The Chronicles of Joan: The Homeless Barista

I haven’t washed my hair for a few days. It’s starting to show. I’m left with a few options. I could call Heather and ask if I can go to her house to shower, or I can just bring my shampoo into the Starbucks bathroom and wash my hair in the sink. I usually opt for the sink lately.
Heather would say that I wasn’t an imposition, but I knew better than that. I stay at her house when she and her husband, Josh, are out of town, under the pretence of watching their rats. For a little while there, they would ask me to stay on days they were home, too. I let it slip that my situation would, more than likely, be semi-permanent. I wore out my welcome, then. I’m okay with that. I actually find that I prefer sleeping in my car than on her couch. (Nothing against her couch, of course, but it sags in the middle and I never know where I am once I wake up.) My car has grown more comfortable since the winter. The other day I had myself convinced that I was in a real bed just before I opened my eyes.
On a related topic… I daydream a lot about beds and bedrooms these days. I find myself staring into space and trying to recall the exact feeling of slipping my legs under the crisp, cool covers on warm summer night and feeling the sheets glide over my bare calves. The feeling of lying on my stomach, with my head on the cool pillow and the comforter pulled up all around me. I miss the smell of the cool air, carrying a hint of the scent of the metal screen that would shield me from the crawlies of the night. I miss having blinds to mollify the rising of the early morning sun. I miss carpets and doorframes and squeaking box frames. I miss bed spread. I sometimes walk the aisles of Target, trying to imagine which fine home furnishings and decorative motifs I would go with if I had a house to put them in. I’d get my office furniture from Bernie, of course. One day…
I leave Starbucks at around 9:30pm on days when I’m not working. I use the restroom and change my clothes to be appropriate for the next day (jeans if I’ll be off, work clothes if I work in the morning) and head out to my car, which is usually parked on the third floor of the parking garage. This is my new favourite location. I park just where the overhang ends, facing Look Out Mountain. In a few steps I can be in the glorious summer sun, but my car can hide safely in the shade. There’s almost never anyone up there. I pretend that it’s my backyard. I walk around barefoot, and sing. I look out over the edge at the quaint town that I live in. Right across the way there is an apartment building. It’s a high end kind of place. I get to peek in some of the patios and windows and see the big-screen T.V.’s and stainless steel kitchens. Sometimes I get jealous, and I resent the people that live there. Most of the time I get sad. One night, after I closed, I moved the car out into the moonlight, to the spots that look out on Table Mountain. I watched the glow of the city from behind the landmark, and the stars as they came out. I listened to Lifehouse on repeat and tried as hard as I could to find God. All I found was music.
I would just stay in the parking garage at night, but for two reasons. Firstly, it’s too well lit. I couldn’t sleep well with all that light all the time. Secondly, there are police that patrol the structure, starting at around eleven each night. I’m not sure if they come back hourly, or if it’s a once a night kind of thing… but I have a feeling that I wouldn’t go unnoticed for long. It’s fine to leave your car over night, that I know for sure. John’s car broke down and has been in the garage for weeks with no problems (I’m starting to leave notes in the dust on the windshield every time I pass by). However, I have a feeling that a person staying in the car over night would be a different matter entirely. So, at night, I get to the car, toss in my stuff in the passenger seat, or in the trunk, depending on my organization for the week, and turn my attention to Lily and Violet for a minute. I make sure they still have food and water, that their bedding is dry and clean, and that they get sufficiently wired up and subsequently tuckered out before we head off to bed. They love running around on the back sill of the car, where I store my aprons, comic books, coffee mark-outs, and my brand new potted plant. It’s dying already, of course. I think Daisy had magical gardening powers. I do all of this while still in the parking garage because it’s well lit. I don’t like having to turn on the dome light while in my spot for the night. It makes me self-conscious, when I do, and draws attention to the car.
I pull out of the parking garage and drive the three blocks to Heather’s apartment complex. There are a few places near here where I like to park for the night. Just before the front doors, there’s a turn off with additional parking to the left of the building. I sometimes pull in here and turn off the lights. I coast into my spot next to the SUV that has been parked with the windows half down for years through rain, snow, and all sorts of abusive weather. I know that no one pays close attention to it, so it’s like a shield in a way. Ignore the SUV, ignore the little white car beside it. Either that, or I park in the very last spot on the left. It’s right next to the river, which is beautiful to listen to during the night. If I decide to park somewhere darker, I head up, past Heather’s building, and toward the park. There’s another row of parking spots, just to the right, that are unclaimed by the building and the park, and have absolutely no restrictions. I know it’s okay to leave vehicles here overnight because of the trailer that’s been parked there for a little while. I like waking up to the sounds of people enjoying the park behind me. No one bothers me. The only real downside to this spot is that, though it’s shaded by a huge tree, it still heats up quickly in the mornings. The spots by Heather’s apartment are right up against a big wall that, along with the mountains behind it, shades my car from the morning sun for a while. This morning I slept until nearly ten in the spot by the river. Near the park, I have to leave by around nine.
