Interview with Cid (rhymes with “did”)
“I don’t think I have a plan anymore…"
We settle down at one of the favorite McDonalds cafés in the Edgewater area of Chicago to talk about what homelessness is like. Today, I am lucky to get to talk with Cid, a guy who has been “on the streets” for about 10 years. He tells me “I am a big fan of mild winters like this one.”
I have bought him a latte and fries to tell me “his story” and want to tell him about StreetSense and what we do. However, he already reads it as do a lot of the guys in the neighborhood where I know lots of people who are on the street, who used to be on the street, and who know others in challenging situations of one sort or another.
Cid has an interesting story. Although he was born in Chicago, he grew up in Los Angeles in a “rougher neighborhood than they have here.” He is 6’3” and wanted to be a professional football player. He is in decent shape but does not really work out, he says.
So it is time to ask him some questions. I start with, “What is the worst part of being on the streets?” He replies, “Aren’t you going to ask me why I’m homeless?” He seems surprised.
I answer, “No, I did not want to ask any wrong questions. Just tell me whatever you want to share with me—and with all of our readers around the world.”
He laughs, “Not too much pressure, right?!”
I answer, “No, no pressure.”
He looks around the place to see who is listening, then tells me the following story about being homeless in Chicago:
“Well, all kinds of people in this city are homeless. Mostly dudes. And most of them are just doing their own thing. A few are criminals, killers, robbers, and other assorted guys out to make trouble and f*ck things up for everybody else. They make trouble on the train when you’re trying to sleep, and they steal sh*t like mad from other dudes. So you gotta hide your phone and your cash and everything else. If you have a bag with you, you can’t put anything important in it. If you like to smoke weed or cigarettes, you can’t do it around any other dudes. If they smell it on you, you gotta lie and say you ran out. When I was first on the streets, I would give a dude a puff of my weed or give him a square if he asked me. But you can never do that… or you get a hundred guys trying to take all of it off you. If they see a full pack of squares? They will gang up on you and knock your a*s out, take the pack, and then fight each other til somebody wins it. Then it’s that guy’s turn to run, and he has to hide the pack. They will do this kinda sh*t all night long and then wonder why their a*s is so f*cking tired the next day. They will fall asleep standing up just like a horse hahaha!”
So I offer, “That is a good description of what goes on if you’re homeless on the train and the worst part.” He nodded in agreement. “So what is the best part of being homeless?”
He sits there a moment… looks around and then proceeds with,
“The best part is when you find a sponsor or some other people who will help you out on a regular basis… who always have your back… who will always give you something, even if it is something stupid…”
I wonder what that means. I ask him, “What is something stupid a guy might give you?”
He laughs, “No, not a guy—a girl. A chick will give you stuff on a regular basis if you are nice and a little flirty, like you say, ‘Wow you look great today and all dressed up!’ and “You’re gonna drive those guys crazy at the office today!’ and shake your head like you are just thinking what a day it’s gonna be for her.” He took a swig of his latte and went on, “You have to forget how you feel and what you are going through and focus on them and how they look and be nice to you so they will feel a little prettier and cooler when they go upstairs to get on the train… they might see you that night and give you a gift card or a sandwich on their way home from work…”
So I agree he is getting by, getting his sandwiches, and money, and stuff he needs. I ask, though, “But what is something stupid you don’t need?”
“Oh yeah,” he replies. “Stuff like hand warmers and gum… Sh*t you don’t want and can’t even f*cking trade for something else with buddies or other people on the street.” He laughs, “Yeah, what the f*ck I’m gonna do with gum?!” He kept laughing…
I agree, “Yeah, stupid stuff, I guess.”
Then I ask him a little more serious question. “What is your plan to get off the street? After all, a lot of people think the homeless just don’t care and don’t even want to find a place to go live… don’t really want an apartment because they just don’t care…”
He hesitates, and he answers, “I don’t think I have a plan anymore… For awhile I was trying to get a job at my brother-in-law’s store, but that didn’t work out… he got mad at me cuz of something I did and that was it… so I don’t know. I guess maybe when summer comes I will work on a plan, again, I guess…”
So I thank him for answering my questions with clear examples and tell him that will be helpful for people trying to understand life on the street better.
He starts laughing, “Nobody can understand it bro!” He shakes his head, and he goes on:
“There is no fu*king way to understand life on the street. It just is. It should not be! Why should people be living on the damn street? When we are in the richest country in the world! ‘Course Trump workin’ hard to destroy every good thing we got. Rights for Blacks, rights for women, all that stuff people worked hard to get. Died to get. Now he gonna f*ck the whole thing up! We could have millions more dumb f*ckers livin’ on the street soon! Tariffs and taxes and b*llshit! You think Trump cares? The mayor sayin’ we gotta help the homeless and the teenagers! But you gotta have a big bucket of gold to afford rent in this town! A big f*ckin’ bucket of gold!”
I sit there a minute, thinking about what he has just said.
But he goes on before I can respond, “A guy tried to give me a tent. What the f*ck I’m gonna do with a tent? I want a real place to live. I want a job. I don’t know where to start. I don’t wanna be homeless. People really think that?”
I shrug my shoulders. “Yes,” I respond. “They just don’t know better.”
“Sounds like those rich people the stupid ones!” He states. “Maybe they the ones who need to get a plan.”
I agree. “Yeah, I think so. I have been saying that. Most people do not know what it is like to sleep on the train. Or get shot on the train. Or have to ask people for money.”
He nods his head and drinks his latte.
“Thank you for telling me about your story and especially for sharing your opinion, which I will write down and share with our readers right away. People need to hear about all this,” I tell him.
Racing through my mind is the desire to scream, to try to help him map out a plan, to try to save him from getting killed on the train, or arrested for something asinine he might do like steal something in a store. I’ve gotta start getting some materials together to share with him, refer him to some people, see it through…
He says, “You are welcome.”
I smile at him, but I’m really trying to figure out what he can do, where he can go… places he can volunteer to build up a network, get some references, think of what kind of job he can get… should aim for and should ask about. He is so wrapped up in life on the train and avoiding people taking his cigarettes and of course every other issue and item that are part of the world of the homeless on the street. But the plan has to turn into finding HIS plan… forging an exit out of the world of being homeless. Being caught in that trap. Scheming and convincing. All of this needs to be done carefully, over time, and he will figure out I am worried about him and thinking about all of this the minute he reads this interview on the blog…
Instead of mentioning any of that, I just ask him “Would you like another latte? Or maybe some gum?”
He looks at me. “Keep it up, bro,” he warns me. “I can tell you where to put that gum.”
I assume the conversation is over, but I do get him another latte, and some more fries.