Homeless-Lite

 

  I've seen the homeless sleeping rough on big city streets. I can't imagine what it would be like to live like that. Yet they've figured it out. They know where the free stuff is and where the cops won't bother them.

  In one area I envy them: their freedom from stuff. The older I get, the more I am sandbagged by my possessions. I've helped to go through my parent’s possessions after they died and more recently through my in-law's stuff. In both cases, I was amazed at the amount of stuff that was carried from the rooms of their house to a central disbursement area. 

  I was also chastened by the difficulty in getting rid of all this stuff. Family members shared the good things. The public was invited to a sale and to a give-away of what didn’t sell. Then a dumpster took the worst of the worst. After two years and the sale of the property, we’re still we’re looking at five totes and a flagpole. 

  Is there some way of avoiding this apocalypse of stuff? I'm thinking about starting a business called Homeless-Lite. Its mission statement will be, “Helping you bear the unbearable lightness of being”.

  Let's follow a typical client of Homeless-Lite: Jacob B. is 69 years old. He and his wife divorced amicably several years ago. They have two sons who Jacob texts regularly and sees at least annually. He lives in a downtown aprtment and rents a storage unit in the suburbs. Jacob can see homeless people in the park across the street and resents them for spoiling his view, but he also envies them their freedom.

  He decides to give Homeless-Lite (HL) a try when his lease is up. It's April, still cool in his northern city. HL sets him up in a large tent in a park across town. A generator powers an electric heater inside the tent. Jacob has supper that night at an Italian restaurant nearby. The first night an HL rep stays outside his tent.

  The next day Jacob takes a minivan tour of the city with several other "Liters". He sees things he’s never seen before in his own city. They have lunch at McDonalds. They attend a concert at Emanuel Lutheran and have supper at Dairy Queen. That night Jacob says he doesn't need the night watchman. When his heater goes out he calls the HL number and an agent is there within five minutes to restart the generator. 

  As the days pass, Jacob gives up the generator and moves to increasingly smaller tents. He's toughening up and the weather is getting warmer. His tent and belongings go into a HL trailer during the day. Jacob learns how to play pickleball. He spends his days in HL-sponsored activities, but lately he's been spending more days at the library. He's writing his memoirs. Most afternoons he summons the HL Nap-Van for a snooze before supper.

 Once a week HL brings Jacob a tote from his storage unit. If he hasn’t looked in the tote in the past year, he sends it to Goodwill. Within three months, he's able to cancel his storage unit.  Six months later Jacob sells his car, which saves him the expense of garaging it

  At Christmas HL makes travel arrangements for Jacob to travel to Denver and Seattle to see his sons. Jacob insists on traveling by bus so he can travel "with my people”, as he puts it. Last Christmas he traveled by train with Monica A, a fellow Liter, just for fun. They found sleeping in coach almost too luxurious. Jacob and Monica are just friends. "No strings for us," says Monica. "Or ties," adds Jacob.

  Who pays for all this? Wall Street does. Liters turn over management of their 401k to HL which draws 4% from it annually which covers all expenses. Liters keep their Social Security check for pocket money. Their spending has helped revitalize several downtowns, and the police love the civility of the Liters. When Jacob dies, HL will receive 20% of his 401k and the balance will go to his heirs. Cash is “stuff” no one turns down. 

 HL donates 10% of all profits to alleviate poverty. I say alleviate because as the greatest homeless person of them all has said, “The poor you will always have with you.”

Little Tent in the City