I was a little hesitant to write this, since I don’t want my employer to find out that I’m looking for another job. After some further consideration, however, I think it’s worth writing. Besides, there are only like 6 people who read these, so the odds of word getting back to my bosses are pretty slim. (Don’t tell anyone, BILL.)

Anyway, off we go.

I honestly have no idea how someone finds a job these days. I’m not saying I don’t know how to look for a job- I’m fully aware of the means at my disposal [CareerBuilder, Monster, Indeed, LinkedIn, Craigslist (if you’re looking for an axe-murderer position), The Ladders, etc.]. Also, I like how I just listed a bunch of different sites to apparently prove to you that I know how to look for a job. Like you care but YOU DON’T AND YOU NEVER DID THIS IS WHY I WANT FULL CUSTODY OF THE CHILDREN. And though these are all very useful methods for seeing what jobs are available, in my experience they have almost zero value when it comes to actually applying to those positions. Any job that’s posted online is likely to have hundreds if not thousands of qualified applicants, and I know for goddamned sure these companies aren’t employing someone to sift through all those applications. As a matter of fact, every time I’ve gotten a call from a company on CareerBuilder, it’s because they found my résumé and reached out, not the other way around.

Honestly, I prefer using Craigslist. A lot of the job postings on there are bullshit, but at least when I apply to one of those, I know my résumé is actually going to someone’s e-mail. Which is more than I can say for CareerBuilder; whenever I apply, I just picture my résumé turning into paper and landing on the desk of some overworked, grizzled old man wearing thick glasses and an accountant’s visor, sitting in an empty office, weeping and gnashing his teeth in frustration as paper piles up around him. And he occasionally looks to the heavens and, in a quavering voice weakened by years of howls of despair, cries out in vain: “Please stop. I just want to eat my sandwich and read my periodical!” But they never stop, and soon that man will be dead, and nobody will attend his funeral. Hey, maybe I could get THAT job!

I also strongly dislike any job application that makes me write an essay. I know that doesn’t make a lot of sense, since I love writing, but I love writing about the stuff that I love writing about. One application had me write what it means to be a member of a tribe, which, GUHHHHHH. And it wasn’t even for a writing position! Since when is a blue-book essay required to apply for an operations job? Why can’t I just send my résumé and my shitty, stock cover letter and be done with it? You’re not gonna read it anyway, so why make me waste my time?

It’s becoming more and more apparent to me that any company putting a listing on one of the aforementioned sites is doing so mainly to make you aware that they’re hiring, not to actually accept your application. If they like your résumé, they typically reach out to you, so there’s really no reason to spend your time applying for jobs on those sites. In actuality, your application really does nothing except get your hopes up that “This will be the company that calls back!” But they never do, and it’s awful. In the end, I keep coming back to that old adage that “It’s not what you know, it’s who you know,” and that couldn’t be more true. Every company that’s hired me has either reached out to me because they found my résumé online or because I know someone who got me an interview. That’s pretty much it.

But in the end, I’m still going to keep applying for new jobs, because I need to leave this one. So if you know of anything (not you, BILL), let me know. Will work for free cheap money.

Oh, also, a belated RIP to Lou Reed. “Don’t touch him, don’t touch him, stay away from him, he’s got a gun.” I was never a big Velvet Underground fan, but “The Gun” is such an awesome song. Plus, the album cover for “The Blue Mask” makes him look like a member of the Baseball Furies from “The Warriors,” and that’s just fantastic.

A quick disclaimer: I didn’t go to a gay bar just so I could go “DURR HURR LOOK AT ALL THESE GAYS LOL THEY HAVE A DIFFERENT SEXUAL ORIENTATION ROFLMAO”- that would be fucking stupid. Nor is the recounting of my experience meant to be mocking; it was just a really weird series of events, and I think it’s a worthwhile story.

Here’s what happened.

Last year (I’m not sure when, but during football season at some point), I was watching football at a bar with some friends and a couple of girls who had come with a friend of theirs, a gay man. We’ll call him Christian. Christian was getting kind of bored at the bar and wanted to meet up with some friends at a gay sports bar called The Locker Room. Since it was a relatively boring slate of games and we were all having a good time, my friends and I decided to tag along.

We hopped in a cab and headed for The Locker Room, but upon our arrival, I was displeased with what I saw. Not because it was a gay bar, mind you- the place was fucking packed. Anyone who knows me knows how little I enjoy being in crowded bars, so I wasn’t looking forward to this. At any rate, we’d come this far, so we figured we’d head inside.

