The Once and Future Bob

True story:
Dirtbag Bob is a scraggly, unfortunate looking guy who hangs out at McDonald's. Every day. In the same clothes every day. Dirtbag Bob rides to McDonald's around noon on a rusty bicycle, digs around in the trash for a Mickie Dee's coffee cup, enters, asks for a refill of his coffee.

Coffee in hand, Bob heads outside. This particular McDonald's has some concrete tables outside where people can sit in nice weather. These tables are located at the front of the parking lot, right next to the big Golden Arches ("Millions and Millions served"). Unusual feature: the giant, brown painted steel pole supporting the sign has an outdoor electrical outlet near it's base-- the kind with the little hinged doors.

Bob, knowing this, removes a small black-and-white "travel size" television and an orange electrical cord from the basket on his bike (basket skewed, one strap broken), plugs in, and claims a table. There Dirtbag Bob remains all day, comfortably enthroned. Sipping McDonald's coffee from his salvaged McDonald's coffee cup, smoking cigarettes plucked from the concrete ashtray by the main entrance, Bob has not a care in the world.

One night, a group of teenage McEmployees are in the parking lot, smoking cigarettes and relaxing after the restaurant has been put to bed. They have congregated where they always do: the concrete tables near the sign. Inevitably, the subject of Bob comes up. Who is DB? Where does he go at night? This time, one of them says, "Dude, we should follow Bob and see where he goes."

This percolates. A plan is hatched. Schedule consulted, they pick a date when none of them are slated to work. Bob usually closes up shop around nine in the evening, so they agree to meet at 8:30pm in the train station parking lot next door, gather in one car, and surveil Bob.

The day arrives; Bob is present per usual. In the evening, they gather and squeeze into a maroon Dodge Omni. One of them has actually brought binoculars. By 8:45pm, they're all staring at Bob from a safe distance. 9:05pm: Bob rises, yawns, packs up television and cord, abandons soggy, overused coffee cup, and mounts up. They follow, discreetly.

The McDonald's restaurant in this (true) story sits, as mentioned, next to a train station, near a major urban intersection. Seedy taverns and wig shops abound. Bob, however, is outbound. Auto parts stores and used car lots give way to small houses, then larger ones. The erstwhile secret agents are soon following Bob through a leafy, green, rather upscale neighborhood. The lawns are large and lush and well manicured, and the driveways are long. Bob turns, suddenly, into one of them, and disappears into the shadows.

They stop the car a couple of houses down, trying to figure out what's going on. Is DB going to break in? Is he a burglar as well? Should they call the cops? At the top of the driveway, a light goes on in a large brick house. They wait. Has Bob been caught? What could this mean? The light goes out. The garage door opens, and-- backing down the driveway to speed off in a cloud of dust-- Dirtbag Bob, in a sportcoat and a dark green Jaguar convertible.

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Spring 1916

The photo at left made me want to tell a story:

At dawn, in the narrow, damp confines of the trench, they waited. Some crouched on the fire step, some stood erect on the duckboards with one leg propped, leaning forward on their thighs. Others sat—or lay—in crumpled heaps. Some smoked, some scribbled hastily in grimy notebooks; one man cleaned his fingernails with a pocketknife. The lieutenant stared at his watch, a whistle clutched in his right hand.

Mud-caked, mud crusted, they waited there, with damp crotches and wet feet, stealing furtive glances at each other. At last, the lieutenant tensed, put whistle to lips…

The men nearest the lieutenant saw this, and rose if they were sitting. Like commuters on a train as it nears its destination, a wave of preparation rippled down the trench. Men gathered rifles, helmets, cleared throats, patted pockets.

The whistle blew.

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Bootstraps

At work, I often see people on the edges of society-- homeless, alcoholic, drug addicted, mentally ill, you get the idea. they frequently smell bad, look odd, act strange; these are people you'd ordinarily avoid. Sometimes I wonder, though: what if you woke up one morning as one of them? I mean that literally-- what if you woke up and found you had somehow changed places with one of them?

Now think about this: how long would it take you to get back to where you are right now? I mean all the way from "step 1: take a shower" to "step 10, 978: finish college, get job"? I don't know why I do this, but it's like a mental exercise. As far as these people have fallen, is it possible to climb back? Sometimes I really get into this, like "ok, so I need to get clean, I can go to the Salvation Army, then I need to find a job.......day labor? MacDonald's? Can I eventually get an apartment? Can I prove I finished high school or do I need to start working on a GED?

I figure it would take about fifteen years to go from random unfortunate homeless person to college grad. I know, I know: I need to get a life.

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