The Urban Camper's Survival Kit

It was a simple request, still it made her cry.

A few days ago I'd watched an older lady leave the park, which is located across the street from my business, stroll down the street with plastic shopping bags tied around her feet. My first thought was, how sad.

With this Florida heat our streets and sidewalks are hot enough to fry eggs, at least sunny-side up.

There are many urban campers, homeless, that use the restroom facilities, such as they are, and sleep in the park. I notice dozens weekly. They make it a habit of knocking on my door to ask for handouts or request the use of my restroom or telephone and always, cash. I seldom give cash. Still, I feel for them - regardless of the poor life decisions that slapped the poor souls into their condition.

The evening of the old lady's walk I came home and in the quiet of our routine made mention of what I'd seen. I should have known better. Her first words were, "Oh, my Lord, that poor poor woman."

Then, her eyes grew moist and she cried silent tears. I felt like punching myself. Anyway, I then asked if she had a pair of old flip-flops. That perhaps I'd see the woman the next day and hand over the standard footwear of heat prone Florida.

Sweet Wife, "I'll do better than that. They need a care package. I'll drive over to Wal-Mart tomorrow."

"Sweetheart, please don't get carried away with this. All I want is an old pair of flip-flops."

Her, "Don't worry about it. Those poor people."

I came home the next afternoon to find this:

Sweet Wife explained how she decided to put together care packages, survival kits, for the homeless. Each one gallon bag contains; a new toothbrush with cap, wet wipes, five medicated band-aides, a new bar of soap and soap container, a tube of toothpaste, razor, combs, and two small travel bottles of baby shampoo, a small bottle of body lotion, and deodorant. She also purchased a set of three washcloths and a small towel which she laundered and placed in separate bags.

She built two sets, two for men and the rest for women...oh, and she included feminine hygiene articles for the ladies.

She didn't forget my request for those flip-flops. She purchased a set for each bag.

My lovely dear wife is a very compassionate person. She feels your pain. She lives a Christian life and I should have known better than to open my mouth, but you know what...I can live with it. The cost wasn't much at all when I think about the money I spend on books and firearms related items.

Sweet Wife's instructions to me are simple. Keep the baggies in my shop and when my doorbell rings and I find someone in need, help them. Who knows, perhaps this simple gesture of kindness, from my wife, will help someone fight their way back from the pits of hell. These people live a hard life. That small bar of soap and a new pair of flip-flops just might shove them towards hope.

She also said she'd better not see the old lady with bags wrapped around her feet or my life won't be worth a plugged nickle.

I'll search the park tomorrow.

Stephen



   

Morning Coffee

You've got to love the first cup of morning coffee. I'm on my third or is it fourth pot. Not sure as I've lost count. I've been awake for over forty-eight hours. I have a cough. My throat is tender.

But what the heck at least I'm alive.

*****

Recently I answered an ad on Craigslist.  The fella had ammo cans for sale, several sizes. Informed the guy I'd take five of his 20mm cans. He responded and said he'd drop them at my shop, last Friday. He arrived yesterday afternoon.

Five big cans to fill. These are really too big to load with small arms ammunition. If one were to do so it would take five grown men and a boy scout troop to move them. Instead I'd suggest you utilize the big suckers for storage of sensitive electronics gear and or valuables. They are water proof but as a precaution apply a lubricate to the rubber seals. Vaseline works quite well. They're prefect for things like - night vision, rifle scopes, binoculars, and small amounts of ammunition topped with spare clothing. In the past I've even packed a spare pair of boots atop six boxes of shotgun shells. Think of them as portable vaults.

*****

I have far too many projects underway. There are the two AR builds. I have two Coleman stoves and two lanterns to restore with more on the way, and last weekend I decided to finally take stock of my ammunition supplies. I bounce from one to the other and never completely finish any one project due to my fickle nature. With our current summer heat and relentless rain it's just flat out uncomfortable to work in the garage. This is the excuse I gave Sweet Wife when she asked why in the world is all that stuff stacked in the garage. I need help. Think I'll ride downtown today and hire an urban camper. That is if any of them want employment and can rip their lips from the governments tit.

