Scratch Beginnings_ Me, $25, and the Search for the American Dream - Adam W. Shepard [27]
I’m not quite sure where my newfound gall had come from. I felt passionately about what I told her, but I never intended to approach her. Before I began my project, I convinced myself that it would be wise for me to maintain a low profile. I didn’t want to draw unnecessary attention to myself, and I certainly didn’t intend to intrude on a lifestyle that I was, in essence, borrowing.
But then I met the owner of that baby clothing store, and all of those inhibitions washed out the door as my pride sailed in. Just like many of my counterparts, I didn’t care anymore. I had nothing to lose! I began to let myself be me. If I felt something, I said it. If I didn’t have an opinion, I remained silent. I laughed if something was funny and didn’t if it wasn’t. It’s who I was before I embarked on my project, and it’s who I was gonna be throughout the course of my project and beyond. People could either accept it or not. I didn’t care. Hell, what were they gonna do? Not like me? Fine! I’d rather have one friend that respected me for who I was than ten friendships built on faulty foundations. It’s so much more fun that way, too. I didn’t have to be fake or pretend to be somebody I wasn’t. I didn’t have to run around wondering what people thought about me and whether or not they liked me. Take me or leave me, folks.
With that said, I never meant to interfere in anyone’s life—as I had done with the owner of the baby clothing store—but I suppose sooner or later you have to take a stand. Maybe my speech was vain and insignificant or maybe it clicked a button that encouraged her to change her way of being. I hoped for the latter, but either way, I had said my piece, and it sure made me feel better.
Outside, the other guys were still waiting on the van. I purposely neglected to tell them about what I had done since I didn’t want to give off the impression that I was trying to be a spokesman for the downtrodden. Besides, it probably wouldn’t have interested them anyway. They just wanted to get back to EasyLabor to get paid.
The EasyLabor van finally came after we’d been waiting for an hour and fifteen minutes. None of us said anything. We hopped in, went back to the office, and collected our money.
All $14 of it. That’s right, $14. The $24 I had earned was whittled away by taxes and fees, plus the $5 transportation charge, which brought me down to $14. It was almost 4:00, and I had been out of the shelter since before 7:30, and $14 was all I had to show for it. I was infuriated, pissed, steam venting from my ears, but I didn’t show it. Even with the adrenalin still pumping through my veins, I decided that one stand was enough for the day. Nevertheless, $14 made me question my notion that any work was better than no work.
Marco had been working for EasyLabor on a job around the corner, so I waited a half hour for him to get back to collect his loot, which ended up being three times my earnings. We walked down King Street to Marion Square, where college-aged kids were tossing Frisbees and footballs and laying out on the freshly cut green grass, soaking in the sun’s rays. Older couples were walking their dogs. We admired the environment around us, an environment from which we were so far removed. We were homeless. Bums. We could sit and watch, but that’s where the line was drawn. We couldn’t afford to woo any of those women, and even if we decided to splurge our money, we certainly weren’t afforded the flexibility to take them back to our place for a nightcap. Can you imagine that conversation? “Hey, fellas, this is my friend Jennifer. She’s a student at the College of Charleston. Real sweet girl, majoring in, uh, Aeronautical Biochemistry or something exciting like that. A little too short and slim for my taste, but I’m not picky. I’ll take what I can get for now. Anyway, um, she’s gonna be sharing my mattress with me tonight.” We were window shoppers. Look, but don’t touch. Single and unfit to mingle. The few feet between the college girls and us might as well have been miles. They were well out of