It’s Tough Kid, But it’s Life
One of my close friends calls me a gypsy. At first I took offense and asked her why. She said it was because I am constantly on the move and I can never be found. I just pop up one day with a phone call or a visit and pick up where we left off as if no time had passed. She further indicated, albeit half jokingly, that the only thing separating me from truly being a gypsy was the fact that I wasn’t homeless. What she didn’t know was there was a period of time when I was.
Back in 1999, for about two weeks, I had no place to live. I refused to go back home because I was determined to show my parents that I would not fail out on my own, and I didn’t want to burden my sister for help because I knew she was in a financial pinch. I also didn’t ask my friends for help because I was embarrassed and had already been couch surfing for a year. I stored most of my stuff in a friend’s garage, but I carried around my pop’s old army duffel bag with all my clothes in it. At night, I slept in the coin-op laundry mat near Hellman exit off the 10 freeway. Now, I don’t recommend you try it unless you have no choice, but if you are ever caught in a situation where you have no place to stay, I highly recommend a coin-op laundry mat. They are warm, well lit, there’s not on-site employee to bother you, it’s a public place, they usually have a wash sink, and you can blend in with other patrons. I mean think about it. If you saw someone sleeping in front of a running dryer, late at night, with a duffel bag of clothes next to them, you wouldn’t think they were homeless now would you? Especially if they smelled like laundry detergent.
There’s nothing glamorous about retelling this memory, but I like to remember it because of what I learned from it.
Perspective.
No matter how bad I think things can get, it can always get worse. So by that notion, things aren’t that bad are they? By day 3, I thought it couldn’t get any worse, but then there was day 4. By day 10, I felt silly for complaining about day 3. By day 14, I stopped thinking things couldn’t get worse and was thankful for my ‘holiday in Cambodia’.
Dead Kennedys – “Holiday in Cambodia”
So you been to school
For a year or two
And you know you’ve seen it all
In daddy’s car
Thinkin’ you’ll go far
Back east your type don’t crawl
Play ethnicky jazz
To parade your snazz
On your five grand stereo
Braggin’ that you know
How the niggers feel cold
And the slums got so much soul
It’s time to taste what you most fear
Right Guard will not help you here
Brace yourself, my dear:
It’s a holiday in Cambodia
It’s tough, kid, but it’s life
It’s a holiday in Cambodia
Don’t forget to pack a wife
You’re a star-belly sneech
You suck like a leach
You want everyone to act like you
Kiss ass while you bitch
So you can get rich
But your boss gets richer off you
Well you’ll work harder
With a gun in your back
For a bowl of rice a day
Slave for soldiers
Till you starve
Then your head is skewered on a stake
Now you can go where people are one
Now you can go where they get things done
What you need, my son:
Is a holiday in Cambodia
Where people dress in black
A holiday in Cambodia
Where you’ll kiss ass or crack
Pol Pot, Pol Pot, Pol Pot, Pol Pot,
And it’s a holiday in Cambodia
Where you’ll do what you’re told
A holiday in Cambodia
Where the slums got so much soul
