The Legion of Super Losers

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It's amazing living the life that I live.

There is something new and humiliating every day that will happen to you. And much of it does nothing but lower your self esteem. Trust me, if you want to keep your self-esteem, then don't become homeless. Homelessness causes you to accept anything from anyone no matter how flimsy or low. No matter how degrading or vile, why? Because that's the way you feel about yourself on the inside.



You're just a cog in the whirling wheels of society, chewing up shit and shitting it back out. You are basically nothing, subsisting off others, like a leech. Keep your head up, is the old refrain. My question is, why? Why the fuck would you want to do that? Especially when you are wearing someone else's clothes that largely don't fit. Someone else shoes. Their food. Their lives. You have nothing to really call your own. Even your laptop, your baby that you can't live without is not yours but a loan from friends until you can pay for it.



So why not have a fun and degrading day? Hey! Don't look at it so bad. It doesn't bother me any more. I have a teflon soul and a cast iron spirit. As Phil Collins would say. I don't give a fuck anymore. So here I am at home, sick. I wake up last night with dry, painful sinuses, runny nose, headache. I hate when this shit happens. I'm miserable fast. I pop some pain killers, and drink a lot of hot tea. While drinking hot tea, I also make Iced tea. Since I'm doing one, I might as well do another.



So while I'm toiling for my own benefit I hear a ring at my doorbell. I go to it, and on the other side are two well dressed strangers. They are ringing Richie's doorbell when I open my door and they turn to me with a smile. "Did you want to get your free shoes today?" Wha? "Free shoes. We have brand new shoes downstairs. All you have to do is bring your Medicaid card and you can get a brand new pair of shoes. We're closing up shop now, so you have to hurry."



Richie opens his door, which shocks and amazes me, because I have not seen nor heard the man in months. Somehow I believed that he just floated up into the air and left the planet. Like the Earth stopped for him, flinging him off and into the cosmos. But no. There he was, declining the offer for free shoes.



Well, trust me, I should know by now that there isn't anything free in this world and sometimes there is a cost for things. Today, the cost is my self-esteem. I ride the elevator down and go into the cafeteria. A jovial guy asks a few questions before I walk in, and a nurse approaches me and sits me down in a seat. After several questions about my health, she takes my blood pressure and directs me to another table where two women are handing out forms. I sit, hand over my medicare card and am handed back forms to sign.



No sooner than I'm done there, am I shuttled back to another doctor, a podiatrist who asks me to take my shoes off for an examination. I'm already embarrassed at this point because I don't wear socks and my feet have been filled with fluids because of sitting in my chair, banging on my computer for hours on end. But okay, he wants to see these dry, ashy, peeling, clubbed hooves of mine? I pull them naked out of my shoes, and plop them on the chair that he's set up between us to examine me on. "Oh, you have a bunion!" He points out. He points out other things too, but his examination is quick and painless. He writes out a prescription for my feet and hands me back to the women who hand me to an attractive, blonde haired Polish woman with a terrible accent. Half the time you're asking her what did she just say.



I go with her behind a partition and she tells me that she has to check the circulatory system in my legs. Sure. So I hop up on the bed  that she has there. "Okay, take off your pants," she says with her heavy accent. Now I don't think I hear her correctly, because what does all this examination have to do with getting a free pair of shoes? Nothing actually. Like I said. Nothing is for free. Well, I tell the young lady. I don't know how to break this to you, but I don't wear underwear. Yes, that's right, I GO COMMANDO! It's just more comfortable than wearing cotton jockeys, and grime does not collect and stick on my ass, so that when I get up off toilet seats I no longer leave a ring. It's just one of the occupational hazards of being homeless.



"Oh," she says. "It's alright. I'll cover you up." So she takes two pieces of papertowel and lays it on my lap. "Okay, take off your pants." Okay, now get this, I'm pulling my pants down to my ankles while this woman has her hand on my package, keeping a paper towel in place. Gee, thanks. Do I get a kiss and a dinner afterward? She lays me back down and takes sonogram readings of the thighs and the backs of my knees. Fine, whatever. Soon, after ten minutes of this she tells me I can leave and then exits the partition. I hop up, put my pants back on and stroll out of the little area, thanking her for the wonderful experience.



I head to the table with the shoes arrayed on them. Sneakers, loafers, stuff like that, but no patent leather dress shoes. That's fine. I wanted the rugged looking boots in eleven and a half. The guys shakes his head. "Sorry, we're out of those." Give me a fucking break here. I've been prodded and fondled and I can't have the shoe of my choice? I am pissed, but I have to go on to find another pair. A pair of black loafers next in my size. I take them back to my room with me and stash them under the bed for special occasions. That's my thing in life now. Special Occasions. I don't have many, or any for that matter, but I am one to dream.



One day, my nightmare will be over and guess what?

How will I feel?

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