Feeling Dirty

Wednesday, 24 October, 2012

I began a story yesterday telling you about my beginnings of life on the street.  Today I want to tell you of my struggles to stay clean and civilized, which the cities don't make it easy to do.  At the moment I am situated in a small farming community about 15 miles outside of Sacto.  I must travel to the 'city' to get any social services, be it Roseville, Citrus Heights, or the big one ... Sacto.  Social Services include filing for General Assistance, which is a small stipend loaned to a person with no money  who meets certain qualifications set by the County of Sacramento. I will talk later about struggles with obtaining that in another story.
During my first week as a homeless person I was determined to remain clean above all other matters in my life.  I was not a cleanliness freak, I just like to be clean in the normal way that people generally do.  Thus, I prepared a little kit in a net bag that included things like; shampoo, hand soap, and a razor, and kept the bag handy for those occasions when I might find a desirable location to occupy while I cleaned up.  For the first three days I was satisfied with keeping my hands, face and nails clean, with a quick wash-up inside my truck, where I felt safe and ignored behind the lightly-smoked glass.  Sitting there in the driver's seat I would look around the area for anyone who may remark upon my actions while I surreptitiously performed my ablutions.  By the fifth day with no shower to be had, I found a set of bushes that quite nicely blocked the view of anyone who might chance by my hide-away on a busy street in Citrus Heights, and cleaned up a bit more thoroughly.  But, there is always someone around, even if you don't see them.  Other people like me, who are homeless, find bushes to be a safety magnet.  Abandoned buildings and the recesses behind them are ideal for a safe spot to stash belongings or to sleep the dark away while hidden from harm.  Suddenly, a man appeared from one of those unexpected recesses that I had so diligently looked for before I began the long process of washing from my water jug, while I hid behind the truck door and between the bushes.  He was a gentleman enough to turn around and go back the way he came when he realized what I was doing.  Even though I had been caught, and was mortified, the fact that I was once again CLEAN mattered more to me, and the day was brighter for it.  I realized that when people are in hospitals that they lose all privacy as well, and I tried to compare my situation with  theirs so that I may cope emotionally with what I had just done.  But, that afternoon, I decided that I must pick and choose my cleaning times and places more carefully in the future.  You are probably asking yourself why I, a civilized and sober woman would choose to clean herself up out in public versus using a shelter to do so.  That is a good question, and my answer to you is what I was told on the phone by an over-worked volunteer at a local women's shelter:  "Please call back tomorrow and we may have an opening for you, our showers are for residents only, I'm sorry and good luck." Click.  Yes, I called back, and I called other shelters too, with the same reply as the first exhausted volunteer.  Please remember that my resources are very limited, and gas prices were sky-rocketing for some unknown reason at that time so driving around to local shelters was out of the question.  Phone minutes are like gold to me, so wasting them feels like a crime.  I wasted many of those minutes in my desperation, anyway. 
The culmination of this sordid search for cleanliness was at a local public park on Antelope Drive, in Citrus Heights.  It was a quiet afternoon before children were released from their schools, and there were not many individuals about at this time, so I took it to mean that now was a golden opportunity to use the restroom for my bathing time.  I happily, and with much anticipation grabbed my cleaning kit and a towel and headed on in to a restroom stall where I made my self to home and hung a hook on the side partition, then situated my kit so that it was available and began to get really, really, clean. Damn it felt incredibly terrific.  I had a plastic container that I sat upon the toilet to use as a water basin and joyfully splashed and hummed while wiping the grime from my body.  Until a small girl came in to use the facilities.  I knew that she must wonder at the splashes of water on the floor. She could sense me hiding behind the partition, while I quietly paused in my actions, hoping that she would leave quickly.  But, little girls are a curious species.  Little girls are easily spooked.  Little girls usually do what their mommies and daddies tell them to do when they find an unusual situation in a public restroom in a public park.  Little girls go get their mommies and tell them about the stranger in the bathroom who was not acting normally.  Which, of course, is what happened.  By the time that Mommy arrived, with pit bull in tow ( I kid you not) I had washed my hair and was readying myself to depart the restroom.  What could I do at that moment but casually wave while I dried my hair with the towel and tell her what a beautiful dog she had. This mother, this surprised and protective mother proudly informed me that her dog was a "Blue Nose."  I could only agree.  It has now been 22 days since that wonderful and oh so cleansing 'tub' bath and I have yet to bathe again.  I could not face frightening another parent or child like that again. It was right, what the little girl did, and she made her mama proud by following directions she no doubt hears daily in kindergarten class.  But I am not a danger, even though I am a stranger.  I am just a woman who wanted to be clean for the first time in two weeks.