A&E is playing a the movie "Forrest Gump" right now...got me thinking how many times I, like Forrest, just up and ran, sometimes for no reason at all.
Early Spring 1972
One afternoon, for no reason at all, I decided that I didn't want to live with my family anymore. As the sun set, I looked up to the darkening sky and decided to head to New York. Not really knowing which way New York was I headed at least to the nearest border of town; east, to Cumberland.
It probably took me about an hour or so to get to Walnut Hill Plaza. I was just passing the newly built McDonald's and could smell the hamburgers. I sure was hungry. I forgot to bring any money though, so I couldn't buy any.
The police spotted me there, a lone boy walking steadily east on Diamond Hill Road.
Back home, my mother was busily hugging me and thanking the cops for finding me. She wailed and fawned wondering why I would run away. I later was sent to a shrink to try and find out why I wasn't happy. To this day, I still don't know what set me off.
I was 7 years old.
Early Spring 1977
I posted about this one in a FLASHBACK about a year ago.
I talked my friend Michael Drolet into running away. Again, I think New York was the supposed destination. Again, absolutely no preparations like money, clothes, plans for what we would do for a living or how we would get there. It just goes to show that somehow I was able to inspire someone else to my way of thinking, without actually thinking.
We were found by the Lincoln police sleeping in an abandoned car in the parking lot of Lincoln Mall.
Late Summer 1982
After the Bradford Street apartment fell through and I had to move back in with my family, I started feeling the wanderlust bug again.
Since Larry P. had fucked up my car and I sold it back to Paul D. I had been relying on a 10-speed Huffy for transportation. I quickly grew to like bike riding and got pretty fit developing quite muscular legs.
I got the idea that I would ride my bike across the country to California. I drew out my likely route across the southern US to avoid the coldest of the upcoming weather. I wrote out a letter of resignation for Howard Johnson's. I wrote notes for family and friends explaining my intent to bike to California. This time, I actually saved up some money (maybe a couple hundred) and got a backpack. I checked out prices for collapsible portable pup tents and a sleeping bag.
This time round, though, I didn't go through with it.
Late Fall 1990
After the dismissal from Amego, but before the onset of Black Winter, I was seeking a new direction. I went to a job fair at a hotel in Warwick for a company which held the concession for tourist hotels and restaurants at Grand Canyon National Park. The jobs were minimum wage positions like housekeeping and line cooks. If hired, they would provide room and board at the park, but you'd have to provide your own transport there.
I filled out the application and went through the interview. A week later I got the letter saying that I was hired.
But I knew I had to return the Cavalier and the Escort would never had made it to Arizona. So, again I didn't go through with it.
April 1997
I usually tell people that the reason I moved to Florida was the weather. I say that I was scraping ice off the windshield of my car in April and decided that I needed to move someplace where the weather was nice year-round.
That's true, but there were deeper reasons.
Though I grew comfortable with my job, I realized I was slowly burning out from boredom. I'd go in at 11pm, get through Kardex, quick check on the residents and then watch TV till about 2am. Made my 2 o'clock call in and then sleep on Donald's couch till the 5am call. (These calls were set up as a safety protocol, but really they were supposed to be a way to make sure staff didn't sleep on the job. Yeah, right.) I'd sleep again till about 8 when I'd get up, give out morning meds and watch TV until the next shift came in at 9.
Same routine, every Friday, Saturday and Sunday night. 3 ten hour shifts each week, and that was my career. Total slacker dream job.
I counted as full-time even though it was only 30 hours a week, so I got benefits. And being in the human services field, they were great benefits at that. But I made only $8.25 an hour. A little more than $200 a week take home. Until January of this year I was paying rent at $500 a month, and my car payment at $144 a month; that left very little for everything else. At least now rooming with Chiafalo I paid only about $300 a month.
So I needed to make more money, and I knew there was no chance of advancement at that job. Been there twice, and demoted twice. Once by choice, once not so voluntarily.
I also was hankerin' for a job which interested me and kept me somewhat challenged. Not too much, mind you, but something to keep the blood running.
But also, though I was in good standing with my employer, I knew it could come crashing down.
