Anxieties of the responsibly incapable.

You know those dreams that are just really great? The ones where you're flying or you're a gajillionaire or the whole world is made of candy or you're a tyrannosaurus at the top of the food chain with all the power you could ever imagine? And then you wake up and feel the most potent kind of depression because your dream wasn't real, and at the same time feel completely idiotic for genuinely believing something so ridiculous could actually exist for that entire time you were in dreamland? Well, that's how I feel whenever I get in my mood where I legitimately start to think that I am capable of being a responsible young adult, and then I wake up and remember that I am Bri Herter.

If you read Armageddon of the Mind a couple months ago, and I sincerely hope you did (you should probably go read it right now if you didn't. By "probably" I mean "there really isn't a question about it"), then you might understand how my mind is a little chaotic.  In fact, if you go to Google Images and type in "chaos," it will give you a few pictures that resemble my mind. One of which being:

Replace those human soldiers with little demonic gremlins, as described in Armageddon of the Mind, which you have ALL read by now, and it is somewhat close. Anyway, the point is, my mind likes to make itself have way too much going on at once. But when it gets pushed to the edge and tries to take on more than it can physically handle, it malfunctions. As in, it shuts down. Actually, it goes into "toddler mode." The sensation of acute overwhelmsion (this is my blog, I'll make up words when I want) is so drastically traumatizing for it, that it temporarily erases all memories and abilities that ever existed beyond the age of three. Meaning, the only thing I know how to do to cope at a time like this is crawl up in the fetal position with a blanket and make very pitiful sounds.

The things in my mind that trigger "toddler mode" do not so much depend on quantity as they do the specific topic. For example, I can typically contain an ample amount of brain-teasers, social drama, and life-changing decisions without spiraling into it. However, anything pertaining to behaving like an actual adult is completely off limits, whether I had already been thinking about a lot or just a little. If someone were to tell me I had seven seconds to save the earth from an asteroid the size of Betelgeuse, I would probably handle it in a more mature fashion than if they told me I had to find a job, a functioning car, and go to college without flunking (that last one is killer). I truly wish I was exaggerating.

Like I said at the beginning, sometimes I do get in these silly moods where I actually start to believe I am capable of adult responsibility. I accomplish something like cleaning out my car, and I think, "Dang, that didn't take so long. Way to go, Bri." And then I finally manage to SELL my car, and I think, "Look at me go! Bring it on, life!" I grasp that $1250 cash and feel limitless. And then suddenly, the crushing defeat of real life hits me like a freight train. I realize that $1250 is the most money I've ever touched, but I can not survive on that for the rest of my life. Soon I will have to buy another car with that money, a car that I will probably not luck out as much with as I did with Beast. It will probably break down on some back road where I'll get mugged. I will probably lock my keys in it when I'm trapped in close proximity to a bomb and need a quick getaway. And even if neither of these scenarios come true, I will still have no money again. That means I will have to make some sort of income, which means application and rejection and even if I got hired, it still means crabby co-workers and probably early mornings and sore feet and unhappy customers. And even then, all that money will get sucked up by... by... by school. I have a hard time even typing, much less speaking, much less LIVING OUT this word. The sound of it makes my ear drums bleed and the thought of it happening to me makes me want to go sky diving without a parachute. Even thinking about it right now as I type this I am fighting the urge to start whimpering and making other puppy-like sounds that tend to emerge when this specific subject presents itself. 

The problem with me and school is, I have a deep, analytical mind AND am a ten year old trapped in an 18 year old's body at the same time. So, that deep mind convinces me that there are way more important things I should be doing than sitting in a classroom and doing homework. Like, going across the world to share the gospel, or maybe other not-as-major things that will still matter in eternity. On top of that, my childish self means I have the attention span of gnat. I mean, I can't even read a book that I WANT to read because I get so distracted with playing DuckTales2 on my gameboy for three hours instead. A gameboy that I bought on ebay like, last year, mind you, simply because I woke up one morning and HAD to have a gameboy. A gameboy color, actually. But besides all that, I am also just really bad at listening to people who get paid to talk at me. I would much rather spend all day finding my own sources and teaching myself what I need to know, because that way it would at least be my choice. As a wise scholar (not as much a scholar as a Lauren Kilmartin) once told me, "You like to learn, you just don't like to be taught." So true. So problematic.

Shawn thought it was a good idea to capture my toddler-minded misery on camera a couple days ago when the need to figure out my financial aid arose. (I didn't even know what website to go to, I forgot all my log-ins and PINs and everything else... hiii lost puppy speaking.)

Hobo week!

Three or four weeks ago, Reina and I were in the church kitchen scavenging for food. Upon the realization that we are excellent scavengers, Reina said, "You know, if we were homeless, we'd be okay." To which I replied, "We should try it sometime, just for a week or something." At first it was a joke, but it quickly turned into a realistic plan... as things tend to do when it comes to me and Reina.
So, Reina got off work, and we scheduled "Hobo week" for June 13th-18th. What you are about to read is the real-life recollection of this grueling, homeless week.


