CAREER, INTERRUPTED

Sometimes, life just isn't fair.

You did everything right.

Maybe starting off with being born into a family who had the means and the dough to put out for an ivy league diploma, and the connections to help groom you for your future role as a player in whatever high stakes profession would be au courant after 'B' school.

Either that, or you looked around at a very young age, and decided you were not going to play for the team that headed straight to the minimum wage line, and an early marriage to an ardent beau who turned out to be the world's champion beer chugger, so you got a grip on your life and soldiered your way through a state school while working seven part time jobs.

Whichever path you traveled, you made it all the way to just under the fabled glass ceiling.

You know. That place near the top, within panting distance from the CEO, or COO or CFO perch you had been salivating about since you elbowed your way past the first casualty on your carefully thought out corporate ladder hit list.

And, darn. Here you are, on the way to being a high stakes corporate player, a real master of the universe in a pant suit, a pedigreed spear carrier.....and you've just been canned.

Somebody hit the 'delete' button on your path to the other side of that glass ceiling

Not only that, you're no, er, spring chicken anymore.

You are "A woman of a certain age," who hit the snooze button on your biological clock a decade ago when you started looking around for cougar bait, instead of somebody your own age at the speed dating events.

And despite the trim body and flawless complexion and rigid diet,your health might not be so good anymore, due to the overuse of prescription drugs you had to use to calm those twitches, and/or the alcohol or drug habit you may have developed to cope while blazing that career path.

Which is a real drag because you lost your insurance benefits along with the job.

And you spent so much time and cash on projecting the right image to your networking buddies and your slave masters you forgot to save any real money.

Then the disastrous economic slapstick hijinks a few years ago -oops there went the 401k, and your stock options....or whatever other high falutin' crap shoot savings schemes you were smooth talked into, and you, silly thing....you forgot to get a contract with a 'golden parachute'.

And the Blackberry, or whatever techno gizmo you used to stay in touch with and on top of your world? The one filled with the names and numbers of all of those other 'golden' people?

Fagaddaboudit. You are the last person they want to hear from these days.

Oh, yeah. You've come a long way, baby.

All the way to Homeless Nation.

Welcome to the world of ratty hair cuts, cheap hair dye jobs, cheaper shoes, ill fitting clothing and taco bell for lunch.

It's still hard to believe it really happened. But it did.

And that's the point. It happened.

Whether it was an abrupt departure from your illusion of a secure and upwardly mobile life by overextending yourself to the point where you really didn't have enough cash around to last more than two pay checks....or a slow, steady descent, into the indignity of selling everything you owned right down to the last pumice stone. It happened.

And you need to get over it.

Because you're not going to get anywhere in Homeless Nation...or, find the way out, unless you grasp the concept: You're homeless.

You're homeless, and you have no money, and no status.

People look at you, well....like you maybe used to look at people who weren't dressed quite right, and lacked the polish and finesse of the well turned out career woman.

You need to get with the program.

There are plenty of those around in Homeless Nation.

And they all involve a women's shelter. Living in one, not visiting each Christmas with a few of your used Chanel sweaters for the donation bin.

Yeah, it's a whole new world.

Noisy, and badly ventilated, chilly in winter, hot in the summer. Locked down at six pm. Food you know is nutritious, but, Lord, didn't these people ever hear of Bernaise sauce?

And then there are the "Others." This is not a shelter in St. Barts, Madame. This is a shelter, most likely in a part of town where you are situated away from people who don't like to look you in the eye, or who just don't want you around.

And there's a reason for that. Some of the roomies you are going to be living with, are not exactly flavor of the month, and you will have to learn a whole new set of coping skills to interact with people you used to look down on, or actually sneer at.

And then, there's the job hunt.

You will be out there, trying to talk somebody into hiring you for a minimum wage position who is looking at your resume and wondering how you could possibly fit into a job answering calls all day from irate customers. In short, your experience, and education and life in general have made you overqualified.

Yeah, you're in for the ride of your life.

It will take every bit of smart and cunning and resilience and spirit you have to get through this one.

And take heart, there are more and more of you drifting into Homeless Nation. Soon, you will have lots of company, and then you will be the wise and experienced and savvy street puppy giving the what for and where's it at to the newbies.

And in the meantime, if any of those people on your Blackberry, the one somebody stole from you the first night in the women's shelter, anyway, if any of those people ever run into you out there in the other nation, and ask what you've been doing....just tell them you've been in the Mistress Protection Program.

STUFF

A house is just a place to keep your stuff
while you go out and get more stuff.
If you didn't have so much stuff,
you wouldn't need a house.
you could just walk around all the time.

George Carlin

Remember when you had stuff?

You probably had so much stuff, your stuff had stuff.

