NOTES: Most of this post is filled with personal observations and opinions. I enjoyed writing from such a inside point of view. Let me know what your thoughts are?
Raining hard, urban environment, San Diego Van life. In my rig all day. Things to do.
Organizing and finding stuff, shuffling through stuff and keeping all the stuff accessible. Most important thing, remain as stealth as possible. Don’t give any signs of living in van. Tickets and towing are possibilities. If I was a Black man I would be especially concerned. But, rainy days allow for a layer of protection.
It’s still raining so lights on in the van after dark are okay. San Diego folk are fair-weather people. So dog walking or after dinner strolls don’t happen. Indoors they are dry. I feel safe when we have emergency weather conditions. While housed people fret going outside I’m excited they they are not waterproof.
Schrödinger’s Cat. I realize I’m the Schrodinger’s Cat. This means I’m safe. No one knows I’m in here unless they smash through the front window. I should take solace in that.
Home Depot parking lot. I’m the only one here. It’s 6pm. Police circle the back lot. Sees me. He takes notes, this I am sure. Then an enraged person parks a few spots down to argue on the phone. She leaves still screaming into the phone. Now A guy is walking in front of the van. I don’t know where he came from. I hear voices in back of the van behind the bushes. These are danger signs, time to relocate. Back to the safety zone at 007 (street camping across from my former house) parking spot.
Monied persons. The email from my blog was a solicitation. She wanted to post her story on my site. This sounds interesting, I say to myself, immediately painting many possible scenarios. Some good, others dark. Beyond the ego boost, the solication made me realize van life is no longer an alternative, hippie, get off the grid movement, rather it is a monied persons, way in. The solicitor wanted to talk about this new phenomenon in Van Life. I replied. Have not heard back.
Baby its cold outside. I got to close the shades. At this time of night there is more cold air in here than warm. So uncovering my legs and walking down my 4 foot long, 2 foot wide hallway to close the curtains is like walking through a ice tunnel.
Proof of Citizenship. The temp agency wanted to see my birth certificate. I showed it. He said, “Can’t use a copy, need original”.
“They don’t give original, even to the president”.
He said, “How about passport”?
I got it. It is expired, no good. “Social security card” he asked.
“No”. Go get one. Takes a week. Come back.
I could see it in his eyes. He was looking at my age and appearance. My imperfect scary teeth. Ageism, but I can’t prove it. Happens a lot.
Can’t get Traction. Can’t get traction. Jobs are all done online via job sites. For years, yes years, I have been applying for photography jobs all across America. I went back to school, finished my BA. No change. Nothing. I’m a self employed type of guy. So what the fuck is my next step? I don’t fucking fucking know. Sip my large iced coffee. Feeling better. Got an imaginary plan.
Not Homeless Friendly. Left Tucson a year ago. Separated from wife. Sold our house. Got rid of anything that would not fit in my truck. Hillbilly rich. Got the truck ready for traveling. Hit the road. Drove across America, visiting friends and family. Landed in San Diego. Roommates with former wife and her oldest daughter. My daughter and first granddaughter live in San Diego. Main reason I chose to say here. Trying to stay put. San Diego, one of least homeless friendly cities in America. Frustrating and challenging. Thank the Universe for family. They help make it tolerable.
Starbucks Bathroom Movements. Watching people, a man and a women, waiting to use bathroom. It’s a coffee joint so we all know what happens. The man kicks his feet outward and shuffles around, grimacing. The woman, standing, crosses her legs and has a sour look. I know that sensation of having to go right now. Not pleasant.
What’s That Smell? Last summer on the road I would go weeks without a shower. My record is 30 days. Yes, that sounds gross, and it can be, depending on your state of existence. The point is I’ve learned how to stay clean and neat is very small living quarters. But even then there is a particular camp fire grunge, fresh air type odor, that I would smell. Solution, air out the van, the bedding and do birdie baths.
I Want That Soup. Wait, I’m hungry. I’ll heat my soup. The challenge is, the flame from the stove may flicker through the curtains. If folks see that I’m sure someone will come knocking. Many different scenarios can play out. Fuck it, I want that soup. Umm, very good, Progressive Clam Chowder with Wheat Thin crackers.
I think I’m done for now. Time to leave Starbucks. Coffee buzz all gone. Heading back to 007. First get to use indoor bathroom. Was anyone taking notes on my toilet experience? They would say “He wiped his hands on his pants”. I did, there were no paper towels.