. It was 12:45 p.m. so I waited.

I watched for anyone I could ask for help. A donor drove up with donations of water, sandwiches, and chips. Looks like she had left overs from some company event. Three other people came from the back to receive her donation, then they went back inside. It was 1 p.m. and nobody unlocked the front door.

About ten past, a man drove to the entrance and was let in. I followed behind him. A fat secretary faced me with a window to speak through, but she motioned me to walk around. Before I got there, another lady asked me what I need. She was in a hurry. They can't help me, she said, but there were two other places I could try. She circled two addresses on a pamphlet.

I asked how far away are were. The hurried lady thought hard and said, fifteen minutes on foot. I don't think she's ever walked there or ever had to walk to get anywhere. The place turned out to be over two miles away on the opposite side of town, and it took me twenty minutes by bicycle. I asked if there was WiFi so I can look up directions, and they both answered 'No.' She and another woman quickly entered a car and drove away.

I walked out and scrutinized my Google map, but couldn't find the street anywhere. So I went back inside and talked to the secretary. She motioned me again to walk around to her. I said, could you point me in the right direction toward Bull St., because without WiFi I couldn't search any locations on my tablet.

She had a hard time working my tablet with her fingers and said something with the attitude like it's my fault - like, where'd you put the map? I pointed to the center of the screen and asked her, that's Union Mission where we are right now, isn't it? There's a big star where I've saved our location to help her spot it. She restated matter-of-fact-ly what I just said, like I was the one who didn't know where we were.

So then she looked at the map again, and said to me, "well did you put the street in and press 'go'?" I reminded her I had no WiFi so the tablet couldn't search, and that's why I wanted to know if she knew the streets and could guide me. She answered with an unhappy silence. She looked around the map again and said, well there are no street names labeled so I can't show it to you.

She waved her hand. "That's Ogglethorpe St. out there. Go on it until you get to Bull St. Just turn right onto Bull St. and follow that and you'll see it."

I didn't waste any more time pushing her, she couldn't give directions and her growing resentment toward me was making her indignant. I repeat 'okay' several times, just so I can just get out of there. She chides a 'thank you' at me as I leave, like I forgot to say it. I give her a ghost of an echo without looking back.

What I wanted to know was whether to go North, South, East or West, and what side of town the street or the address was. I needed to charge my phone so it could give me some real help.

~~~

The Old Savannah City Mission on Bull St. was manned by one receptionist. I spoke with him on the phone and he said I could receive mail there. But I couldn't be sure of information from him. It seemed too lax without having to come in person to sign up or anything, so I went down there to take a look.

The receptionist was a nice man, who was new at his job and seemed not sure of himself in general. He couldn't get a hold of his supervisors to confirm the mailing service, even when I made my inquiry in person. He got up from his post to find someone who could answer my question definitively.

I thought that was very considerate of him. But another man came from the back room very angry. "HE DON'T LEAVE HIS DESK," he said over and over. When the receptionist came back, empty-handed no less, he got chewed out by his superior for leaving his desk, then for calling someone back, then for saying if so-and-so was at the shelter.

I got answers from the angry man, confirmed my information gently, and slipped out.

~~~

On the way to a late lunch, I was hit by a car. The side mirror of a tall pick-up truck, to be exact.

The streets were busy all day and the sidewalks cluttered with hurricane debris. I chose to use a sidewalk along a busy, fast two lane street to stay out of traffic. I'd had enough commuting fatigue from trucks passing by me in the morning.

About five hundred feet from an intersection, some downed trees blocked the sidewalk ahead. I dismounted and watched the traffic behind me for it to thin out, so I could enter the street with a safe distance between approaching cars.

I was quite pleased with myself after I took the lane, I straightened out, and I heard one car pass me with ample space. I thought, 'I've done well to give him enough time to see me and enough room to pass safely'. Another car passed, and I was certain I'd completed the maneuver. Before that thought concluded, another vehicle followed closely behind it.

Then came THWAP. I felt something slap against my back like a big belly-flop, but then it smashed like someone had broken a wooden chair broken over me. "FAACK" I roared. My left arm throbbed like it had been slapped by a giant.

I saw a white truck, silver trims and almost brand new roll to a stop ahead of me. Its side mirror was dangling from a broken half of its plastic casing. The other half had been torn off by my arm and onto the street behind me.

I talked to the driver through his passenger window. He said he didn't see me until I hit his mirror. He asked me where he hit me, and I rubbed my back with my other arm. He apologized for hitting me. I told the driver I wasn't interested in pressing charges, but his mirror probably needed to be fixed. He asked me if I could push his mirror in. The glass swung when I touched it. I told him I think it'd be best if he pulled over and looked it over himself.

To top it off, when I got to Golden Corral at 3 p.m. a boy working out front said it was closed that day. I asked if he knew where an Asian restaurant was. He said I might try Panda Express. I smiled and said I needed all-you-can-eat. He smiled and asked me if I was hungry. I said, 'Oh yeah.' Then I worked through another maze of traffic to reach an Asian buffet just two blocks down.

~~~

Well, now I'm outside Kroger supermarket. It's about 7:45 p.m. and I've been here for two hours and forty minutes, says my laptop battery. The store is closing early today at 8 p.m. in consideration for employees affected by the hurricane. I've been here typing away.

There's a patio with tables, chairs, and a power outlet. There's WiFi. I've got a mailing address at the shelter. I've had stories to tell. Not a bad consolation for the day's mishaps.

My left tricep is sore right in the middle where the driver hit me. My shoulder feels kind of heavy, somewhat tired. It feels a little worse now than it did right after the accident, but I don't think I sustained any serious injury. Even if I did, I let the driver go already. So if I can't masturbate with my left hand for the rest of my life, then so be it.