(click pic)My roommate here in the General Population section of the Westside Homeless Veterans Shelter likes to give me nicknames. He calls me 'The Ghetto Riley', 'Top Shelf' and now, 'Mr. Gadget.'
I guess I am kinda like Mr. Gadget.
When we first moved into room 404B together from the prison-like program dorms downstairs, I came up with luggage. He didn’t. Anthony came to Los Angeles this last June with nothing but a backpack. He likes to travel that way. He packs a backpack, hops a Greyhound and when he gets to his new city of residence, he follows the first shopping cart pusher he sees to the nearest shelter.
Then he finds a Labor Ready or Manpower work hall and works his way out of the shelter into a flophouse. Then he finds a steady semi-skilled job and works his way up to a crack motel and sometimes even to a regular apartment. Then he packs a backpack and catches a bus to the next city.
Anthony moved from Kansas City to Portland to Los Angeles to Denver to St. Louis to Seattle to Los Angeles this way. He’s not afraid of hardship or strange new places. Military service gave a lot of us the taste for nomadic lifestyles, but Anthony is 45 now and casual labor wears harder on the middleaged body.
This US Vets veterans’ hall is the first shelter that offered to let Anthony stay a while, settle in a bit, think longer term. When he moved up to G.P. with me, he didn’t have bedding for his naked mattress. I pulled a couple of extra pillows out of the trunk of my Buick for him. He needed to measure his bed to find out what size sheets to buy and I dug through my drawers until I found my metal tape measure.
There is only one electrical socket on Anthony’s side of the room and he had just bought a TV and Playstation and there weren't enough electrical sockets to play his beloved Civilization game and I pulled a 7-plug socket expander out of one of my milk crates for him.
He wanted to repair his creaky half bunk bed and I pulled the necessary tools out of my milk crates.
He wished he could have coffee in his room and I mentioned that I happened to have a coffeemaker in my closet.
He casually mentioned a few days later that tea would be nice and I moved my microwave out of my stored RV into our room.
He wistfully looked at his music CDs and I pulled my boom box out of the RV.
I am Anthony’s Mr. Gadget. When the city buses went on strike recently and Anthony had to get up an extra hour early to walk to his job at the airport, I sold him my Buick cheap. He mentioned that he wanted to vacuum out the car and I pulled a rechargeable hand vac out from under my bed. In return for my Mr. Gadgetness, Anthony buys DVD movies for us to watch.
Last night, Anthony mentioned that he’d gotten his W2’s for 2003 and was thinking about filing this year, but he dreaded "driving around looking for a tax preparer and paying all that mon . . ."
“I have this year’s tax software,” I said.
“Get the fuck outta here! Really? Why am I surprised? How much do you charge?”
“Twenty five.”
In 20 minutes, Anthony’s 2003 taxes were done and he had all the completed forms ready for mailing. We watched Seabiscuit last night, feeling secure in the idea that whatever we would need in the future was somewhere in one of my magic milk crates.
I guess I am kinda like Mr. Gadget.
When we first moved into room 404B together from the prison-like program dorms downstairs, I came up with luggage. He didn’t. Anthony came to Los Angeles this last June with nothing but a backpack. He likes to travel that way. He packs a backpack, hops a Greyhound and when he gets to his new city of residence, he follows the first shopping cart pusher he sees to the nearest shelter.
Then he finds a Labor Ready or Manpower work hall and works his way out of the shelter into a flophouse. Then he finds a steady semi-skilled job and works his way up to a crack motel and sometimes even to a regular apartment. Then he packs a backpack and catches a bus to the next city.
Anthony moved from Kansas City to Portland to Los Angeles to Denver to St. Louis to Seattle to Los Angeles this way. He’s not afraid of hardship or strange new places. Military service gave a lot of us the taste for nomadic lifestyles, but Anthony is 45 now and casual labor wears harder on the middleaged body.
This US Vets veterans’ hall is the first shelter that offered to let Anthony stay a while, settle in a bit, think longer term. When he moved up to G.P. with me, he didn’t have bedding for his naked mattress. I pulled a couple of extra pillows out of the trunk of my Buick for him. He needed to measure his bed to find out what size sheets to buy and I dug through my drawers until I found my metal tape measure.
There is only one electrical socket on Anthony’s side of the room and he had just bought a TV and Playstation and there weren't enough electrical sockets to play his beloved Civilization game and I pulled a 7-plug socket expander out of one of my milk crates for him.
He wanted to repair his creaky half bunk bed and I pulled the necessary tools out of my milk crates.
He wished he could have coffee in his room and I mentioned that I happened to have a coffeemaker in my closet.
He casually mentioned a few days later that tea would be nice and I moved my microwave out of my stored RV into our room.
He wistfully looked at his music CDs and I pulled my boom box out of the RV.
I am Anthony’s Mr. Gadget. When the city buses went on strike recently and Anthony had to get up an extra hour early to walk to his job at the airport, I sold him my Buick cheap. He mentioned that he wanted to vacuum out the car and I pulled a rechargeable hand vac out from under my bed. In return for my Mr. Gadgetness, Anthony buys DVD movies for us to watch.
Last night, Anthony mentioned that he’d gotten his W2’s for 2003 and was thinking about filing this year, but he dreaded "driving around looking for a tax preparer and paying all that mon . . ."
“I have this year’s tax software,” I said.
“Get the fuck outta here! Really? Why am I surprised? How much do you charge?”
“Twenty five.”
In 20 minutes, Anthony’s 2003 taxes were done and he had all the completed forms ready for mailing. We watched Seabiscuit last night, feeling secure in the idea that whatever we would need in the future was somewhere in one of my magic milk crates.
Tags: Department of Veteran Affairs, U.S. Vets, L.A. Vets, Revver, videoblogging, videoblog, funny video, veterans shelter, homeless, ghetto, Mr Gadget, prison-like program, hop a Greyhound, nearest shelter, shopping cart, following, Kansas City, Portland, Los Angeles, Denver, St. Louis, Seattle, military service, U.S. military, naked mattress, nomadic lifestyle, Civilization, citywide bus strike, magic milk crates, jarvis, marquisdejolie
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