I was turning forty nine in 2009. Shortly after my birthday I had to have some drywall work done. I can do drywall work, but I was tired. I still was sleeping more than normal and didn't have energy to do much, let a lone stay focused on any task I started.
I hired a man looking for work off of Craigslist. He would do the job for twenty dollars a hour and anticipated it would take a few hours. We had exchanged emails and spoke on the phone agreeing to meet. He was living with a couple that he had met in Denver and they were moving back to Indianapolis, so he came a long with them. They shared a car and he could only meet me on Sunday.
Sunday came and it was raining hard when the door bell rang. He was drenched. The couple refused to let him use their car and so he rode his bike over to my home. He lived about two miles from my house. I was impressed that instead of calling, he made every effort to show up on time. We headed to the store to get the materials needed and he started repairing the ceiling. He had to allow the repair to dry and would need to come back the next evening. We had chatted for several hours while he was working and shared life stories. He had told me he was a recovering drug addict and had been clean for nine years. His name was Barry.
He shared with me the story of how he met his "roommates" and that times were tough for all of them. They were living in low income apartments and he was trying to find day jobs to meet his obligations to the monthly bills.
He headed out on his bike and I told him the next evening I would come pick him up after I got off from work. That day I had checked Craigslist again and discovered an ad for help. The person placing the ad was requesting assistance with food as her husband and room mate were struggling to make ends meet. She signed it Juli. When I picked Barry up, I asked him if the ad on Craigslist was the "Juli" that he had spoke of the night before. He said, "Yes."
He came over and worked more on the drywall. I told him to stop and I'd take him to the grocery store to get he and his room mates groceries. He was so grateful for my kindness as I took him back to his home. He took bags of food in to the apartment and I could tell that there was some tension between him and his room mates, but it was none of my business. I was just helping out someone who was in a rough patch, times were tough as many had lost jobs and the economy had taken a dive.
I had one more night to pick him up and the job would be done. That evening he shared with me that he found all of his jobs on Craigslist and if he did any thing that irritated Juli, she would not share with him any emails he may have received in response to his posts for work.
I asked why he didn't have his own email account and he stated he had no idea how to set one up. I sat him down and set up an email account for him and showed him how to navigate the web. Together, we plotted out a plan to post in several different categories to give him a greater market to draw from. We were done and it was close to midnight. He thanked me time and time again for helping him. I drove him home anticipating never to see him again.
I pulled up in front of the apartment that was on the ground floor and noticed a sign on the door of his apartment. "What is the sign on the door for?"
He didn't think much of it, "The management will put signs on the doors to notify you of things going on in the community."
"Why is your door the only door with a sign on?" It was about this time I noticed boxes and items piled up outside the door under the stair well to the second floor. He became panicked and jumped from the car. He ripped the sign off the door and looked behind him to see the items thrown carelessly in a pile. I sat in the car wondering what was going on when a tap came on the drivers door.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I'm looking for a man." It was the security guard of the complex.
"I think he might have just gone around the building." I should have rolled the window up and drove away, but I sat there thinking he might need help. Some days my big heart needs to be cut out and replaced with a hardened one.
The security guard waited for him to return. He was visibly upset when he came from around the building with his bike. The guard informed him the couple living in the apartment had called security and wanted him removed from the premises He just stood there in disbelief. The guard told him he had to leave the property. Here sat all this stuff and a man with a bike. Who wouldn't help?
I told him to pack his stuff in my car and he could address this in the morning when the office of the complex opened up. I had lost my mind. To bring this complete stranger into my home, but where would he have gone? He was new to the area and he didn't have a car, he rode a bike. He couldn't move all of his belongings on a bike!
I don't think I slept a wink that night wondering where my mind had disappeared. One minute it was there and the next minute it fell out and I was totally unaware of it.
The next morning, I took him back to the complex and he was given grave news, his name was not on the lease and technically he did not have a right to live there. He had no where to go. He had no money. Every day when he made money, he was to hand it over to Juli so she could pay bills or buy groceries. He came back to the car beaten. He had no idea what he would do. I made a suggestion, he could live with me until he had some money to find a place of his own. For now, I had to get to work. I did not want him in my house while I was at work, so I returned him to the house and gave him his bike. He needed to go find work.
I came home that night and he appeared shortly after. He'd been out on his bike all day and nothing to show for it. But he did check his email when he came in and had a job the next day. I took him and picked him up after I got off of work. He worked steadily for a couple of weeks by the ads we had placed on Craigslist. Mentally, I kept track of the money he was earning and when I thought he had enough, I was going to cut him lose.
