Another Story About an Employed Homeless Man

He'd been sleeping in his van for a couple of weeks before I ventured a casual hello. (I'm careful about that; I don't want to meet and greet the person who later on plans to rob me or worse.) He seemed like a nice enough guy, he always had a pleasant smile on his face. Our first conversation revealed his intelligence, our second talk was more specific to his search for permanent employment. He had a few different skill sets: basic carpentry, knew a bit about fixing cars, had worked as an aide in a supported living community. Like that. I needed an oil change and we discussed where and when he could do that for me. I saved a few bucks for the oil and filter and payment for his work. His disability became apparent soon after he took my oil filter off and began calling out to me from under my engine block. "Can you hand me the...? Where is the...? I have to get the rest of my tools in my storage because I forgot the...we have to go back to the auto store to buy more of the..." An entire afternoon passed with me supervising in this manner. I am entirely unqualified for this kind of work. Don't know anything about oil changes. More hours went by. It was getting dark. He popped out now and then just to chat me up, or to slosh down a bottle of water. He was a great story teller, a natural comic. But I was exhausted from all the side work I was doing just to get through the original task: the oil change! We did finish it and remained friends. He was an honest and sincere individual who believed he would eventually find that perfect job. I began to doubt he would make it that far. Even though he called his temp agency religiously every morning he wasn't getting follow up work. "I think they're mad at me because I scared the [clients] kids. I was just trying to make 'em smile. His face was sad, then he brightened, "but I've got another gig cutting grass for a lady who lives close to my [relative in East Bay area]". He still had the support of his family but, my new friend admitted, it was a volatile situation. Old jealousies, past grievances and betrayals, it was hard on everyone when my homeless buddy spent too much time with his own people. And he was ashamed of what his life had become. He wouldn't accept help of any kind; he was fighting the good fight. I realized he had short-term memory problems when he couldn't find his keys, his phone, his shoes, any number of items that any of of us lose. We just don't lose them as often. It was exhausting to be around him for very long--he was very needy--I felt guilty when I started to avoid him. I suggested he apply for disability, or food stamps, or counseling, or any kind of help at all. He faded away one day. Don't know what happened to him. He's not in the system; I'm pretty sure about that.