Me: I wanted this show to be about nose pickers, a very broad and clandestine group, but then I remembered that we're heading into another Thanksgiving Day long weekend in my country and thought it would be more appropriate to end our People Week with a nod of appreciation to the homeless. They make almost everyone else feel better about their lives. And what's our attitude about it most of the time? Thankless. Our first guest has been sleeping on the roof of the Metropolitan Plaza since he abandoned his shelter to find more comfortable lodgings. Would you kindly welcome Mister Earl Freemont!
(Enter the scraggly-bearded Freemont in an oversized army coat and a cast on his arm. I get up to shake his free hand and we take our seats.)
Me: Mister Freemont, I have been homeless many times throughout my life, the most recent of which was less than a year ago. I blame myself for often being rather hopelessly disorganized. How did you end up homeless?
Freemont: Well I started out with a promising future in a job that people used to say was secure until retirement. Then they downsized after I'd been with them for twenty-five years and left me to compete with workers half my age for jobs where I'd get bossed around by people two thirds of my age, so I just said 'Fuck it!'
Me: But aren't basic needs like rent covered by welfare?
Freemont: As long as you have a roommate to pay the other half of it. But I need my privacy.
Me: I see, I see. So what went wrong at the shelter? The one I stayed in was better than the room I rented afterwards.
Freemont: Did you stay in a dorm?
Me: Yes.
Freemont: How many beds?
Me: Twenty-eight, I think.
Freemont: How did you sleep through all that awful snoring and burping and farting?
Me: Earplugs.
Freemont: Well, like I said, I'm a man who needs his privacy. I got the roof of that plaza all to myself. And I get plenty of open air.
Me: Ah yes, the roof. What gave you the idea to sleep up there?
Freemont: I was working there with some roofers for a day-labour assignment when I noticed this little alcove with a heating vent. And I figured it would be private since we workers were the only ones who were shown how to get up there.
Me: You don't mind sleeping outdoors in the winter?
Freemont: No. I put my sleeping bag over the vent and it keeps me warm.
Me: Well, that's quite the story. I'm sorry you have to suffer so much. And I see you hurt your arm, too. How did that happen?
Freemont: Rolled over in my sleep.
Me: Earl Freemont, everyone! Let's give him our thanks!
(Applause. Commercial.)
Me: Up next is a man who has carved out a home for himself in a tree. No, he's not Bilbo Baggins, he's Chester Groves!
(Applause. Enter the scraggly-bearded Groves, wearing a hunting jacket. Greetings.)
Me: So. There once was a man who lived in a tree.
Groves: That's me.
Me: Do you have enough room in there?
Groves: Sure. I only use it for sleeping.
Me: Lying down?
Groves: Yes. It's one of those big old redwoods.
Me: The animals don't bother you?
Groves: Most of them. The chipmunks put up a fight though. I never knew they could be so territorial.
Me: And it must be great for spying.
Groves: Yes. I've seen some pretty shocking things.
Me: Like what?
Groves: One time I saw these guys taking a leak.
Me: That's not weird in a park that size.
Groves: Into the same styrofoam cup? Without it tipping over?
Me: That's a little weird.
Groves: And I'll never forget this ritual I saw.
Me: You mean like one of those Satanic ones?
Groves: Yeah. It was real creepy. A group of these well dressed men, real upscale types. And they had a child with them, a young girl. They all changed into these faggy gowns and formed a circle, with the child lying down in the centre, blindfolded.
Me: How old was the girl?
Groves: I don't know. Maybe eight or nine. Anyway, one of them pulled out a scroll and read from it and it was the most blasphemous load of shit I ever heard in my life. And then he took out a dagger and approached the child.
Me: Good heavens! They didn't sacrifice her right in front of you, did they?
Groves: No. The little girl got up, pulled off her blindfold, and said, 'How dare you speak that way about the Lord!' and kicked the guy with the knife right in the balls. He went down and she took his knife and stabbed the next man in the leg. The rest of them turned and ran and she chased them out of sight. Man. What a bunch of wimps.
Me: (pausing to think of a comment) Happy ending, at least.
Groves: Yeah, I guess.
Me: Did you help the guy who got stabbed?
Groves: No. I let him bleed to death.
Me: Good for you! Chester Groves, everyone! Let's give him our thanks for that remarkable tale! (Applause.)
*********************************************
Commercial: A-WEL Weight Loss Plan
(An office.)
Boss: (handing parcel to a chubby man) We need this sent priority post.
Man: (extending arms out like wings) What for? I can get it there faster in the bat-copter! Come on, Robin! We have work to do!
Announcer: Are diet pills making you batty? Lose weight the natural way with A-WEL, the Artist's and Writer's Weight Loss Plan.
(Product shot.)
Announcer: A-WEL comes in book form, to help accelerate your weight loss as you learn secrets hitherto known only by history's most devoted artists, such as
(The man at home with a guitar, scratching out a word on his notepad.)
Announcer: Week One. It doesn't cost anything to write a song - and it doesn't pay anything either.
(The man, visibly thinner, eating a styrofoam cup.)
Announcer: Week Two. With enough imagination, any chewing action can substitute for a real meal.
(The man at work, now skeletal, quitting his job.)
Announcer: Week Three. No paying job is worth your soul.
(The man collapses on the sidewalk. An ambulance stops and the attendants put him in a stretcher.)
Attendant #1: This guy's light as a feather.
Attendant #2: He must have gone A-WEL.
(Close-up of the man's face as they roll him into the vehicle. He comes to and smiles at the camera with pride.)
Announcer: Don't give the ambulance attendants any more to blubber about. Go A-WEL today!
*********************************************
Me: She's been homeless ever since her father died in a tragic polo accident. Miss Tiffany Shields!
(Enter Shields, who bears an uncanny resemblance to Holly Go-Lightly. We hug.)
Me: You look very sophisticated for a homeless person.
Shields: Thank you.
Me: So how do you pass the time in your bleak life?
Shields: It's awful. I must spend all my time in the shopping centre.
Me: Yes, a lot of homeless people use shopping centres for shelter. And where do you sleep?
Shields: I haven't had a bed to call my own since my father died.
Me: That's so sad.
Shields: And the servants in my cousin's mansion don't respect me.
Me: Servants? You're staying in a mansion?
Shields: Yes. It's a real step down from my father's castle.
Me: Did the bank repossess it?
Shields: The bank already possessed it.
Me: And they still let you live there?
Shields: It was my father's bank.
Me: Then why did you have to move out?
Shields: To make room for the workers as they remodel it for me.
Me: You poor thing!
Shields: Life is cruel.
Me: Well, I'm sorry about your father, at least. And that wraps it up for People Week on the D.S. Show. I'll be right back with a song to wish you a great Thanksgiving Day long weekend.
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