He responded that I couldn’t just sit on the toilet. Apparently, it frightens people too much.
Much to my surprise, I was allowed to walk from the bathroom a free man. The Western Union was not going to open until 10, so my challenge was to exist in the casino for almost an hour without getting the boot for not spending money. I sat in front of a slot machine and punched at buttons while trying to stare attentively at the screen. I counted the minutes in my head and tried not to look as wasted as I felt. I hoped that when the Western Union opened I would be coherent enough to communicate intelligibly with the agent. The minutes passed and I kept stabbing stupidly at the slot machine buttons.
With legs filled with cement and acid, I staggered to the gated booth that I hoped might hold my salvation. The woman behind the counter looked at me and shook her head. “We don’t open until 10.” I looked at the clock on the wall behind her and it said 10:07. In a moment of blind and irrational panic, I wondered if she meant 10 PM rather than 10 AM. I watched her walk back and forth shuffling papers and stapling things and looking busy for the next few minutes. Finally, with the mercy of Mother Mary herself, this stupid yet wonderful lady asked me for my business, and I could have wept with joy.
I got enough money for a motel room, where I would wait until my sister (who — thank the love of Christ — lives in a small town a few hours away) could come and pick me up. It is with no shame I admit that without the loving assistance of my family, I might well have died on the streets of Sin City. For the record, I am 31 years old and in excellent physical shape — I don’t smoke or drink, I eat a healthy diet, and I’ve been a devoted marathon runner for the last 17 years. I knew that Vegas was a tough place to be homeless, but my God — less than 36 hours, and I was at death’s door and crying to my mammy and pappy for help.
Going into the experiment, I had been communicating with a reporter for the Las Vegas Sun newspaper named Tim Pratt. When he learned of my experiment’s premature and pathetic end, Pratt insisted that it might still make for a good story. After all, the reason I almost died is because I had no money, minimal resources, and was trapped in a viciously hot climate. In other words, I was in EXACTLY the same boat as the approximately 12,000 homeless human beings who live in Las Vegas year round. 36 hours, and I was almost dead. Imagine trying 36 days, or 36 weeks, or 36 months, as many have.
As an interesting footnote, Pratt informed me that roughly 40 percent of all homeless in Vegas have no valid ID whatsoever. This prevents them from getting work and even receiving many essential services. I experienced the horror of this first hand — I lost my birth certificate in Vegas, and while trying to get some temporary work while staying with my sister in Arizona, I found that no one would hire me, since I had only one form of ID. I don’t casually use the term “police state” to describe America, but the first rule of any police state is, don’t go anywhere without your papers.
Synchronistically, as I write this, I am a couple of days from returning to Vegas under much happier circumstances, to attend a scientific conference. It is with little fondness that I remember my hellish two days on the city’s unforgiving streets. But I would give
anything to again encounter that lanky crazy fellow with the funny, sad, and oh-so-true axiom on his T-shirt.
“This is not the life I ordered.”
It’s not the one I ordered either. But I have to believe that my order still matters. Self-discovery number whatever on my homeless journey: our choices ALWAYS matter. No matter how bleak or hopeless or unforgiving our circumstances, there must be meaning in choosing wisely rather than poorly. Alternatively, life is truly without purpose and God a sadistic madman. Our choices have to matter. Always. In the gutter, on a battlefield, right up to the moment of death.
If nothing else, I want my order to be a true one. I no longer ask for a “better life” — no force in the universe exists that can provide it for us. Rather, I want the ability to choose correctly, now and forever. Sanity. Rationality. Integrity. Love. These are the gifts I want for myself, because they ARE the road to a better life. In this moment, this is the life I order.
Michael Goodspeed can be contacted at gspeed2000@gmail.com
http://www.bestcyrano.org/THOMASPAINE/
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