2001-06-28 - 11:24 p.m.
he lived in a rathole of a house with 5 other kids. sometimes 6, oftentimes 7- depending on who was in jail at the time, or who had a girlfriend with a nicer place to sleep.
resident diets consisted mainly of taco bell. the only thing id ever seen anyone cook up in the kitchen (aside from the occasional dose of smack, and the one time kenny tried to make crystal meth) was a package of top ramen pork noodles. the fridge was a plethera of hot sauce packets, leftover rice & beans, and big gulp cups filled with mystery juice. beer was consumed before it even made it to the icebox, and empty cans peppered the front lawn. the kitchen floor. the empty swimming pool out back. supposedly they skated in it long ago... but by the time i saw it, it had become the on-site garbage heap.
most days when i went over there, a group of kids was sitting in the living room, watching mtv. im assuming it was a black box connection... though, i wouldnt be suprised if they had put mtv above 'food' and 'a front door that actually closed' on their priority list.
it was no frills living- he slept on a mattress on the floor. didnt even own sheets, just a sickly looking pillow that he swiped from the salvation army. i stayed there a few nights- despite the fact that common sense (and the maricopa county health department) would have advised me to do otherwise.
i was always one to complain about the hungry hungry hippos game of 'catch the american dream between your teeth'. money. material posessions... i shrugged off their importance. i could live frugally, i told myself. i could appreciate the finer things in life. i could shout out a big 'fuck you' to capitalist consumerism and america's obsession with white picket fences. and i would certainly never disassociate myself with someone just because they didnt have the coolest clothes, or the hottest ride, or sheets on their bed.
but after spending my fair share of time in his roach infested abode, i realized something: that i didnt like it there.
i didnt like waking up to the smell of burnt hair wafting in from kennys all-night meth cookouts. i didnt like the 20 year old flea-infested junkyard dogs that hobbled around in circles looking for a dropped bit of cheese quesadilla to nibble on. i didnt like stepping out of the shower and onto a layer of hair and dirt. i didnt like that the front door lacked a doorknob. i didnt like wondering who the kids were passed out on the couch each morning, and i certainly didnt like the swimming pool full of garbage out back.
i had to face the fact. i was a snob. a yuppie. a middle class princess used to sheets on my bed, food in my fridge, and water in my pool (even if it was green at times). i was accustomed to a certain level of cleanliness. a specific degree of safety. a more than modest amount of financial security.
and i realize that poordom has a way of making things modest. but how hard is it to sweep the gawdamn floor once in a while?