I suggested he find other employment besides day jobs, but I was about to learn of a whole different life style that I had never seen or experienced. He did not have a driver's license, hence the bicycle. Fifty years old and that had been his sole transportation for over twelve years. He had lost his license years ago for failure to pay child support in Washington State. He had twin sons that he had lost custody of to the State due to his drug history. The mother of these children also lost custody due to the same behavior.
He had been in prison for four or five years due to multiple charges but had been free for several according to him. I became suspicious and ran a background check on him. Imagine my surprise when I discovered he was a fugitive! I contacted the State of Washington to inform them I knew where he was, if they had an interest, but was informed it would cost more to return him to the State than it was worth to them. I confronted him that night. He was cooking dinner and I was sitting at the kitchen counter when I casually dropped the news I had come upon. Actually, I set it up to see if he'd be honest and he was. He told me what I already knew.
He had been working and I suspected he had about two or three hundred dollars. I figured one thousand dollars would be sufficient to get him a place of his own. I had shown him the Monon Trail which is a paved pathway that can take you from where I live eleven miles to downtown Indianapolis. He would often get on the trail and look for work, or so he said.
One particular day he was not home when I got there and I had not heard from him. He hadn't worked in several days and I was getting impatient. He showed up around six that evening and I had locked the doors. We had struck a deal, he was to look for work and keep in touch with me through out the day. He had not been doing it. He came to the front door knocking and I refused to answer. He continued, I opened up the window next to the front door and was not surprised to see he was unable to look me in the eye and when he did, he was not in the right frame of mind.
He claimed he had been riding on the Monon and his wallet flipped out of his back pocket when he pulled on his shirt. When he noticed it was gone he went back and all his money was gone, his wallet ripped and thrown in a trash receptacle. He held his wallet out as a means to prove to me his story was worthy.
"I don't believe you. They took all your money, but left your social security card and Identification? Do you know how much those two documents are worth to someone? Have you heard of identification theft? No, of course not, they left the two things that you need but could not replace."
He refused to admit what he had really done with the money but I knew it had not been stolen. I went outside and talked to him for some time about my disappointment in him and that this situation was not long term. He was doing a lot of dry wall work, but he didn't have tools of his own, so if some one wanted to hire him that didn't have tools, he couldn't take the job.
I bought him some basic tools to help him, not much but enough for him to do what he did best. He found a job helping a slum lord prepare a house for rent. No matter where he worked, when I would go to pick him up, everyone said the same thing, he was a hard worker and very picky about his work product. I knew this as I had hired him myself. A Saturday afternoon came, he had ridden his bike to one job and needed to report to the rental property that afternoon. I was sick and didn't feel like driving him, so I allowed him to take my car. I knew he didn't have a license, but he had about eight hundred dollars and one more week of working on this job, he could move on. He'd been in my home for over six weeks.
He called at seven to say he was wrapping up and I never heard from him again. I was frantic. He wouldn't answer his phone and he had my car. I debated about calling the police, but I didn't, not yet, I knew he wouldn't steal the car, some thing had to be wrong. I am a good judge of character, most of the time.
Six thirty in the morning, the doorbell rang. He didn't have a key to my home. He sat on the stoop, head dropped, tears in his eyes. I was upset, but I was glad to know he was safe. He admitted that he had done some thing stupid. He had run into people that he used to party with and had spent the night at their apartment. He had blown his money, eight hundred dollars on an eight ball.
I had no idea what this was, were we playing pool? No, an eight ball is cocaine. He bought some and "shared" it. I couldn't help but ask him, ' Are you just fucking stupid? You have worked for weeks to get this money and you blow it on an eight ball? Just how long do you stay high for eight hundred dollars?"
"Thirty minutes." I was shocked. People do this every day? Hard earned money snorted and not a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out, their whole life wrapped around thirty minutes of what they called bliss. He was back to square A, not a penny in his pocket.
The security guard waited for him to return. He was visibly upset when he came from around the building with his bike. The guard informed him the couple living in the apartment had called security and wanted him removed from the premises He just stood there in disbelief. The guard told him he had to leave the property. Here sat all this stuff and a man with a bike. Who wouldn't help?
I told him to pack his stuff in my car and he could address this in the morning when the office of the complex opened up. I had lost my mind. To bring this complete stranger into my home, but where would he have gone? He was new to the area and he didn't have a car, he rode a bike. He couldn't move all of his belongings on a bike!
I don't think I slept a wink that night wondering where my mind had disappeared. One minute it was there and the next minute it fell out and I was totally unaware of it.
