Towards the end of my WTF year, I found myself homeless. Not completely homeless — I had a car. That’s where I lived. Living in a car came with side effects. Some inconvenient, some brutally embarrassing, and some I still don’t want to admit.
There were the obvious problems. Showers were an issue; I took them at work. On the off‑days, I kept a plastic bag full of wet paper towels and used them to wash up. Disgusting, but it was all I had. I didn’t have perfume, and wouldn’t have used it anyway — nothing is worse than body odor mixed with roses. I used Febreze. I sprayed myself with household disinfectant so I wouldn’t smell.
Clean clothes were scarce. I hadn’t taken many when I escaped the house, and I could only run laundry once a week at work. I improvised and re‑wore things. I didn’t do much except sit in the car, so they didn’t get that dirty. And yes, I used the old “turn your undies inside out” trick.
My constantly dirty nails were a mystery. By the end of each day they were black, like I’d been digging in the dirt bare‑handed. My feet were another embarrassment. I didn’t have a nail clipper, and all I’d taken from the house were flip‑flops and one pair of sneakers. I wore the sneakers almost every day to keep my ugly feet hidden. Hairy legs stayed covered with pants, no matter how hot it was. The only time I could wear shorts was the few days after a shower.
Using the bathroom was a constant problem. I was surviving on Pepsi, so I always had to pee. Most stores around here don’t have public restrooms, so I had to find a big chain store or… improvise. Mostly I used parking lots. I learned that if I opened both passenger doors and parked at a slight angle, I could sort of hide between them. Humiliating, but I got used to it.
Then there was the mess inside my car. It served as a home office, a kitchen, a dressing room, and a bedroom. It was a disaster. Anyone looking in could tell I was living in it. There was no hiding it. Every morning I’d go to the car wash with free vacuums and clean it out — organize my papers, fold my clothes, throw away yesterday’s food and the countless empty soda bottles rolling around the floor.
There were a few more mortifications I don’t ever want to think about again. They still give me chills when I remember.
Still standing, no longer peeing in parking lots,
K.
