A Living Magazine - Day 124 - Don't Beg this Beggar

I woke after a great rest in the tent. Pack up was a little slower than the tarp days, but well worth it. The walk back into town went by quickly, as it always does the second day in a new place. I was worried; worried about the rain that was to come around 1:00 pm; worried about having $10 left; worried that no matter what I post the reads have been diving; worried about going down South. I don't know if I'd mentioned this before, but if so it bears repeating. I'm not a big fan of the South. I'm sure it is a beautiful place to walk around, with great people. But, after the dry air and friendliness of the West, being in Milwaukee was reminding me that getting closer to the East Coast and the southern states was beginning to feel something like walking backwards. More primitive.

With a few exceptions, the people I would meet and observe on this day seemed to confirm just how different things were becoming. As I strolled by the bus stop a group of guys were laughing at each person who passed. Of course, I was an easy target. They joked around about my long hair and backpack, then one of them said he was just kidding around, and asked me if I had some spare change! I looked straight into his black eyes, said nothing, and kept walking, to the sound of more laughter behind me.

I got to Starbucks at the Hilton, went in, put my pack against the wall, and went to the counter. Unlike in the West, these baristas had no trace of gregarious service. It was the bland I'm-working-at-something-I-hate look, capped off with a fake smile. Had I known how little money I had left, I would have never even gone in.

I checked in at Facebook, as some of you saw, and expressed my concerns about the rain, answered some emails and replied to a few private messages. Then I pulled up the blog and began processing my 108 pictures, while I composed the daily post. I had to work quickly if I was to get back to Mitchell Park and have the tent set up before it rained.

Getting nervous about the time - which wasn't helped by the injection of 100 mg of caffeine, and my souring mood - a guy walked up to my table and asked me if I would look up "free dental implants" in the area. He was a mess. Obviously he'd come in off the street. He wore a very poorly made front bridge in his mouth, slightly browned by cigarette smoke. His head was shaved "institution-style".

He said, "Listen man, I'm really fucking sorry to bother you. They don't want me in here if I'm not going to buy anything." Then he looked at the people around the counter, who kept leering at him, and now at me. He walked over to the trash can and dug around inside until he found a half-eaten cheese danish, pulled it out along with a paper bag, then asked if he could sit down with me. With everything on my mind, this was not what I needed.

I told him I'd do my best to help him out, but I was short on time. He thanked me, sat down and commenced shoving the danish into his mouth, while he talked at a million miles an hour...

"My name's Arnold. I'm looking for free dental implants for people on Social Security..." I began Googling. "...I had to fake that I'm nuts in order to get benefits. You know, it's hard to not have any money. I grew up in Chicago on 68th Street..." I lost the Wi-fi signal. "...that area is a tough, and my mom was married three times. My stepfather kicked my ass everyday. Here in Milwaukee, I got in fights and had my teeth punched out..." Somehow, I reconnected through the Hilton's Wi-fi, specially set up for a conference there. By then, I lost track of what the hell he'd been saying, and picked it up again at "...the billionaire illuminati who run everything..."

I looked up at him and said, "If you want me to help you, I need to concentrate on this."

"Sorry, but the fuckers take all our money and then send us off to war. There's nothing left for services. I just want to smile again at some point and not be embarrassed, you know?" Thankfully, a list of sources came up, and I began reading them off to him. He said, "Okay, great..." Then he pulled out a giant Sharpy pen and began writing in large letters on the empty paper bag. I'd given him only two phone numbers and addresses by the time the bag was filled with writing.

"Do you want more?" I asked.

"No, no, that's good enough. The air in here is thick with the smell of rich assholes, and I think they're about to kick me out." He snorted at anyone who looked at him, getting up and slamming the chair back down in place.

I said, "Good luck, man. I hope you find what you're looking for." He replied with a loud, "Thank YOU. At  least someone cares!" Then he walked up to the front door, turned around and threw a napkin over the counter as he left."

I'd lost about 20 minutes. I was even more anxious. He was somewhat correct about the air being thick. I myself now felt unwanted there. I had no choice but to keep working. I'd almost finished the post when one of the employees started wiping up all the tables around me, kind of throwing chairs into place, and huffing. I'd had enough of Starbucks for the day, packed up my laptop and left.

The color of the sky was a mixture of skim milk and motor oil. I'd forgotten about the Midwest's mostly overcast days in autumn. I walked back down Wisconsin Avenue looking at each restaurant for a place to buy a juice and finish my work. At the end of the last block before the 27th Street Bridge, I saw a Dunkin Donuts! I hadn't been to one since the last Journey, and wanted to check it out.

Inside was a tiny Indian woman behind the register, with her husband (the manager?) walking back and forth talking in Hindi on his cellphone. An older white woman sat at the table closest to the counter staring off into space. A large friendly-looking black guy in a suit worked feverishly on a scientific calculator--writing down numbers and three rough looking black dudes stood in line ahead of me. The guys in line were trying to get the Indian woman to give them a deal on donuts. She wouldn't budge. So one of them went around to each table asking for a dollar.

