After my several expeditions to the local Goodwill, I felt a sense of accomplishment from it all, as odd as it sounds. I don't think people should feel good about themselves when they successfully steal an entire business-like outfit from a store, but I didn't really have much to be proud of these days. Okay, well, enough with the wallowing in self-pity.

So once I got my ensemble together, I dug through a dumpster near a shopping center and found an old rusty pair of scissors to cut my hair. It was so matted by this point, that I knew even with a snazzy new suit, nothing would be able to hide the fact that I had been living outside for the past several months. Once I cut my hair, I used the water from the sink to mess it up a little and hide the unevenness of my new 'do'. I proceeded down the street feeling like a new man. I consciously held my head up high to give the illusion that I was completely sure of myself. As I walked into the cafe a couple blocks down from the dumpster I found the scissors in, I somehow felt that I could get the job if I was up front with them. I had no current address because I was, in fact, homeless. I would tell them about my struggles in the past. I would tell them just how passionate and enthused I was about having a job, even if it only promised 2 hours a week and paid minimum wage. I just needed some hope at this point. With my new plan in mind, I stopped at the counter and rang the little bell that summons a worker from the back. Almost immediately, the tall, slender woman from the park came out from the back of the store and greeted me. I lost all confidence thinking about how impossible it was for me to talk to her that day. What made me think I could do it now? She was radiant. Her dark hair was pulled back and she had flour on her hands and apron. "Forgive me," she said as she moved a piece of hair from her eyes, "I was baking more cookies when you rang, and I'm a mess." She laughed at herself and put her hand on her forehead, causing a white, powdery handprint to be left there for the rest of the afternoon. I tried to talk, but I couldn't. I just looked at the floor and mumbled, "It's okay," which I followed with a nervous laugh. GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER was all I could think to myself. I thought of my mother encouraging me to do things and how much she would believe in me. "What would you like?", said the lady with striking blue eyes. "I-uh...I'm.." I paused and took a deep breath and cleared my throat. "I'm Bandy...I'm here to apply for any openings you might have." She looked at me for a moment and squinted her eyes. "Do I know you?" she asked curiously. "Yes", I answered almost too suddenly. I began to think about whether or not I should tell her I was the homeless man from the park. That was my plan as I first entered, but that's no good now. It all changed as soon as I saw her. I continued with saying "of course you do! I'm your newest employee!" I couldn't tell, at this point, whether I was trying harder to convince her or myself that I had potential, but it worked. She smiled, threw her head back in laughter, and threw me an apron. "Well, lets get started", she said as she lead me to the kitchen, "By the way, my name is Yolanda".

It was around this time in my life that I met Yolanda.

I was sleeping on a park bench one day when I awoke to a wet sensation on my face. Slightly aroused and startled, I awoke to find a large collie licking the right side of my face. I jolted up and looked around to look for an owner or any person who looked like they'd be in search of a lost dog. It was just then that a tall, slender, dark-haired woman came over to me and apologized for her dog getting loose. I barely heard a word she said because I was immediately drawn into her piercing blue eyes which were brighter than the afternoon sky. I had never seen anything like her. The beauty that she so effortlessly radiated was beyond magical. I eventually muttered something that I thought sounded like, "No big deal". My mind raced to find something I could say to keep her here, but before I knew it, she was walking away with her dog in the direction she came from.

I didn't sleep much the next two nights. I just thought of how I could possibly see that woman again. I walked around town half hoping to run into her, half hoping to find a place that was hiring and wouldn't mind handing an application to a straggly homeless man. It was kind of a horrible cycle. I had to buy clothes and clean myself up before I could go job hunting; however, I had no money to buy clothes and clean myself up since I had no job. I got turned down at virtually every place I went to.

I forgot to mention that now I'm in Denver, Colorado. So I decided that the only way to get presentable clothes was to panhandle. I picked a spot near Benedict Fountain and presented people with the following statement. "Hi, my name is Bandy and I need to be honest with you. I'm terribly down on my luck and need a few dollars to purchase clothes for a job interview. Any assistance would be greatly appreciated." I then put on the sad puppy look and locked into their eyes while squeezing out a salty tear. Within a few hours I collected $25 dollars, enough to buy a dress shirt, nice pants, shoes and a belt from Goodwill.