Your laptop had it's own leather carrying case. The leather boots had that snazzy silk lined crinkle drawrstring pouch . The pocket size spray cologne was snuggled in a discreet little silver tube. Even your bag had a a bag to disguise the fact that you carried a bag.

Oh, yeah, and if you owned a car. Boy, that car needed a lot of stuff.

And all of that exercise gear. And the shoes to go with that gear. And the bag to carry all of the shoes and gear.

And then, the Pet. Whether it was Fido the dog, or Crystal, the cat, when they had to go to the pet shelter when your life tanked, you had to cart all of their stuff right along with them.

And then the techno bling stuff. Whew. Hard to tell which beep was going off from which piece of all of that techno bling stuff you had to carry around to stay connected with all of the other techno bling stuff droids.

And now that you're a street puppy, you still have stuff. Different stuff.

Toothbrushes, razors, washclothes, t-shirts, baby wipes, six or so cigarette lighters, dirty socks, clean socks, ponchos, hoodies and ski caps and raggedy levis. And candy bars, and old bus tickets, and canteens and chewing gum, and 3 month old packs of peanuts

And you have to carry most of it around with you.

Now, how much stuff you carry around depends on if you have a Place....or a Spot.

A Place is where, maybe you will be staying for awhile. Inside.

It could be an abandoned house. A friend's sofa. A car or (yippee!) a whole van.

Or, oh gawd, one of those temporary, emergency shelters.

The point of a Place is that it is inside, and thus meets the criteria for sleeping inside. Except for the temporary, emergency shelters.

They meet the criteria of please help me before I eat my shoes and set myself on fire.

A Spot is where you will be staying outside, maybe just the night, or until the police find you.

It could be a viaduct, a cozy hedgerow, an underpass, or (yippee!) a porch.

The point of a Spot is that it is outside, and thus meets the criteria for sleeping outside .

Now, the thing with your stuff is deciding when and if you can leave it in the Place where it would be inside....or the Spot, where it would be outside.

You don't have to decide if you can leave it in the temporary, emergency shelter, because if you do, the androids who work there will eat your shoes and set the rest of your stuff on fire.

It's a tough decision. And it depends upon how many days you really want to go without being able to brush your teeth or change your clothes, or barefoot, if your stuff is discovered, and the person who discovers it decides they need your stuff so they carry it to their own Place or Spot.

If you have a Place, you could possibly put your stuff into a closet, next to the friend's sofa, or on the seat of the car or the van before you lock it. If the lock is broken you can stuff one of your dirty socks into the broken window to make it look like it is locked.

If you have a Spot,unless you can find a tree whose branches are sturdy enough and high enough to conceal stuff without busting your arms getting it up or down from there, or a bush so thick with growth only you can possibly know it's there, it's better to carry your stuff around with you.

And remember, you can't have too much stuff with you, because you have to travel light.

Because you never know when you're going to have to run real fast, and also because if you carry too much stuff...you're going to experience a phenomenon ER doctors describe as "Your legs have swollen to three times their normal size because you're carrying too much stuff."

Now, see, as strange as it may seem. that's because you've been accumulating more stuff.

Go figure. Here you are, you just lost all your real good stuff. Then you got the rather shoddy stuff. And now, it seems you have more shoddy stuff than you had when you had real good stuff.

It's Alfred E. Newton's Law of The Diminishing Value of Stuff.

Which reads: When the total value of your accumulation of stuff does not total the value of your first contribution from the Tooth Fairy, you don't have enough stuff.

The whole point here, is to get rid of all the stuff that is weighing you down, and preventing you from running faster, and causing your legs to swell, or, making you worry all day if the sock stuffed into the unlocked door of the van is going to fool anybody who wants to steal your stuff.

Or worry if, the bough in the tree, where you hid all your stuff is going to break, or a nosy road dawg is going to sniff out your stuff behind that leafy bush.

Here you are, in homeless nation, and you're still worrying about stuff.

And it is time for ole' Alfred E. Newton's Law of Accelerating Stuff.

Which reads: When the mass of your accumulated stuff exceeds the length of any bough on a tree which is low enough for you to reach without busting your arms, throw all of the stuff into the river.

NEW RULES!

We have been watching this tinderbox of a situation between street puppies who panhandle, and street puppies who sell newspapers.

And we have been listening to the racous debate mounted by people who will not distinguish between the acts of selling newspapers and panhandling, and so take out their annoyance and rage on all the street puppies.... and so, with all apologies to Bill Maher, we have come up with this New Rule.

NEW RULE: YOU CAN'T HAVE IT BOTH WAYS

If you must panhandle for the cash you need to make ends meet you cannot whine about how badly you are treated by citizens, the law, the media, and politicians, if you persist in giving all of them the ammo they will boomerang right back to you in order to to allow you to shoot yourself in your own foot, by giving them any justification they need to use their power and influence to take away your ability to solicit people for money while in a public place.