I grabbed a pink lemonade, paid for it and sat down. This place had Wi-fi but required a password, so I went back up and asked for it. The cashier told me it was "Wisconsin". I thanked her and sat back down to work. As soon as I was typing away, the dollar-beggar made his rounds to my table. I told him I had no money left. "Not even a dollar?" he said, irritated at my answer.

"NO!" I answered.

"Fine, fine..." he said. The three guys ended up with two donuts, then went and sat down at the table next to mine. They talked loudly, with one of them getting up and just walking around as he spoke to the other two. Another guy came in, wearing an orange sweatsuit - 1970's style - and walked up to me.

"Got some spare change, so I can get an egg sandwich?" He asked, swaying back and forth in that I'm-so-fucking-cool-I-can't-stand-it, way.

I told him, "Sorry, I don't."

He closed his eyes and tilted his head up, looking like a fat Ray Charles, saying, "mmm...hmmm..." in disappointment. He went up to the counter and asked the cashier if he could HAVE an egg sandwich; that he would pay her back tomorrow. She declined him. Her husband, now done with his cellphone call, approached orange sweat suit guy and asked him if he could buy something smaller.

"No, man! I don't get paid 'til tomorrow. Shit! I really need some food." The Indian man, patiently told him to just come in tomorrow and they'd be happy to serve him. "Shit..." said the sweatsuit guy, walked over and joined the other two guys; the three of them watching their friend meander around the store talking about how he was saving up for a used Ford Taurus.

This was Dunkin Donuts? This was the company I trumpeted so often in the Manifest Destiny Journey? Most places will not tolerate begging right in the store! I tried to work as fast as possible, eventually finishing without being able to edit the post (something I still haven't had a chance to do). As I closed up the laptop, two rather large young ladies walked in together, one black, one white. They plowed their way passed a rail-thin white guy who was trying to study the menu.

"Yeah," said the black woman, "I want the 'two for one pumpkin cheesecake'."

The Indian woman slightly lowered her head in frustration. "I'm sorry we don't have that deal here."

"WHAT?" asked the black lady, saying to her friend, "I told you they'd give us a hard time!" The manager was back on his phone gabbing away in Hindi and was unaware of the problem, as his wife stood helpless against the onslaught.

The white friend pushed her way up to the counter and said, "I KNOW you have the deal. I work at the store across town and know that ALL of the Dunkin Donuts are offering it."

"I'm sorry WE don't offer it here. Would you like just one pumpkin cheesecake?"

The two friends looked back and forth at each other, irate, and furiously looking through their purses for the coupon. The white friend found it and slapped the wrinkled piece of paper on the counter. "There!" she exclaimed loudly.

By this time, the manager was off his second call, and went over to the counter to look at it. "Yes," he said, looking at his now shrinking wife. "We'll do this, but only this time."

"That's what I'm talking about!" said the black friend.

I couldn't wait to get out of that place. I couldn't even imagine having to deal with this crap every day. Not caring about the pumpkin cheesecake saga anymore, nor how the egg sandwich tragedy would work out, nor how the Ford Taurus story would end, I strapped on my pack and walked out onto the street. Immediately, a young black guy who was texting on his cellphone, called out to me, "HEY!" Instinctively, I stopped and turned around. "You got a dollar for the bus, man, I need to get uptown pronto."

I thought for a moment about laying into him, but swallowed my anger. "No, man. No, I don't. I have no money at all for the whole weekend."

"Shit!" he spit, and walked away swearing, looking back at me over his shoulder.

With all of this spinning through my head, I stopped in at the BP, located right at the head of the bridge, for what I thought might be two days worth of food. I hadn't checked my account balance and figured there would be enough. I grabbed two very sad looking ham and cheese sandwiches, two mango juices and a bag of sour cream and onion chips--on sale for $1.00. My card was declined.

I apologized, and put back one of the sandwiches, that was enough of a difference to be able to buy the rest of the food. I knew I was going to be hungry the next day, but at this point I was only able to take my disappointments one minute at a time. The rain started while I crossed the bridge.

When I got back to Mitchell Park, and walked around The Domes to the small foot/bike bridge, I noticed a small surveillance camera sphere right under the streetlight where I had been sneaking down the trail by the side of the bridge into the woods. I felt I had no choice but to do it again, security be damned!

So, I just walked right over to the trail, slipped and slid down the grassy embankment to the edge of the woods, and in I went. Already, I knew every bit of the acre or so where I'd camped the night before. I found my sleeping place untouched. (I always leave branches and other objects around the perimeter of a sleeping place when I'm not yet sure whether other people might be around, to see if they'd been moved or altered.)

Mercifully the rain stopped when I put down the pack. I had noticed when I woke up on this morning that a backhoe drove up and down the railroad tracks and could have seen me through the chain link fence next to my tent. This halt in the rain offered the opportunity to build up a screening around the area. I broke off small leafy branches and weaved them into the fence, then took handfuls of dry leaves, pushing those into the remaining gaps...

