Scratch Beginnings_ Me, $25, and the Search for the American Dream - Adam W. Shepard [46]
When I asked him what motivated him, he simply told me, heroically, “I go where I’m needed, and they need me here,” but I know it was more than that. He had been there for almost a decade, ever since his retirement from the army, and it was evident that he loved serving and protecting the residents. You could see it in the way he prowled around, eyes squinted, like he was preparing for a night ambush. Working at the shelter filled him with a sense of nobility, like his chosen occupation wasn’t just for a paycheck. He knew how much the shelter needed him just as he knew how much he needed the shelter. His name was synonymous with Crisis Ministries and he was proud of that.
On Wednesday night I called Fast Company, the moving company where I had applied, to leave a message inquiring about job openings. I knew the office had closed down for the evening, but I hadn’t had time throughout the day to call, and besides, putting the bug in Curtis’s ear about who I was would set up my follow-up phone call on Thursday. For an additional $2 per hour, I was much more anxious to get a job with them than with the car wash, but it didn’t look like it was going to be as easy.
On Thursday I was sent out on the same ticket as the day before. More construction cleanup downtown and another $38 in my pocket. Thankfully, it was my last day working for EasyLabor. Every day I went out to work for them, I felt like they were pimping my services. We were working hard, and getting paid peanuts compared to how much EasyLabor was making off of us. I was happy to finally be free from the need to work for them. My plan was to take Friday and the weekend to fill out the necessary paperwork in preparation to work at the car wash.
Over lunch I had called the office at Fast Company again, but Curtis wasn’t in. They gave me his cell phone number, but he didn’t pick up my call nor did he return my call back to the shelter’s number that I had left on his voicemail. I was getting the runaround, and there was nothing I could do.
Until I spoke with Phil Coleman on Thursday night over a dinner of spaghetti (yet again!) at the shelter. He had, just as he had promised, landed a job as a landscaper at the Medical University of South Carolina. I congratulated him and told him that it was looking like the car wash was going to be my only option.
“Shiiiiit. Who told you about the car wash? Spike? Shit. That muh’ fucka’ is the best car washer you’re ever gonna meet. He done washed every car in the tri-county area. He’s a car washing legend. Made good money, too. Then spent all that money on dope. And look where all that got him. In the bum house, that’s where.”
I told him that it was looking like it was my only option. I had filled out ten applications and a profile online, and I wasn’t getting any response.
“So, hold up a second. Let me get this straight,” he said. “You mean to tell me that you live at the homeless shelter, and you have put out over ten applications, and you still don’t have a job? What the hell is that all about? Imagine that. That is just craziness, kid.” He was not hiding the sarcasm in his voice.
“Man, y’all are some dumb muthas.” He began to address the table as a whole, anyone who would listen. “I mean straight dumb asses. How do you think this works? Employers call the number you put on that application and when Harold answers ‘Crisis Ministries’ they just get real excited that they get to hire a homeless dude? Shit man, y’all some dumb muthas.” Choosing that guy to relay my employment woes to was looking like a big mistake. But his tone started to perk up.
“Listen, y’all muthas gotta change your whole way of thinking. This ain’t no fuckin’ game. Shit. This is real life. You gotta go down to these managers and be like, ‘Look here, homeboy. You need me. I’m the best worker you’re gonna find, so hire me or