After trying to maneuver my way through the throngs of people for about 10 minutes, one of the girls suggested we go downstairs, where it would be quieter. More intimate. (FORESHADOWING!) We headed downstairs, and she was right- the basement was much more laid-back. All the TVs were playing the Packers game (whether or not that was intentional, I’m not sure), and I settled into a chair to watch. After a few minutes, I decided I had to go to the bathroom; luckily, there was one right by the downstairs bar.

I headed for the bathroom and started to push open the door, but before I could get it open, the weight of an entire human (possibly two) slammed against the door, making entry impossible. And even if I had managed to get in, that would have been an awkward piss. “Hey,” I thought to myself, “it happens- people get it on in bars all the time.” Which is absolute insanity. Here I am in a skeevy gay bar called The Locker Room, of all stereotypes, I’ve just come within a pubic hair of walking in on two men having sex in a bar bathroom, and all I can think is “Nope, nothing to see here, just some regular folks doing regular things.” If it had happened in a non-gay-bar setting, I would have informed the bartender, called the local constabulary, and generally made a way bigger deal out of it, but because I was in a gay bar, I didn’t. I think it’s because I was trying to be progressive and liberal and all that shit, but upon further review, fuck that. Not because of who was doing it, but because of the action itself. Who the fuck has sex in a bar bathroom? And why did my reaction to something happening change because of where it occurred, turning me into the most polite, unassuming person who’s ever lived? It’s weird.

Anyway…

Realizing that those two lovebirds were probably gonna be a while (I hope! AMIRITE LADIES/FELLAS?!), I headed for the bathroom upstairs. The first thing I noticed was that the bathroom was unbelievably crowded- people were waiting for urinals 3 or 4 deep in line, like it was a fucking bathroom at Wrigley Field. I got to the front of the line and realized that the urinals (no stalls, natch) were waaaaay too close together. I’m a relatively broad-shouldered (read: fat) guy, so that was a problem. I don’t like bumping into people at regular urinals, but in a packed bathroom at a gay bar? Things could get dicey. So I shifted my weight a little bit to get better balance, and in doing so, I accidentally (ACCIDENTALLY) lightly bumped into the guy next to me.

Oh, dear.

The guy turned and gave me the creepiest look, and I saw his eyes travel from my face allllll the way down to my penis, which by then had retracted inside of my body out of sheer panic. I haven’t gotten stage fright since middle school, but it returned with a vengeance at that moment. Which was terrible timing, because then all I could think to myself was “He’s gonna think I’m just in here to look at some dicks. OH GOD NOW I HAVE TO BUY HIM A DRINK.”

I stood at the urinal for what seemed like an eternity, finally doing my business and turning to leave. I washed my hands, and look up to see that same guy leering at me; thinking he needs a paper towel to dry his hands or something, I turn around and see no paper towel holder. I turn back around and…yep, he was just leering at me. I put my head down and departed the bathroom, but not before having to shrug that same guy’s hand off my shoulder, since it had slyly made its way to my body. Soon after, we left.

I don’t think I’ll be returning.

For those of you who don’t live in a major city and aren’t constantly beset by the demands of the homeless (or “housing deficient”), here’s a quick primer on the main classes of bums:

1. The Meek
Characteristics: A shy, almost embarrassed approach- The Meek will typically speak to you quietly and in relative privacy, as though they’re ashamed to be overheard asking for money. They typically don’t have much in the way of stories or a reason for their hard times.
Risk Factor: Extremely low. Feel free to berate or roughly brush them aside; bonus points if you project your own fears and anger upon them. They’re like a stress ball made out of sinew and bone.

2. The Grizzled Veteran
Characteristics: Slightly more aggressive, but not pushy, The Grizzled Veterans are always armed with a good story or a joke designed to lower your guard. They typically have rebuttals up their sleeves for any excuses, so keep your wits about you.
Risk Factor: Low. Theirs is a volume industry, so they’re almost as willing to end the exchange as you are. Usually, a “Sorry, I don’t have anything” and a helpless shrug are enough to shake them off. Take care to avoid seeming too sympathetic, though, as the Grizzled Veteran may sense weakness and refuse to release you, their quarry, until you’ve given them money.

3. The Loudmouth
Characteristics: A raised voice, occasionally engaged in song or loudly telling their tales of woe, the better to attract multiple donations in one fell swoop. The Loudmouth is usually more visibly homeless than The Meek or The Grizzled Veteran, who tend to make themselves as presentable as possible in order to avoid being marked as panhandlers on sight.
Risk Factor: Moderate. Some Loudmouths appear to have some sort of mental imbalance, so saying “No” is a risky proposition; The Loudmouth may simply move on, or they may become angry and harass you until you give them money. Choose your course at your own peril.

