Restraining Order

I got the story. The landlord just told my boyfriend. The restaurant that shares a parking lot/alley with us booted the homeless couple. The restaurant owner got a restraining order on them.

Turns out “The Sheriff” (or one of the sheriffs, L.A. is a big place) was having dinner at the restaurant, and the owner took the opportunity to ask him what he should do. Apparantly he’s been completely clueless about how to get rid of these people. I’m not sure if the restaurant owner knows that you can call the police, on any of their numbers really, the 7 digit version or even 911 to get help. You don’t have to wait until a Sheriff patronizes your restaurant.

I have no idea how it happened. Did the restraining order arrive, by “mail?” Did someone deliver a piece of paper? Did the owner of the restaurant say, “Scram, you two, or it’s curtains!” Did the cops come? I wish I knew.

But I like knowing that they are not coming back and that they are not just on ‘vacation.’ I like knowing that legally and for quite a while they can’t live behind the alley and their fights and crystal meth death-coughs won’t wake me up anymore.

I can’t say that I’m “happy” about this. It is nothing to celebrate. I feel like I finally got my way, but it’s not as satisfying as when George Bush had to feebly announce that the “Democrat” party had just won the House and the Senate. There’s nothing fun about watching two people’s lives get worse. Although in 12 step, whenever someone in my group gets fired, they act like it’s a miracle from a Higher Power…”So, I thought I was doing a really good job and I was just going in everyday and showing up and surrendering and I got fired anyway! I guess, rejection is protection. There is a better job for me.”

I wonder if ‘rejection was protection’ for the homeless couple? Are they in a better alley? Will this be one of the things in a long list of things that maybe makes them re-examine their life and drug problems? I actually saw the Homeless Lady today. She crossed in front of my car at a stoplight. She was up bright and early – 7:30 a.m. walking across the street carrying a toiletry bag. Where is she cleaning up? And see this? She is totally more ‘together’ than half the people I know who can’t get out of bed or clean themselves. She’s so not homeless at heart.

I do have to say, that I’m happy that I don’t have to endure the smell of their possibly steamy shit in the warm summer months that are coming, or see any more of their pee bottles on the dumpster. And I think I would have lost my mind if I saw them put out an American Flag welcome mat come July 4th and light fireworks outside of their tent.

When my job wraps up in six weeks – if I had a toiletry bag – I could be wandeirng the streets trying to keep it together. I guess this is why these folks are so utterly fascinating and terrifying. If I can no longer see them maybe I’ll never be homeless.

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