The next morning, I took him back to the complex and he was given grave news, his name was not on the lease and technically he did not have a right to live there. He had no where to go. He had no money. Every day when he made money, he was to hand it over to Juli so she could pay bills or buy groceries. He came back to the car beaten. He had no idea what he would do. I made a suggestion, he could live with me until he had some money to find a place of his own. For now, I had to get to work. I did not want him in my house while I was at work, so I returned him to the house and gave him his bike. He needed to go find work.
I came home that night and he appeared shortly after. He'd been out on his bike all day and nothing to show for it. But he did check his email when he came in and had a job the next day. I took him and picked him up after I got off of work. He worked steadily for a couple of weeks by the ads we had placed on Craigslist. Mentally, I kept track of the money he was earning and when I thought he had enough, I was going to cut him lose.
I suggested he find other employment besides day jobs, but I was about to learn of a whole different life style that I had never seen or experienced. He did not have a driver's license, hence the bicycle. Fifty years old and that had been his sole transportation for over twelve years. He had lost his license years ago for failure to pay child support in Washington State. He had twin sons that he had lost custody of to the State due to his drug history. The mother of these children also lost custody due to the same behavior.
He had been in prison for four or five years due to multiple charges but had been free for several according to him. I became suspicious and ran a background check on him. Imagine my surprise when I discovered he was a fugitive! I contacted the State of Washington to inform them I knew where he was, if they had an interest, but was informed it would cost more to return him to the State than it was worth to them. I confronted him that night. He was cooking dinner and I was sitting at the kitchen counter when I casually dropped the news I had come upon. Actually, I set it up to see if he'd be honest and he was. He told me what I already knew.
He had been working and I suspected he had about two or three hundred dollars. I figured one thousand dollars would be sufficient to get him a place of his own. I had shown him the Monon Trail which is a paved pathway that can take you from where I live eleven miles to downtown Indianapolis. He would often get on the trail and look for work, or so he said.
One particular day he was not home when I got there and I had not heard from him. He hadn't worked in several days and I was getting impatient. He showed up around six that evening and I had locked the doors. We had struck a deal, he was to look for work and keep in touch with me through out the day. He had not been doing it. He came to the front door knocking and I refused to answer. He continued, I opened up the window next to the front door and was not surprised to see he was unable to look me in the eye and when he did, he was not in the right frame of mind.
He claimed he had been riding on the Monon and his wallet flipped out of his back pocket when he pulled on his shirt. When he noticed it was gone he went back and all his money was gone, his wallet ripped and thrown in a trash receptacle. He held his wallet out as a means to prove to me his story was worthy.
"I don't believe you. They took all your money, but left your social security card and Identification? Do you know how much those two documents are worth to someone? Have you heard of identification theft? No, of course not, they left the two things that you need but could not replace."
He refused to admit what he had really done with the money but I knew it had not been stolen. I went outside and talked to him for some time about my disappointment in him and that this situation was not long term. He was doing a lot of dry wall work, but he didn't have tools of his own, so if some one wanted to hire him that didn't have tools, he couldn't take the job.
I bought him some basic tools to help him, not much but enough for him to do what he did best. He found a job helping a slum lord prepare a house for rent. No matter where he worked, when I would go to pick him up, everyone said the same thing, he was a hard worker and very picky about his work product. I knew this as I had hired him myself. A Saturday afternoon came, he had ridden his bike to one job and needed to report to the rental property that afternoon. I was sick and didn't feel like driving him, so I allowed him to take my car. I knew he didn't have a license, but he had about eight hundred dollars and one more week of working on this job, he could move on. He'd been in my home for over six weeks.
He called at seven to say he was wrapping up and I never heard from him again. I was frantic. He wouldn't answer his phone and he had my car. I debated about calling the police, but I didn't, not yet, I knew he wouldn't steal the car, some thing had to be wrong. I am a good judge of character, most of the time.
Six thirty in the morning, the doorbell rang. He didn't have a key to my home. He sat on the stoop, head dropped, tears in his eyes. I was upset, but I was glad to know he was safe. He admitted that he had done some thing stupid. He had run into people that he used to party with and had spent the night at their apartment. He had blown his money, eight hundred dollars on an eight ball.
I had no idea what this was, were we playing pool? No, an eight ball is cocaine. He bought some and "shared" it. I couldn't help but ask him, ' Are you just fucking stupid? You have worked for weeks to get this money and you blow it on an eight ball? Just how long do you stay high for eight hundred dollars?"
"Thirty minutes." I was shocked. People do this every day? Hard earned money snorted and not a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out, their whole life wrapped around thirty minutes of what they called bliss. He was back to square A, not a penny in his pocket.
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