4. The Fisher
Characteristics: Usually inert, sitting outside of storefronts with a simple sign asking for money. Oftentimes, they are reading, people-watching or even asleep, which makes avoidance much simpler. They are by far the most considerate of the panhandling homeless population. By presenting me with the option to give them money rather than a request or a demand, I give them money when I can, simply because I’m not being put on the spot to do so. Also, they tend to have creative signs, and I value creativity.
Risk Factor: Nil. The Fisher rarely verbally requests money, preferring instead to let their sign do the talking for them.

5. The Stereotype
Characteristics: Strong urine smell, erratic behavior, aggressive demeanor. The Stereotype is the embodiment of the “crazy homeless person” commonly featured in movies and television.
Risk Factor: Extremely high. Avoid at all costs, taking care to avoid eye contact, as often that is all The Stereotype needs to initiate an interaction which may or may not end in violence.

There are a few more categories (mother with child, homeless person with a pet, etc.), but you get the idea. Anyway…

I was standing in line at Dunkin’ Donuts a little while ago when a homeless man came into the…store? Restaurant? What’s the proper term for an individual Dunkin’ Donuts? I don’t know. Anyway, he came into the place and started making his rounds, quietly and politely asking people for money; just as quietly and politely, every single person he asked demurred. I was one of those people.

I immediately felt badly for saying no, especially since I had money in my wallet to give him. Plus, I was kind of a dick about it- I didn’t yell at him or anything, but I was sort of dismissive. But then I started thinking: Why do I feel badly for not giving my money to someone just because they ask politely? Where in the social contract does it state that, because I have some cash in my wallet, I should either give it to someone or feel like an asshole for not doing so? That’s some heavy bullshit.

Another thing I started to wonder was, how does that guy (or any homeless person) feel about having to beg for money? Granted, there’s no uniform thought process for all the world’s homeless, so in this case, let’s focus on the fellow at Dunkin’ Donuts. Does he feel ashamed and embarrassed to ask strangers for money? Or has a survival instinct kicked in and feeling shame is no longer an option for him? It’s the same thing I wonder when I see a homeless person walk by pay phones and parking meters and check them all for change. Obviously, the only people who would do that are the homeless (and possibly little children); is it worth the 25 cents you might find to essentially out yourself as a homeless person? Or, again, do they just reach a point where they don’t give a shit what anybody else thinks?

One night, I was getting off the train and some big black guy asked me for money. (It doesn’t matter that he was black, but…it does.) He started telling me about how he was just released from prison and needed a place to stay, but then, he didn’t ask me for any money. So I had to have this exchange:

Me: So…what do you need?
Him: [meaningful look]
Me: …Are you asking me for a place to stay?
Him (realizing that was a weird request and that this exchange is going downhill quickly): Nah, nah…do you have any money?

So I gave him a couple of bucks. If he really was just released from prison, maybe that couple of dollars would help him get back on his feet, thus reducing the odds of a repeat offense on his part. I’m just now realizing how insanely stupid that logic is. The worst part, though, was the fact that after I gave him the money, he didn’t even thank me. Look, I know $2 isn’t a princely sum, but still, man: I gave you money for doing ABSOLUTELY NOTHING. You didn’t tell me a joke, you weren’t playing an instrument, and you didn’t even have a particularly good story as to why you needed the money. I thought briefly about asking him for the money back because he was such an ingrate about it, but…you know, big black guy.

The one thing I usually don’t do, though, is ignore someone who’s asking for money (unless it’s a Stereotype. I’m polite, not a fucking idiot.) I think people who do that are the biggest pieces of shit on the planet. “NO I won’t look up from my phone, you fetid pile of street trash! YOU CEASED TO EXIST IN MY EYES THE DAY YOU GOT EVICTED.” Even if I don’t give them money, the fact that they’re reduced to asking should at least warrant a human interaction with them. It literally costs you nothing, and they deserve that much. (Important note: I’m not talking about the people who get accosted late at night on an abandoned street. Obviously, safety comes first. I’m talking about the people who are in absolutely zero danger and just don’t want to acknowledge someone below their social station. That could be you someday, you know. Try a little fucking empathy.)

Do I think I’m a better person for occasionally giving money to the homeless? Absolutely not. I’m giving them, like, a dollar or two, not a spot on my lease. Also, I don’t do anything else to help the homeless- I don’t volunteer at a shelter, I don’t participate in any outreach programs, I don’t buy them medicine. It’s really as much for the benefit of my own ego as it is for the benefit of the homeless. I’m just paying a dollar or two for the temporary self-satisfaction I get from doing it, and then I go right back to ignoring them. Which probably makes me more of a piece of shit than I’m willing to consider.

At any rate, I’m sure being homeless sucks, and I do wish it weren’t such an epidemic in this country. But for now, I’ll just shove a dollar or two once in a while at the problem and hope it goes away on its own.