April 20, 2010

Welcome Homeless

All right, so I know I JUST got finished saying how I'm actually NOT the kind of idiot that routinely misplaces his keys; I actually thought I was getting more responsible. Exhibit A: I haven't lost anything of value since I've been in Taiwan (except my dignity on various occasions), this including keys, passport, I.D., phone, wallet, scooter, or my Barry Sanders rookie card that constitutes my 401K retirement plan. Exhibit B: I haven't ONCE slept through a class, which is phenomenal considering in college I retook the SAME course THREE times because they only time I could ever get into it was 9:00 a.m. and, for the love of God, do they REALLY think a 19 year-old kid is going to be awake any earlier than 11:00? Exhibit C: I actually (brace yourself) sort of follow through on stuff now. I mean, not everything, but I used to have more flakes than Tony the Tiger. (rimshot) OH!

So yeah, things have been going well, and I seemed to be slowly progressing toward that foreign land of responsibility that some might call "adulthood" but I just refer to as "I'm tired of people giving me a hard time because I keep screwing up so I'm trying to get my shit together-hood". Smooth sailing. That is, until this last weekend.

These are too stupid NOT to tell.

Event #1:

So, as per Thursday routine, Marc and I go down to Mr. Sevens pub and play some 80's hits on acoustic guitars for the regulars (I realize no one back home knows of this, but I will soon blog about it so you can say, with confidence, that Mr. Sevens is a terrible name for a bar). It had been raining all day, and though the precipitation had lazily tapered off to a light drizzle, the temperature had dropped to around 50 - unusually cold for Taiwan, and worthy of hoodies and jackets. We played until about 2, then (although I had to teach at 9 the next day) continued to "hang out" (which is code for "drink White Russians and learn Chinese profanity from the locals") until 4. God only knows what inspired me to think this was a good idea.

At 4-ish I decide to call it quits, and with my buzz nearly gone I scootered the short distance back home to my apartment, squinting my eyes against the cold and the mist. Safe at home, I went up to the 7th floor and realized immediately that my "security door" was closed. [the security door is just a giant metal door on the OUTSIDE of the normal door]. Strange, I never close my security door, and I don't even have the key so I most CERTAINLY would never loc....oh hell. I yanked and I pulled and I twisted. Nothing. Who would be playing such a mean trick on me? WHY?!?! Is it because I sometimes watch old "Scrubs" episodes too loud on my computer at 1 a.m.??? I'm sorry, I'll never do it again, I swear.

So, after a brief attempt at problem solving - which my faculty for had also, apparently, been drinking - I decided my best option was to....call a friend? No. Too easy and logical. Oh, I know! I'll camp out against my stupid self-locking security door like a homeless person. Yeah...that's what I'll do.

Cut to me, 2 hours later, after shivering and passing in and out of florescent consciousness. One of my neighbors had probably left for work - I can't imagine WHAT they thought of this creepy white homeless guy - and the sound had woken me up. I tried to collect myself, tested the door again. Still nothing. Damnit. I turned around to go (I don't know where I was going to go exactly), and was suddenly overtaken by a fit of rage. I whirled, Street Fighter II style, and flying knee-kicked the metal security door.

With a click, It opened....

And just in time for me to start getting ready for school.

Event # 2:

"Tim-Tom, wake up. We're leaving in 10". What? Where I am? Why is the sun shouting? I roll out of bed and realize that we had made it back to the hostel. Hm. The last thing I remember was eating 7-11 rice that, judging by the feeling of my tongue, was actually ON fire. In the state I was in, I probably would've eaten the flaming molten-rice off the pavement.

Out the door in a hurry, more sight-seeing in Taichung (more on this as well). About halfway through the day I realize that I no longer, in fact, possess my keys. Awesome. Oh wait, I know where they are...sitting right where I left them the night BEFORE so I wouldn't lose them at the club. I'm an idiot. Call Trey. "Sure man, I'll bring em back up to Hsinchu when I come home around 9". Cool, thanks Trey. We make it home, but not before my phone dies rendering me unable to communicate with anyone, and in a country where I am unable to communicate with anyone this can be a problem as far as problems go.

We get back early, around 7, and I drag my hungover feet around town for a little while to kill time until Trey arrives at 9. At 8:30, I go and sit outside the exit to the station, undoubtedly looking haggard and ready to sleep. Nine o'clock comes and goes, as do thousands of Asians, through the exit carousel and out into the night. No Trey though. And no keys. No scooter key. No house key. And no phone to call and politely ask "Where the hell are you, dude?"

I sit on the sidewalk until 11:30. The Asian train station workers are obviously concerned. My ipod has since died and, though my headphones are in as a disguise, I can hear them mumbling in Chinese and sending sideways glances at me. "Is he going to sleep here?" "Doesn't he teach my son?? What is he doing, trying to score drugs???" Finally, the digital marquee is blank, which I assume means no more trains. I surrender, and begin walking to the nearest 24-hour McDonalds, where I will try to sleep until I have to get up and work in the same scummy traveling clothes that I have been wearing all weekend. This will NOT be a fun day.

Luckily, though, the story has a happy ending. On my way to my McHostel I happened to pass an all-night internet cafe, and after figuring out how to pay (50 cents an hour...nice) get on The Facebook and start frantically messaging anyone and everyone. Denise, my dear savior, agrees to come get me and I traded a McBooth mattress for my familiar place on the girls' couch. Thank Goodness for good friends. I totally owe her. And Trey eventually got me my keys, so I eventually go to return to my home. Eventually.


So, in summary, I'm dumb. That said, my experience also affirms my theory that everything works out in the end, even if the getting there kinda sucks. It ALSO affirms my theory that actually being homeless would not be NEARLY as fun as everyone has led me to believe. I thought it was like a party with fingerless gloves....not so. I guess it's time to rethink my future occupational choices. I'll get back to you when I find something with more perks but which still doesn't require me to, you know, do anything.

It's like looking into the future. Eerie.


  1. A truely irresponsible person would not have such cool handwriting and probably could not even spell the word. The only difference between you and the rest of us is that you hang it all out there. What a writer! What a writer. So glad you are baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaak!

  2. i was pretty surprised you spelled it right, but then i realized you just used dictionary.com

    why do you look bald?