Why do homeless persons lounge about? Sip their coffee in the shade on an autumn day? Sit on a bench and daydream with a strawberry donut? Sleep on the bus? Recline in the park? Enjoy a brew on a sunny day? Sit under a tree and smoke a joint? Dip their feet in the lake with a rum and coke hidden in their water bottle? Nod off while reading a book in the library? Splurge on a chocolate chip croissant?
These people are looking for “creature comforts.” They battle hot weather and bright sunlight, rain, wind, cold, snow, and frostbite. They sometimes have to wait an hour for the bus to show up, and wait two hours for the store with the bathroom to open. And three hours for the pantry with the sandwiches to open. And four hours for the hot dinner at the church to be served.
The world of the homeless often centers on getting something that feels good. A hot cup of strong coffee. A warm bed at a cousin’s house once a month.
I have been talking to lots of people lately about the huge differences between two worlds right before everyone’s eyes: 1) the rough-and-tumble outdoor spots marked off by the unhoused, unshowered, uncombed masses wandering in circles looking for bathrooms and food and 2) the comfortable and lavish indoor dwellings full of hot showers, working microwaves, and warm beds enjoyed by the privileged few.
There is a huge divide between the two worlds. Ask anyone who has dealt with both worlds and they will tell you of a chasm—that is getting bigger and deeper every day—and how they are surprised how blind some people are to the divide.
Inside the dwelling, the homeless look like lunatics out there! Participants talk about the people “Out there!”
Outside the dwelling, people without a roof have opinions too! Participants talk about the people “Out here!”
The cultural bias is based on the dwelling, and both the hot-shower rich and the cold-soup poor embrace that as reality. The dwelling. The place where homeless people do not live. Where they do not bathe and do not cook the mac-and-cheese-mix they get from some of the pantries.
There are different theories as to why people, or at least some people, are in the condition known as homelessness. There is a brand new book called, “Homelessness is a Housing Problem: How Structural Problems Explain U.S. Patterns,” by Clayton Page Aldern and Gregg Colburn. The book is brilliant, and it tells us that the lack of affordable housing is pretty much the main driver of homelessness in all major American cities—at least the ones with a lot of homeless people (Homelessness Is a Housing Problem by Gregg Colburn, Clayton Page Aldern - Paperback - University of California Press (ucpress.edu)).
How much does a studio apartment in Chicago cost in 2022? $800? $900? How much does a one-bedroom cost? $1,000? $1,200? With central air conditioning $1,500? Add a dining room $1,700? Does it depend on the neighborhood? Proximity to bus and train? With parking nearby? With parking in the building $1,900? With security guard $2,200?
These are dwellings for one person, notice. What would the rent be for a couple with two children? Plus a dog? Plus a car? Plus a grandmother? Most readers would say, “I get it!” at this point.
So with rents completely out of reach for the poor, and with a little bit of cash once in a while, it is understandable why some money gets used for recreation.
One theme I hear in all the conversations I have—on a daily basis—with people on the street is that there is “no break from being homeless.” This means seven days a week, the unhoused are on duty. They are seeking funds (the old term is panhandling) or chilling out or looking through the job ads or babysitting for a sibling or looking through a dumpster for new clothing or grading papers or heading to a pantry or shelter or “place where they are handing out sack lunches and you can sign up for a free government phone.” The weather can always turn bad. The police can always be difficult. The passersby can always be cheap as hell.
Says one buddy who lives outdoors, “Having a shot of whisky helps dull the pain.” Referring to the life he leads on the street, he adds, “Nobody cares if I die out here, so I might as well enjoy life.”
Are the unroofed outdoor persons one sees ambling down the street with shopping carts and backpacks too complacent? Should they stop “enjoying life” so much and start finding a place to live?
My buddy went on to say, “I can’t waste the entire week looking for a place to live.” He explains he plays the game the best he can… but that he has to do other things and not just spend his whole life at the housing agencies. He puts the housing interviews and discussions “on his calendar” and jokes that he also has to go to very important places any given week: food pantries, laundromat, church, employment agency, assisted-living home to visit his mother, and school where he volunteers as a tutor.
This guy deserves a mocha latté and a blueberry turnover.
He says he is typical of the homeless—always busy, always helpful, always close to getting another boyscout badge. He laughs. “Life is so hard out here, I wouldn’t wish it on my own worst enemy,” he confides.
Just another guy looking for those creature comforts. Trying to find a job, trying to stay out of trouble, and trying to survive. He has goals that keep him busy—both short term and long term. This guy is doing what he can do get into a dwelling. As he says, he doesn’t want to waste money on a room or sleeping for $5 at a buddy’s place. He wants a real place to live, and he plans to keep looking for a “real job” as he says. He wants his own space. Safety. Comfort. Lots of comfort.
“If people knew how hard it is out here, they would give us a break,” he says.
Comfort creatures are everywhere. Just look outdoors.