It's obvious as to why I call them zombies, as they roam around aimlessly in a near comatose state, shuffling around with their tattered clothes, asking for change like it's brains. I've had my fair share of run-ins with said zombies. Living downtown is interesting because it's not just the speedbump hobo that you find sleeping on the sidewalk. They are a varied as a Whitman's Sampler. You've got your:
- Toothless Drunks
- Crackheads
- Lady Crackheads
- Recycling Collectors
- Veterans
- Handicapped in Wheelchairs
- Fake Handicapped, that somehow found a wheelchair to evoke pity, and uses his working legs to scoot around
- Loitering cat-callers
- Business zombies, trying to sell the wares they found in the dump
- Mumble cussers
- Half naked fat women
- Flashers (front and back)
- Soap Box zombies, the ones that stand on a corner and scream about non-sense
- Teenage runaways
- Calling Card Zombies, which is the zombie that has a gimmick, everyone knows his schtick, and he becomes like a local 4-block celebrity. For instance, we have one that we simply called "The Pirate Guy," as he wears a pirate hat and greets you with a "YARRR" or the Joker, who tries to get change from you by telling you the same two jokes, one of them racist.
- Cardboard signers, most of which tell you that either "God Loves You" or "Give Money or Weed"
Homeless dudes always know their dog breeds, too. Anyone that owns a dog knows that people always ask you what kind of dog you have. They usually guess wrong. I own a greyhound. I get a lot of "that's a Great Dane, Whippet, Italian Greyhound, Weimereiner..." But from not homeless guys. They will know straight away what dog she is, and yell it. I've seen them do it other people; owners of Basenji's, Rhodesian Ridgebacks, all the complicated ones. Once, one zombie yelled from across an intersection "THAT'S A GREYHOUND. WHY THAT GREYHOUND WEAR SHOES? HE CAN'T RUN IN THOSE SHOES!" (oh yeah, my dog wears shoes because the sidewalks are disgusting.)
We downtowners are like homeless anthropology majors.
I opened the side door of my building yesterday into a zombie that was standing there. He held the door open for me, and tried to go in,
"I'm just going in to see a friend."
"NO YOU'RE NOT....and even if you are, you have to go to the front and sign in." (I can't really discriminate, he could just be a super dirty hipster)
"She works during the day."
"Sure she does."
I gotta commend him for this quick, albeit terrible, response he came up with it pretty fast.
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I don't fear the homeless. However, living here has manifested a fear that I never had prior.
I'm really scared of walking down the street and a zombie grabs my boob.
That's it.
It's never happened. I've never heard of it happening. But it could.
Zombies don't give a fuck about anything. You think they'd give a shit if they traumatized a random stranger while they got a cheap (nay, free) thrill? No. Like the Honey Badger, they do not give a shit.
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| This picture sucks, but it gets the point across. Also, Googling "homeless" results only in sadness. |