Day one


First rule of homelessness: while biking, Bri and Reina must speak only in British accents and address each other specifically as "Hobo Bri" and "Hobo Reina." An example conversation might have gone something like this:

*British accents*
Bri: "'Tis a bit nippy out here, isn't it, Hobo Reina?"
Reina: "Indeed it is, Hobo Bri. And my buttocks is in quite a load of pain."
Bri: "Right there with you, Hobo Reina. Also, it seems that my pant leg is caught in my bicycle gears."
Reina: "Well this certainly is a bit of predicament, Hobo Bri."

This rule was created in effort to pass our biking time, and also because it just happened on its own and so we turned it into a rule. However, before we could embark on these biking endeavors, we had to transport our bikes to our base - the church. I was able to wedge my bike into the back seat of Beast, with the tire sticking out of the door about three inches. But I tied the back doors together from the inside to keep the door from flying open further while I drove (unfortunately, the rope was stretchy, so it still flew open every time I made a left turn... but the rope at least made sure that the door bounced back after straightening the car out... my bike was buckled in the seat belts for extra protection). I picked up Reina and we managed to attach her bike to my trunk via ropes and bungee cord. It was kind of a mess, but the bikes remained secure all the way to Richland.

We parked Beast on the edge of the church parking lot and wouldn't drive him for the rest of the week. From that point on it was just us and our bikes - no cars, money, or plans.

It was 10:00pm and we were hungry. We obviously hadn't brought any food, that would have been cheating. So, it was time for our first dumpster dive. You see, I've gone dumpster diving with my brother at Big Apple Bagel before where they throw out a giant bags of good, sanitary bagels at the end of every day. There is no Big Apple in Richland, but our hope was that Panera might do that same. So, we biked the four-mile stretch along Gull Road, dumpster bound.

There was nothing but garbage in Panera/Pizza Hut's trash. We tried Bennigan's. Still no luck. But then we noticed that, even though Panera was closed, there was still an employee back in the kitchen. He might still throw out bagels. And so, we waited. Brooke, Befus (Brandon), and Mark, dropped by and kept us company for a couple hours of our waiting. Reina and I grew hungrier, and our thirst for bagels overwhelmed us. It was now nearing 1am, and we had to get those bagels. So, upon Brooke's prompting, Reina and I approached one of the windows that looked into the kitchen.
We knocked on it and danced in front of it in order to get the employee's attention. At first he thought we were just some drunkards waving at him, and he waved back. But by the second time that he looked at us (and it was obvious that he was trying not to), we made it much clearer that we actually wanted him to come to the door. Finally, he stepped outside. I apologized up front for being creepy, and then Reina spewed our story about how we were conducting a social experiment for our sociology final on what it was like to be homeless. Some might say this was a lie (which I don't condone), but others could argue that we were just really into our hobo characters... I mean, there's a homeless woman downtown who has been claiming she needs money to buy her infant diapers... for five years. Stretching the truth just seemed like the homeless thing to do.
Anyway, the young employee gladly gave us two free bagels and some raspberry cream cheese. It was a successful night of begging.

We biked back to the church and slept in my car. I realize that it would have been much more hobo-like to make camp among the elements or a park bench, but my mom's only condition to letting me do this was that we didn't sleep outside. Besides, if we were really homeless, we would have just biked downtown to the gospel mission where they basically give you a little house to live. So compared to that, sleeping in my car could be considered "roughing it."


Day two

The first thing we did was bike to John's house to borrow one of his bikes... apparently Reina had failed to realize that her bike was stuck in first gear before we brought it. So, after switching her bike for one that would allow her to travel faster than half a mile per hour, we biked back to church to help Peter set up for Loco Cocoa - a middle school event that would take place the following day. Alexa was there to help, too, and Peter sent us all on an errand. Of course, on our way out of the parking lot in Alexa's van, she noticed she had a flat tire. It took a while for us three girls to figure out how to change it, but we were determined to do so on our own. Peter attempted to help us, but... well, here's what his twitter post read about the incident: "Alexa, Bri, and Reina are attempting to fix a flat tire. I came over to help and they yelled, "We are self sufficient!" I stand watching."
That pretty much sums up how it went. I wish I had a recording of our conversation trying to figure it all out, though... I'm sure it was pretty humorous to anyone who actually knew what they were doing. But in the end we emerged from the situation victorious, thus proving our self-sufficiency.

  

Bri, Reina, and Alexa - 1

Flat Tire - 0

After we finished our duties at church, we set off to bike downtown to my brother's house, as it was Tuesday game night. The amount of pain our butts were already in from the previous night was pretty ridiculous, but we managed to peddle through our agony and make it ten miles into downtown Kalamazoo in just one hour. Once there, we played games, ate the food we had previously scavenged and brought with us, watched "American Psycho" (named appropriately), and crashed on Justin's couch for the night.

Day three

Wednesday. This was an eventful day.