You are up against it here, in a rigorous and contentious debate between your so called rights, and the right-of-way.

And you are not helping the situation any by contributing to the stereotypes which the powers that be are trying to use to outsource a decision about this situation onto a voting ballot.

And a vote to end your rights to panhandle on public property would also affect the hundreds of streetpuppies who use public property every Sunday to do their job of selling newspapers.

And yeah, there's a difference between panhandling and selling newspapers.

Just try the hours it takes to put those newspapers together, and the inability to take too many breaks from the burning sun, or the wind and rain and cold and you'll know what we mean.

But times are tough for everybody. And if you need to panhandle, how about a new approach to deal with what is rapidly becoming a diminishing -and aliented- consumer base, and to soften the impact of your activity onto the streetpuppies who are trying to sell their newspapers.

Be a Gentleman - or Lady - while you're trying to separate any pedestrian or motorist from even a small amount of their hard earned money.

Don't go out there with that sign and a vest looking like a mope, carrying a big ole' pity pot, or acting like a Hell's Angel reject.

And for Heaven's sake, do not go wandering into traffic, or pound on a windshield to get attention. You will annoy and frighten the very people you need to impress.

Say "Please," and "Thank You." And "Sir," and "Maam," instead of "Dude," or "Honey."

Do not look pathetic. Do not whine about some relative's operation, or needing train fare to get to a construction job in the next state, or say you haven't eaten anything in two months.

None of those obvious thinly veiled entreaties will pass the sniff test of a seasoned contributor/

If your request is rejected. Be a mensch. Name calling is for losers, and could bring the law down on your head.

And no leering at the ladies. This is not Match.com. This is commerce.

You are offering yourself as a worthy recipient of a part of the consumer's hard earned money.

The consumer is buying a sense of gratification and good will he missed by not calling the 800 number for the poor people in Dubai.

In addition, owing to your new presentation and good manners, the outraged and alienated citizens lawmen, and politicians and reporters who think street puppies are all a bunch of raggedy, spoiled, dishonest, drunken road dawgs will have to eat the next news story portraying all street puppies as, well you know, what we just said

And the hundreds of people who are out there selling newspapers will have an easier time of it, knowing their customers are not going to take out their ire at the panhandlers on them.

Ok, panhandlers and newspaper vendors can shake hands and return to their corners.

And now....how about a New Rule for people who are charged with looking after the needs of street puppies.

It's hard to know where to start.

Hmm. We got street puppies...we got people in charge of helping street puppies.

Ok. Just thought of a real good New Rule for people in charge of helping street puppies

NEW RULE: YOU CAN'T HAVE IT BOTH WAYS EITHER


You cannot hire people to run the federal and state and municipal and private agencies and organizations charged with seeing to the needs of homeless people, whose only guiding principle is personal ambition.

And/or who use their largely unchecked power to abuse homeless people or worse, enrich themselves at the expense of the very people they are charged with helping.

It is the height of hypocrisy to blame 'social conditions' for the social problems encountered by the growing number of homeless people who have slid into the numbers columns of the vast ledgers you are maintaining to record and track the problem, without using the powers of those agencies and organizations to make an earnest and rigorous effort to aggressively address those 'social conditions' and actually " give a hand up instead of a hand out."

That slogan, or a version of it, being one of the more popular slogans - or bromides - used by many of the organizations and agencies whose often feckless efforts, or sheer incompetence, and worse, deep pockets of corruption, stand in the way of making any real progress toward restoring homeless people to productive and fulfilling lives.

Yes, there are angels in most of those organizations and agencies, both government and private who are competent and give heart and soul to their seemingly thankless chore.

A chore which so many of them regard as not only a profession, but a calling, and who do their work with oodles of good cheer, and patience, and understanding, and compassion and love.

And, yes, there are monsters.

Bloodless, heartless monsters in some of those organizations and agencies who have long since passed the 'peter principle' mark, or who abuse the homeless in so many ways, or think nothing of enriching themselves with funds and materials which never reach a street puppy.

And the alienated citizens, lawmen, politicians and the media, who are harping about the necessity of keeping supposedly greedy street puppies away from street corners and medians need to keep a closer eye on the activities of some of those monsters in some of those organizations and agencies who should be able to actually help keep panhandling street puppies off those hotly contested street corners and dangerous medians, instead of cooperating with the effort to criminalize them.

And a closer inspection by citizens, lawmen, politicians and the media, into the fiscal chicanery of some of the people in positions of power in those organizations and agencies would make the fiscal interchange between street puppies and their contributors at any street corner or median on any given day - or year - look like chump change.

And one more New Rule.

Nobody gets everything they want. It's called compromise.