Somebody has made the horrible mistake of giving the neighborhood kids a recorder…and I don’t mean a tape recorder, I mean the terrible wooden clarinet looking thing that one blows into to produce sound. The kind of recorder that is now passed out in droves to small children as they line up in groups and play Hot Cross Buns or something easy. Only the kids two houses down aren’t playing the recorder they’re painfully blowing in and out of it and producing a sound similiar to a canary being squeezed repeatedly and painfully.
This morning, at eight o’clock, I briskly walked the four blocks to my new work from the bus stop…as I approached our parking lot I saw a huge mass of what appeared to be tarps and blankets piled against our front door. My first thought was that whoever closed last night was unable to officially put the party rental stuff away and left it in a disheveled heep outside. “What IS all that?” I thought to myself as I approached, squinting to make out the folds and creases of fabric, and then I totally and completely gasped: It was a sleeping man. I’m sure many of you predicted this before I wrote it, but I was totally and utterly shocked. I was in a quandry: Do I wake him up? What if he’s surly and mad in the morning? Do I call the non-emergency police number and ask them to wake him up for me? Should I call Josh? Do I ask someone walking by if they wouldn’t mind helping me wake this guy up? I decided to call my boss on her cell phone. I took a few steps back, just to give us some distance, and I fumbled forever trying to find her number. Of course, she didn’t pick up, and I was stuck wondering what was the next step. Luckily, the blankets rustled and started moving and the guy woke up. I cautiously approached, just when the man was wiping his eyes and yawning.
“I have to open the store,” I said lamely.
“Oh,” the homless man said, “I usually wake up when I hear cars…”
“Well, I take the bus,” I explained, and then I generously offered, “I’ll be here opening up at eight every morning.”
The guy nooded amicably and started shuffling around, “Well what are you waiting for?” he said.
“Uh, I’m waiting for you,” I realized I was staring.
“Oh, well, here,” He moved his feet out of the way, “You might as well go in and open up while I clear out.”
I gingerly stepped over his sleeping bag and quickly unlocked the front door. While I mopped the studios, I kept an eye at the front door and noticed that it took a good fifteen minutes for the man to fold up all his gear and leave. Overall, he wasn’t belligerant, but the incident made me feel weird. Turns out, he regularly sleeps in front of our door, he’s just usually out by seven according to the owners. When I told Josh about this he reminded me, “Well, you were the one who wanted to move back to the city…”