Thing 344 Sleep Rough

There's nothing funny about this blog. Just warning you in advance. There are no cute jokes or self deprecating remarks. This was, and I think will almost certainly be, the worst Thing I've done since the start of The Project. It was disturbing, and honestly, a little bit upsetting.

I left The Sluggary at about half seven in the evening, the plan being that I could take only what handful of change I had in my pockets, a sleeping bag and a phone for emergencies, and I wasn't allowed back until ten the next morning. I dressed in some old dirty clothes for effect. I thought I was setting off on an interesting adventure, and I'd have loads of funny stories of drunk students and public disorder to tell about. Not quite.

I sat on Thomas Street for an hour, during which time three people that I know, and talk to regularly walked right by me. Within five feet of me, and didn't see me. They saw a homeless person, they looked away as they passed, they did not see me. After an hour and a half I got anxious to talk to someone, and there was a group of scumbags down the road watching me, so I moved on.

Stopped outside Arthur's Quay and sat on an electricity box. Had nowhere to go, so it seemed as good a place as any. A security guard came out. "Move on there buddy". But I'm not doing anything, I'm just sitting here... "I said move on, so get going..." Why? I'm just sitting here like... "I told you to move on, so fucking move on". I moved on. I was literally doing nothing but sitting there.

On the way back up the road another homeless guy intercepted me and told me there was drinking in the park, and I was welcome to join him and his mates. I was glad of someone to talk to, but too afraid to go. I went and bought some cider and sat with the unopened bottle on Catherine Street, just watching people go by. Another two people passed who I know well. Neither of them saw me.

In the next hour or so, five different homeless people stopped and shared a bench with me. I lied to them and told them that I wasn't from Limerick and had nowhere to go. We talked about this and that, and shot the breeze. One of them shared a couple of cans with me. I was so pleased to talk to someone that I didn't refuse the cans, and we sat there just chatting about how hard life is for twenty minutes or so.

At this point I started feeling like a fraud. I could go home any time I wanted. None of these people could. I stayed out anyway. Went for another walk. Thus far the highlight of my night was just having some company. A man walking by stopped me, gave me a cigarette and stuffed three euro into my hand. Told me he was sorry for my troubles. I tried to refuse the money, but he insisted. He was the first non-homeless person to speak to me, who wasn't telling me to leave the electricity box I was sitting on.

I settled back on Catherine Street and met Danny. He's homeless, and if I'm being honest, a bit frightening looking. His face is scarred, his teeth ruined, and he's got an intimidating manner. When he goes begging for cash, he gets right into people's personal space, and leans in to look them in the eye. People don't like it, and most people brushed him away and kept going. One charmer told Danny to go fuck himself, and then spat in my face as he went by.

By now the whole "adventure" thing was a memory. I was a little frightened, and the only people I wanted to talk to were homeless people. I had spit on my face. Danny told me he'd look after me, and show me the ropes. He brought me from place to place, showing me his favourite spots for begging. Promised to share everything we made fifty-fifty. The feeling of guilt at being a fraud was getting to me. As he walked, he kept an eye out on the ground for cigarette butts that weren't smoked all the way down. He collected them, and when he needed a smoke he'd take one out and light up.

Two more people helped out: One of them was a woman who, when asked, told us she'd no cigarettes. She stopped into a bar, bought some cigarettes, came back out and gave us one each. If I didn't think it would frighten her, I'd have hugged her. Just the gesture alone. The second one was a guy I actually know. He didn't recognise me, but I spotted him collecting from his mates outside the bar, and handing a lump of change to Danny as he left.

We walked to the river. Danny sprinted off as a Garda van drove passed where we were. This made me more nervous. We drank my cider, and Danny's cans and walked from place to place all night, him collecting money and cigarettes, me sitting on the ground. We were shouted at routinely by people.

Just after half three, I handed Danny the money I'd been given earlier, took my sleeping bag from its hiding place, went to the side of the Franciscan Church and curled up to sleep. I was freezing. Before I left Danny, who was now gone so aggressive that he shouted abuse at people who wouldn't give him money, he asked had I any smokes. I told him no. He dug into his pocket and took out his stash of unfinished cigarettes. He pushed them into my pocket and told me to sleep well.

It might be one of the nicest gestures I've ever received. I felt horrendously guilty.

At just after half six, a street cleaner woke me to get out of his way. I was half asleep and didn't know where I was for a minute or two. He scowled at me. I shuffled off. For a little while I wondered about, killing time until I could go home. At about eight I couldn't take it any more, and I walked back to The Sluggery.

I did not have an adventure. I felt like shit. I had a shower, and the guilt of knowing that I had a double bed and an en suite of my own, a deck down stairs and a fifty inch television, it made me feel like crying.

There's nothing romantic about being homeless. It's despair and isolation, no identity and abuse. I couldn't do it for one night, how do people live like this every day? People will tell me I'm too pampered, and they're right, I am. I've had it too soft for too long, but I don't think there's anyone with a roof over their head who could even try to understand. Myself included.

It's weird. I wish I'd never done it.

Told you it wasn't going to be funny.