A leafy screen, shaped to fit the outline of the tent.

Next, I foraged around for larger dead sticks and more small branches, building a wall of brush in front of the largest open spot...

It was then comparatively easy to set up the tent...

I'd been concerned about the ground. There were about a dozen sharp stems and pieces of a broken bottle that I'd noticed the night before, upon which I was careful not to lie or step, while in the tent. Puncturing the lightweight fabric of the tent floor would be a disaster. I couldn't let that happen. Therefore, I knelt down and dug around each stem, cutting them out with my knife and tossing them on my newly constructed wall of sticks.

I'd spent an hour working on my screening, thanking the Universe each moment that the angels had kept their tears from falling as rain. There was one more gap that hadn't been covered. I didn't think I had another hour to work, and I had used most of the nearby branches. I didn't want to use anymore, since the plants around were part of my camouflage as well. I ventured down the trail deeper into the woods, found an old black blanket and dragged it back to the campsite, hanging it across the gap, leaving just enough room for my passage in...

See the blanket on the right?

With my screening complete, and the sky growing darker, I added the "fly" (the name for the rain tarp that covers the tent), then went around taking some shots to see how well I'd done... 

Images of what I saw inside the screening.

A panoramic shot from about 50 feet away, outside the screening.

It wasn't perfect. But, shit!, this was as imperfect a day as there could be anyway. It would have to do. I picked up "Saggy" and placed it into the tent, then stuck my head in to pull out the sleeping bag and winter coat (which I use as a pillow now). The exact moment that these items were spread out on the floor of the tent (5:46 pm -- I looked at my watch), I heard the rain begin to pelt the fly above me. I couldn't believe the timing of all of this. For once, I'd done something right. Carefully crawling in, I removed my smelly boots and rested, sitting up. 

The fly was easy to zip, and then the tent screen within it. I was settled--even though my mind was unsettled. Lying back with my head on the pillow, I saw the absolute genius of the tent design. The poles suspend the tent tightly and very effectively, with no need for stakes (not in this location anyway). The fly is then kept separate by about three inches, allowing air to flow in, condensation to flow out, and the floor was bucketed up all the way around, waterproofing the base.

At some point soon after, I fell asleep, waking at 10:00 pm to hear the rain letting up, and then stopping. I unzipped the two fabric doors and peer out. All was wet, and dripping, except for me... 

No water at all, except for some moisture around the zipper area. The only wet item was my Romines dealership hat which had soaked up water, because it was touching the zipper...

Leaves stuck to the outside.

I sat there quite thankful my friend Jeff had sent the tent to Allyson's for me to bring on this trip. I was also proud of myself for taking the initiative of screening the area with branches and leaves, and having the good sense not to wait until dark to set up the tent. I fired up my computer in the hopes that maybe I could ride a free Wi-fi signal from The Domes in the park above me. I did have two signals, but they were unrelated to the park and required passwords--probably on-duty guards or railroad workers' private cellphones...

The rain started again, as if on cue, at 11:30 pm. I stayed up until 2:30 am trying to work, but being distracted by my own worries from the day before.

I live between two worlds; one in which I have to beg my readers for scraps, and another where I am seen as the one with money and get begged dozens of times a day on the street. It sucks. It is the worst position to be in. At least it sure seems like it right now. Still, all the while, I compare it to living in a junky camper on a person's property in Maine who didn't want me there, feeling (and appearing to be) a failure in society's eyes.

"Pick yourself up by your bootstraps!"

"Just get a job!"

"Work isn't supposed to be fun!"

"Freeloader!"

"Charity case!"

"Bum!"

"Some people need to be poor so that others can be rich!"

These are the looping messages that cycle through my mind in the dark. There is something wrong with me: I am becoming sane. That is not aloud, is ignored, is despised in an insane society.

I am willing to live like this until I die, or am able to have the right people believe in me (several do already, which lightens my heart when it gets bogged down with the struggle to find meaning, where so much is done in this world that is meaningless).

And, if I've shown you readers anything, it is my resolve and tenacious determination to complete the things I start. It isn't winning me many friends, it is giving me an eating disorder, and it seems to be costing me readers.

BUT, what is life for, if not to truly EXPERIENCE as much as you can about your own world? I'll answer that: It is worth NOTHING. Go back to "the game"? I'd rather be dead. And, I am willing to prove it. No... I WILL prove it.

The looping negativities - like the echoed childhood screaming of an angry, intolerant father; reflecting the nature of all hatred and loathing, confusion and spiritual dementia, in a world of lies, greed and willful ignorance - eventually subsided, like a hangnail you wiggle back and forth until the pain becomes so constant that it disappears.

I just lay back down, exhausted, and entered a realm where several very vivid dreams entertained me, and took me away from my troubles...until morning came again.