*****

I arrived at the shop early this morning and sat and paid bills. It was quiet, very quiet, for most of the first hour. Out front there was little to no traffic.

About an hour into my labors I heard a faint yell. At first I didn't recognize the sound so stood and opened the back door of my shop. Then again, a very faint scream. A child. Then it hit me. Somewhere back in this neighborhood a little boy or girl was under attack from his or her parent. It was the distinctive screams of a young child being whipped. I walked towards the street, not sure why, but I felt it necessary to try and locate the child. I reasoned if I could hear the child's screams, cushioned by the walls and windows of a house, then how terrible must be this little ones pain. I had not given a moments thought as to my actions if I were to indeed find this child. It was pure instinct, I wanted the screams to stop. 

Then nothing.

I turned and walked back inside. With another cup of coffee I returned to my work. The morning hasn't been the same since.

Sometimes I hate this city.

Stephen

  
 

Urban Camper

During the late fall and winter when I arrive at my shop it's well before sunrise. I like to get here early as it gives me time to have a cup of coffee and eat my breakfast, then read the local liberal rag. Most of my customers know this about me and normally leave me alone. I'm a bear in the morning.

A few years ago I was here in my back office (the boar's nest) sipping my black brew and reading the paper when my door chime rang. I waited thinking the offending person would read my posted hours and walk away...it rang again.

I fold the paper and sit aside my coffee and walk out into the waiting room, pull aside the door curtain and see an older woman beneath the street lamp. She appeared cold and disoriented. I unlocked and opened my door, asked, "May I help you?"

I had a hard time at a guess of her age. She could have been anywhere from forty to fifty, even older. She held a strong odor, not pleasant. Her clothing consisted of, I think, shorts and a very dirty down to her knees t-shirt. Flip-flops on her feet. Her hair was a crows nest of snarls and stringy and by my nose alone I could tell she hadn't bathed in days.

It didn't take a genius to know she'd slept across the street in the city park. She held an old much used blanket, rolled under one arm, and a brown paper bag in her left hand. It was cold outside, guessing the low forties. She shivered.

She didn't respond, at first. Shifted foot to foot. Would not look directly at my face. I felt sorry for her.

I get this all the time. My business is located (like I've said) across the street from a large city park. It has a baseball/softball field, basketball courts, a combined restroom, a very old railroad caboose for the young ones, and a democrat shower. The democrat shower is a flat basin which contains a fountain activated by sensors. It's used frequently for bathing by the urban campers. Like my early morning visitor.

Again, I asked as she hadn't answered my question, "Is there something I may help you with, 'Mame?"

She caught me by surprise. The lady, all in one motion, dropped her dirty blanket and her brown paper bag, and took the hem of her shirt in both hands and jerked it high over her head, as she said, "You gots a dolla?"

I was exposed to two very saggy, down to her navel, breast. I was so caught by surprise my next action was to darn near fall flat with laughter. I laughed so hard my ribs hurt. It was the sight of this poor woman's flat breast, all fat I'm sure, long eaten away by her obvious alcoholism and extremely poor diet. I soon controlled my fit of laughter.  Then my shame set in and I'll felt like a fool.

She had dropped her shirt back in place and was stooped to retrieve her items when I said, "Please, I'm sorry."

Her, "It's okay, I get it all the time. I'm just hungry." Not sure I believed her. Probably wanted a drink. But who am I to judge, even if I do so on a daily basis. Still doesn't make it right. So I reached into my pocket and gave her a five dollar bill. Said, "Hey, sorry, it was worth the show."

She smiled, took my money and walked away. Haven't seen her since.

There but for the grace of God go I.

Stephen