Friday, August 12, 2016

The humour in being homeless

Now, I'm not saying being homeless is in anyway a nice experience. However, it certainly is a very sobering and maturing experience. Sometimes all you can actually do is laugh. It was literally so bad sometimes, that I would end up in a heap of laughter. Call it nerves...or call it the need to keep myself sane...but here are some of the things that made me lol.


                                      


The conversation about fannies

So, I was sitting in the kitchen in Cedar house talking to an ex-writer who fell on hard times. Despite this, he always maintains a very cheerful attitude (although I think he does have the odd sneaky alcoholic beverage every now and again). Out of nowhere, I decided to share the fact that I couldn't wait to buy wax strips 'to wax my gee'. This writer (let's call him John) asks 'what would you be waxin fuhr?', I told him 'I'd never shave'. John then goes on to say 'I don't mind if she has has hair on her arse'...I shot him an indignant gaze. He then pointed out that I could 'actually lead a good life' if I wasn't so 'OCD'. He was very right. Wisdom comes in the strangest forms. I only recently figured out that I do suffer with severe OCD.

Some greasy man strung out on 'the gear' hurtled towards us from the corner. We started talking to him about waxing ones gee...trying to coax a non-drug related conversation out of him. 'My burd is as smooth as a baby's bum' he said, stirring his styrofoam cup of tea, after adding six teaspoons of sugar. He then continued 'I don't like hairy bitches full stop...hairy bitches are knackers'. Despite the fact that his veins were so polluted with toxins that he could barely function, he still managed to clearly communicate his feelings of pure disgust on the matter. I told him that 'some men have a fetish for hairy women', 'Fuck that!' he spluttered and, disturbed by this information, walked away and drank his sugar-saturated tea elsewhere. Me and John were in a heap of laughter at the hilarity of it all.


The chat about the arch in my foot 

Two hours later, myself and John were still sitting in the downstairs watching the sea of junkies ebb and flow in and out of the kitchen...some bearing cups of coffee, others paper bowls of cereal. Finally the flow stopped. They were all (probably) in a drug induced slumber. The staff then left us alone in the building for an entire half hour. I decided to tell John about the arch I was trying to develop in my feet. I'd been wearing orthotics for a few months at that stage, and was convinced I was seeing an arch develop in my duck feet. 'I have to call my friend Comac' John proclaimed 'about a girl writing a blog, with an arch in her foot'. We continued to sip tea, while discussing all the intelligent people in homeless hostels. He went on to tell me about all his past jobs, and that he met 'yer man morris Nelegan' who got the first heart transplant in ireland. He then told me that a friend of his has her 'whole gee pierced' and that 'the airport scanner goes mad when she goes through'. This is classic 'homeless hostel' banter, you wouldn't find anywhere else. Finally John reached the conclusion that I was indeed insane. He then came up with an ingenious solution to all my woes. This is a direct quote from him: 'I'd get you a fire hose and spray you until you're very agitated, and then I'd give you a punch bag to kick the shit out of'. He then told me that if people ever ask me where I'm from I should just tell them: 'I come from the little house with the bars on the window...but I escaped'. Later on, a toothless man from Belfast came downstairs and insisted I had a 'bee in my bonnet' because of my attitude. I told him I didn't, and that I'm simply 'highly strung'. We collectively decided that yoga would be a good option for me. 

The conversation swiftly moved on to the furniture in the room. There were six square tables, six chairs, and a long seating area running around the room. It should also be noted, that there were three brown chairs, three purple chairs, and two red chairs (in an effort to mix things up a little). John pointed out that they 'only had the money to buy six square tables', and once Christmas day arrives 'it'll be like coming down, seeing santy, and looking under the table for presents'. The conversation was a bit nonsensical, but it was something to laugh about...and I'm glad we did.