It started much like one of our old "bike trip" days from two summer's previously: biking our longest stretch completely uphill in the rain and 50 degrees. But even in these excruciating conditions, it only took us an extra ten minutes to reach our home base once again. 

Once back to the church, we enjoyed a breakfast of stale donuts, potato chips, and mellow yellow. We then spent the day continuing to prepare for Loco Cocoa (a middle school youth event where we get a colossal tarp, dump 52 gallons of chocolate pudding and hershey's syrup onto it, and play games in it. Aka best thing ever.)

We also revised our "first rule of homelessness" to where we had to talk in accents and preface each others name's with "Hobo" every time we addressed each other, not just while biking. It made things much more entertaining for us all around.

The madness of Loco Cocoa began at 6:30. Here's what Reina and I looked like after it:

The best part is, homeless people don't shower. Sooo yeah. On the upside, our church has connections and we got a fire truck to the event to spray the group off with their fire hose afterward. But still, even a fire hose isn't strong enough to get the amount of chocolate that we had cemented into our hair fully removed. Only shampoo can do that. Shampoo that we wouldn't have access to until the end of the week. And while everyone snuggled up in their nice, warm towels, Reina and I were pilfering the church supply closet for rags with which we could dry off. 

By 10:30pm, everyone had left the church, but we were still collapsed in exhaustion on the couch in one of the church bathrooms. Then the day got even more interesting. The door opened in a crack and we heard a man's voice call, "Is anyone in there?" 

For at least ten seconds we were silent. I'm not sure if I was under the illusion that if I just didn't answer, whoever it was would just go away - despite the light on - without even walking inside to check, or something... but after a while Reina finally replied with a, "...yeeesss?"

That's when we hear, "Richland police department, please step outside."

Reina and I looked at each other with wide eyes and then ran to the door. There stood a cop, along with Marty, one of the custodians. The cop asked what we were doing, to which I replied, "Just hanging out after youth group..." Marty interjected with, "Oh I know these guys, it's okay." And then explained to us that he just didn't like people hanging out after hours when he was alone in the building.

Luckily for us, neither Marty nor the cop actually stepped inside the bathroom. If they had, they would have seen our backpacks, bedding, and bikes camped out just around the corner in front of the sinks. 

We told them we would leave right away. They left the area and we got all our stuff outside without them seeing us again. But the cop was still parked outside with a clear view of Beast, so we couldn't exactly get kicked out of the church and then bike on over to my car where we would just sit suspiciously in the parking lot, bound by our rule of being unable to drive it anywhere. So instead, we biked the other direction, laughing hysterically, to the Circle K.

We sat in the gas station for a while before deciding to go back and see if the cop had left. We biked back, and he was still there - only his cop car was pulled up next to my car and he was shining his cop spotlights inside it. Panicked all over again, we kept biking past the church in the other direction - towards John's house. It was now 11:30pm, but we really had nowhere else to go, soo to John's it was. He understood why we were dropping in so late after we explained that we were on the run from the law.

We hung out with him for maybe an hour until we felt that it was safe to return to the church parking lot again. We slept in the car again that night.

Day four

We awoke early to help Peter in the offices. He told us if we cleaned them for him, he would pay us in pizza for lunch. And so we worked for our food up until it was time to go play soccer with our group of friends. That afternoon we enjoyed the luxuries of normal, home-dwelling teenager activities... hitched a ride to soccer and then to McDonalds for ice cream, which Alexa graciously bought me, having pity on my homelessness. 

That night was church league softball. We biked to our home field in Parchment in order to participate. We were already exhausted by the start of the game - but by the end of it, our team still remained undefeated. Afterward, we biked back to the church where we waited along the curb with our thumbs stuck out. Coincidentally, our friend, Grant, drove by and picked up we hitch-hikers (almost like it was planned, or something), and took us to see Super 8 with him. He paid for our tickets in order to support the less fortunate. 
Also coincidentally, one of the doors to the church had been left unlocked, so Reina and I spent our last night of hobo week inside our favorite building. 


Day five


We awoke in the prayer room at noon, dug around in the kitchens for expired food, and then biked off to Gull Lake in order to bathe. We had found some tiny bottles of shampoo and conditioner in the church to which we decided to put to some much-needed use. The closest beach access was four miles away at the Country Club, where it is all too easy to just waltz right in, pretending you're a member. The water was slightly numbing - but hey, beggars can't be choosers. We washed our hair in the lake and then biked our last bike ride of hobo week.


By the end of it all, we put in a total of 57.4 miles of biking. All week people kept asking us what we were *learning* from it all, and we got more and more irritated every time we had to say, "NOTHING. CAN'T ANYONE DO ANYTHING FOR NO GOOD REASON THESE DAYS?!?!?" But now that I think about it, I did learn that cars are the most taken for granted objects on the planet. And also that homeless people have to have extremely conditioned butts. Other than that, I suppose the whole thing wasn't exceptionally different from the way I normally live. If you either read this post back in the beginning stages of my blog or just know me somewhat well, you aren't surprised by this.