So with my wad of cash in pocket I started the long walk up Colfax Avenue towards Goodwill. By the time I got there, it was closed. I always find myself just missing the boat in life. I'm a terrible planner and find it difficult to think rationally when there is something I want. Having more money at that moment since working at the school, I felt the urge to spend a little. I wasn't sure what to buy until I walked past a small neon tube sign hanging outside a rotting wooden building. I entered into a smokey room with a single incandescent bulb hanging by a cord from the ceiling. I promised myself before I entered that I would only have a beer and some fries, but like my Dad, once I start drinking I can't stop. Four beers and three shots of whiskey later, I flashed back to consciousness as I was being thrown horizontally out the side door. I landed on my cheek and was knocked out for what seems like a minute. When I came to, I attempted to shut my mouth and was shocked when my teeth wouldn't line up like they were supposed to. A tremendous pain rushed to my skull. My jaw was dislocated and I was the only one that could put it back in place. At this point I was in shock. I reached in my mouth and pinched my lower molars between my my thumb and pointer finger on each side. I counted to three and pushed with all my might to set my jaw back back in alignment. I heard a loud pop as the upper jaw grinded back in place below my right ear. Opening and closing my mouth made a melody of pops, cracks, and clicking noises. I walked behind the bar dumpster and passed out in exhaustion, drunkenness, and pain.

The next day I woke up in the most excruciating pain. I couldn't even open my mouth wide enough to eat a piece of sliced bread. I set off towards the soup kitchen to get the usual midday meal. Lucky for me they were serving my favorite, lentil and onion soup. My mood improved after a meal and I took off down the street for a stroll. Along the way, I saw a strap hanging out a trashcan on the street. On closer inspection, it was an orange Jansport backpack in only slightly worn condition. I took the bag and put my arms through it. It fit perfectly. My mouth and cheeks started raising into a smile. It felt like a passerby hit me square in the face with a sledgehammer. I later read that a jaw dislocation and a broken collar bone are the two most painful injuries.

During the next week, I frequented Goodwill stealing each item one at a time, secretly stuffing them in my new backpack, inside the dressing room. I tried a few times to beg for money by the fountain, but it was hard to talk and people stayed away from me because of the wound on my cheek.

Bandy early years

To sum up my last post, my father was an alcoholic and my parents died when I was a teen. My life is far from privileged and I've been through some trying times. I am now 43 years old and I'm homeless in Salt Lake City. My reason for writing this blog is because sometimes I get a little lonely and finding someone willing to listen is difficult. When I try to talk to people, they ignore me or curse at me and call me names.

Back to my story.

I am now 19 years old and still living in the same apartment in Cuyahoga Falls, Ohio. My job as the assistant janitor at Cuyahoga High was going okay. It was a rather warm day for early March and I was satisfied from my lunch of pepperoni and American cheese. I was sent to fix a clogged toilet at the auditorium which is located in a separate building next to the school. This single occupancy bathroom at the back of the auditorium is rarely used except by teachers during assemblies and members of the chorus that practice during 4th period. The person that dropped off a load of this caliber, big enough to make a Roto-Rooter sputter, was probably one of male tenors.

I rolled up my sleeves and made any necessary precautions to prevent a splash back. This was a big bad monster turd and I was determined to conquer it in battle. My plunger as my lance with a firm grip and a clear mind I gave my first attempt at basic combat. I tried to remove the blockage with no luck. I pictured the Knight in the story my Mom used to tell me before bedtime. He was the greatest horseback rider in all of Spain. A bright idea flashed into my mind. I felt the need to mount my chocolate-filled porcelain steed, similar to the Indians that can ride a horse standing on the saddle. Now on top of the seat staring down at my fate and freedom, I raised the rubber ended stick over my head and brought it crashing down with all my might... this was a mistake. The plunger broke a hole in the front of the toilet along with breaking the value that brings water in to the bowl. Sewage was spraying in air akin to an indoor geyser. I desperately tried to stop the flow until I was up to my shins in dirty liquid. The stench in this small bathroom was worse than my Dad's breath. Because I broke the toilet they fired me on the spot. I never received my last pay check from Cuyahoga High. My landlord kicked me out immediately when I couldn't pay rent. Lets just say that tenant rights were basically non-existent in 1966.


Now I am homeless again and on the road because I had my fill of Ohio. My library computer time is almost up.

Here is a poem I have been working on.

Bandy kept going
One day bruises will heal,
a simple pat on my back
Can I feel
A sincere compliment
all I need
Will I freeze tonight