I had zero internet yesterday. I thought it was my phone but after clearing cache and restarting, nothing loaded. After my laptop gave me the same results, I rebooted my router but I was fucked—no internet. It wasn’t until I called my ISP that I learned I’d capped my date.
“And when do I reset?” I was concerned about mt my WFH job.
“Midnight tonight,” the CSR told me.
“I can deal without internet for a day,” I responded, knowing my phone could carry me for a day.
Sixty-two years old, I should be selling the various houses I’ve owned but here I am, balancing my phone against wifi.
To finish what I wrote about here and here, and not IRT because that’s what I wrote then and here I am now….
I got underwear, socks, dress shirts, ties, shoes…. CASS had a huge closet for me to grab what I thought I need for the kinds of jobs I was looking for, the types of positions that weren’t looking for someone who wasn’t homeless or living in a recovery community.
The jaws dropping during an interview with the state for an instructional designer position was almost comical if it wasn’t so sad. I more than met the requirements for the position but the fact that I was homeless was too much for their committee to handle. I watched the temperature in the room change when I tried to explain being homeless.
In spite of ties, slacks, a coat, I got a job driving a cab, seemingly at the best time possible. Green Prius cabs used to be all over the valley and I could pull in $500-1000 a week (before expenses—gas, car washes, fast food on the fly) but they’re gone. BITD, there was money to be made driving a cab.
It was about the moment when I couldn’t make any money driving a cab when I met Shari.
At the time, my boss (who had a fleet of cabs and several drivers good with paying $10 a day for a lease than what the company charged), pled with me to drive, waiving his lease—he needed drivers. Unfortunately, no one was making any money, ride-share drivers taking all the customers from cabs. It was a good time to hook up with someone willing to just let me write and didn’t need or want any income from me.
Oh man—now I need to write about that shit. Tomorrow?