Once I’m in the spot of my choosing, I turn off the car, make sure the doors are locked and make my bed. I put the driver’s seat down all the way and slide it as far as I can away from the steering wheel to give me more leg/maneuvering room. I find my body pillow and jam it up between me and the passenger’s seat to guard me from the protruding emergency brake, gear shifter, and center console. I take off my shoes, and my socks as well, on warmer nights. I put my pillow under my head, and loosely drape my comforter over my torso, more for cover than for warmth at this point in the night. Sometimes I hang a sweater from the hook above the back seat and arrange it so it blocks out the parking lot’s bright lights. I find my phone and put it in my right pocket. I find my keys and hook them on my left belt loop. I curl into a ball facing right and listen to the rats scratching around. On colder nights over the remaining winter, I would have my sleeping bag around me, and at least one sweater on. I would cover my head and face with the sleeping bag and/or comforter. It would be warm there as long as I didn’t come uncovered in the night. As soon as Spring finally hit and it warmed up, I moved my sleeping bag and coat to my storage unit. No matter what I’m wrapped in, the windows get foggy by the morning after chilly nights. I don’t care much. As long as I can sleep through the night without drawing attention to myself, I’m fine. If I get woken up and questioned, I’ll say that I’m staying with Heather and that I got locked out and couldn’t get a hold of her. At which time I’ll call her, pretending to be exasperated, and she’ll let me in. After that I’ll go back to sleeping in Walmart parking lots.
In the morning I put the pillows and comforter back into the backseat, locate my toiletry bag and brush my hair and put on deodorant. I put the seat up and put on my shoes. Then I slide the seat forward and turn on the car. I drive the three blocks back to the parking garage by Starbucks, and head up to the third level. I gather what I may need for the first part of the morning, be it my toiletry bag, my computer bag, or a book or two. I check on the rats again, and make sure they’re bruxing the morning away, and then I head down the stairs to Starbucks to pee and to brush my teeth, sometimes to change if I didn’t do that the night before. These early morning rendezvous with my store are the only time that I feel ashamed. My co-workers see me come in and know where I came from. My regulars see me and offer greetings saying, “What, do you live here or something?” I avoid eye contact and pretend to be joking when I say yes. Once I come out of the bathroom, clean and more awake, I’m fine. From there I either work, read, go on the computer, or, rarely, go back to sleep. If I’m opening I have to wait an additional few minutes until the shift gets the keys to unlock the bathrooms. Those are usually the longest minutes of my day and I inevitably start actually working a few minutes late because I don’t want to work with morning breath. Most of the people that I work with know that I live in my car. It’s hard to keep that a secret around here. I’m unclear as to whether or not my manager knows. I don’t care about that much either, though. Whether or not he knows, I’m a good worker and am always available. It’s hard to complain about an employee like that.
A few of the people I work with offered to let me stay with them or their friends when I first got here, saying they just have to check with their roommates or something like that. No one has really gotten back to me about it, and, to be honest, I don’t really want them to. I’m a jumble of mixed feelings about it… but I don’t have any money for rent at the moment, and I’d hate to mooch off anyone. I feel bad enough taking showers and doing laundry at Heather’s apartment, although she says that they don’t pay for water. I feel like a bum. I’d rather wash my hair in the sink and find a Laundromat. But I can’t say no when Heather asks me because she’s genuine and she doesn’t want to hear that I feel like I’m imposing. “It’s not imposing if I INVITE you” she has said, multiple times. It doesn’t change how I feel about it, though.
In a couple of month I may have a paycheck that doesn’t necessarily have to disappear the moment I get it. If, by then, I’m sick and tired of roughing it, I’ll look into finding a place. Until then, I’ll continue to live by these means. It’s the only way I can feel legitimate. It’s not that I don’t appreciate the generosity, it’s just that I don’t feel I’m worthy of charity. I chose to be where I am. I made an active decision. I said to myself, when I get to Colorado, I’ll live in my car until I have the money for an apartment. In all honesty, it’s not that bad. I get lonely sometimes, but I get lonely with an apartment, too.
I’m glad I got a new friend for Lily. I feel like I worry about her less now that she has a companion. They can snuggle at night and keep warm, play all day while I’m working (or vice versa), and generally just keep each other company while I’m not around. Now that I have Violet, I have half as much to worry about and the living-in-my-car situation is much more bearable.
Today, I was walking from the parking garage to Starbucks to do my morning business. A man, who I guess has seen me around Starbucks before exclaimed in a joking manner, “Don’t you ever go home??” I turned to him and said in a perfectly serious tone, “No.” and turned back around. I think it threw him off a little.
On a side note: I don’t think many people in the world realize just how amazing the taste of fresh Granny Smith apples is. The way the juice explodes from its cocoon just below the tart skin… it’s really breathtaking. I’m a big fan.
The days are getting shorter again. Next time I’ll tell you about the solstice. For now, the hour is late and Adelaide is calling. Within her, I’m sure Lily and Violet are waking up, ready to seize the twilight. The world is our burrito. : )