The Shirtless March of Progress

I'm taking a short break from talking about zombies (it puts you on edge if you overdo it). So let's talk about the opposite of zombies: bums. Many are on the street because they want to be. Others are there for mental health reasons. Something must be done, but how? It's a difficult question because living on the street is terrible for their health, but these people may not want to leave. Is it right to force them "for their own good"? Instead of addressing the important issues here, I just want to tell a few stories about how the lives of those living on the street and my life intersect.

A few days ago, I was walking on Berkeley's campus and saw a street person, but he was clearly industrious because he was collecting cans and bottles. He was shirtless, with dirty black pants and a ratty black shirt tied around his waist. He carried a black lawn bag filled to capacity with bottles and cans. And he was talking on a cell phone. I didn't interact with the man as he was clearly busy. I simply smiled and went on my way.

It did beg the question: where did the cell phone come from? Did he steal it? I normally doubt this possibility because most homeless people are peaceful and never break major laws (aside from loitering, drug dealing/use, and public urination). I had a plausible explanation a day later. The next day, I went to the Verizon store to exchange a faulty phone. As I was waiting, a homeless man walked in with a bag of money to buy a pre-paid phone. The clerk at the cash register was clearly accustomed to this occurrence as she went through the paper work and started to count out the money in the bag. She stopped, however, when the coins became progressively more deformed. She requested money that was more obviously money and that had not been cut, flattened under a heavy object, or worked upon with caustic chemicals. The man chafed at such a request and argued for a while, stating that it's money and that he finds it all over the place. Whether he found it in under a dry-docked ship or in an abandoned chemical factory, he didn't say. Ultimately, he left in a huff as he didn't have enough indisputable currency to purchase the phone.

Earlier today, another homeless man left the bus in a huff. I see this man on the bus occasionally, and I know him as "The Crowned Bishop". He speaks with a ridiculously gravelly, loud voice that is nearly impossible to understand. He also keeps a bottle of liquor in the front of his pants. Today, he got on the bus and immediately started talking at a man in the back of the bus. The man ignored him or expressed his distaste discreetly because The Crowned Bishop started up another conversation with a girl next to me. She left the bus (ostensibly to transfer), and he started talking at some other poor woman. He was eventually rebuffed by all the women on the bus and lamented his poor "lady skills" for all to hear. He was also taking periodic swigs from some sort of fortified grape wine that he kept stashed in the front of his sweatpants. This sad episode stands in stark contrast to one of my other encounters with this man. Reeking of Wild Irish Rose, he began to immediately exclaim his contentedness with his position on Earth. He said that he was "A crowned bishop! Crowned by God!" at least 30 times over the course of a 5 minute bus ride. He was addressing this all to a man sitting across from him and trying to ignore him.

Because I see The Crowned Bishop only once or twice a month and because he is a walking psychology experiment, I consider myself lucky whenever I see him. Today would have been special if this encounter was all that happened. No, today was remarkable because I saw the other pivotal-but-elusive bum in my life.

She entered my life a few months ago. My girlfriend and I were walking down Shattuck Avenue in Berkeley one summer morning. This woman was walking the opposite direction on the same side of the street. We were the only people out and about at the time. As she drew near, we began to hear her ramblings and outbursts directed at cars and closed storefronts. When we were within 20 feet, she noticed us and directed some vitriol at me regarding the company I keep (my girlfriend). She expressed her disapproval primarily through the use of a certain expression that I will not repeat here, but one that is quite lewd and inappropriate. Naturally, I continue to use this expression as a term of demented endearment for my girlfriend. She has even used it for herself, but I'm sure she regretted it. Just the other day, we had a conversation about how we wanted to see her again. The event was made all the more memorable because my girlfriend and I disagree on the gender of this person. This morning, I was able to end the debate once and for all. I saw this woman on Telegraph launching verbal attacks at passerby. She was wearing a tube top.

With the day being so auspicious, are there any kings to crown or wars to start?