Though I found out that even a month after my license was suspended as a result of my DUI in Florida, the RI DMV knew nothing of it. I was still legal to drive in Rhode Island. (This was before the widespread ubiquity of the internet; I'm sure today, a suspension in one state is instantly conveyed to all the others instantly)
But I knew it would be just a matter of time. And my job required a valid driver's license. And I felt that even once the suspension was over in 6 months, a DUI on your record wouldn't go over well. A clean driving record was also mandatory.
And living in Providence while working in Woonsocket, a 20 mile commute each way, I couldn't do it without being able to drive.
Florida, meanwhile, allowed a suspended driver to get a hardship license. RI had no such animal. If you had a suspended license, you couldn't drive until your suspension was over.
So for the love of the freedom to drive, I moved to Florida. Nice weather, better scenery, better job prospects, lower cost of living, theme parks and beaches...that was all secondary.
I planned well for this one. I contacted the DialAmerica branch in Orlando and got a job like that. Then I scouted apartments on the internet and found what looked to be pretty nice for a good price. I cashed in my 503b plan (non-profit employer equivalent to a 401k) for about $4000. Paid off my $2000 balance on my Capital One card and put the rest in my checking account ready to transfer to a Florida bank once I moved.
I packed up as much of my shit as humanly possible into my Geo Metro hatchback, which meant I had a lot of stuff left over. I gave it all to Chiafalo.
I drove 12 hours, stayed overnight at a motel in North Carolina, and in the morning drove on another 12 hours to Orlando. When I got to the apartment complex, I nearly had a panic attack. It didn't look like the lush, luxurious resort style living like I saw in the website pictures.
In reality, the place was not that bad. But it definitely was in a low income area of town. And to my eyes, having grown up in a 98% white New England town, the neighborhood certainly had a strong minority flavor.
I ended up settling in fairly quickly. Except I got too accustomed to living off my savings and credit card and showed up for my hated telemarketing job very infrequently.
Which eventually led to...
January 1998
Though I broke my lease at the apartment complex and rented a room in a 3 bedroom condo with 2 gay guys in Altamonte to save money, I was still having problems making ends meet and finding a quality job. I was still struggling with low paying telemarketing that I took lots of time off from.
And after my breakup with Justin, I was in another funk.
So, I secretly (since I was skipping out on rent) packed up my stuff in my Metro again, and decided to go home. Back to Rhode Island.
I didn't give this decision a second thought, even though I wasn't sure where I would stay and had about $90 to my name. Not a second thought, that is, until I reached New London, Connecticut.
As I drove eastward on Route 95 through this eastern Connecticut city, it seemed suddenly as if I had just woken up from a dream. I looked around at all the grey dead trees as I sped along just east of the city limits, within 30 miles of the Rhode Island border. It suddenly dawned on me I had no money, nowhere to stay, no job, and it was still winter. I nearly freaked out thinking that I must be crazy. I call this moment and the subsequent experiences of the next couple weeks my New London Syndrome.
I showed up at Wayne's doorstep after finding his address in the phone book. I hadn't called or written him in about 2 years but we clicked like we had kept in touch all along right away. He said I could stay with him for a couple of weeks till I got on my feet. I looked in the papers over the next week or so for jobs but there seemed to be no prospects. I inquired about working at my original DM office in Warwick, but they contacted Orlando and found out I averaged about 14 hours a week; they had a mandatory 30 hour minimum. I knew I couldn't do that many hours so I declined.
I decided I would go back to Orlando after talking with Chris, a guy I met while I was volunteering at GLCS. After telling him my situation, he said I probably could stay with him in Metrowest for a while. I sold my computer to Wayne for $650 (double what it was worth) but I think he paid that much as an unspoken charitable gift to help me out.
By the middle of February, I was back in Orlando and back at DM again, but this time I saw real potential at a promotion so I started working pretty much my full schedule.
and finally the Koyaanisqatsi moves back and forth from Florida to New Orleans:
March 2003, to New Orleans
June 2003, back to Florida
August 2003, back to New Orleans
November 2003, back to Florida
August 2004, back to New Orleans
January 2005, back to Florida
Yeah, I know.
Early Spring 1972
One afternoon, for no reason at all, I decided that I didn't want to live with my family anymore. As the sun set, I looked up to the darkening sky and decided to head to New York. Not really knowing which way New York was I headed at least to the nearest border of town; east, to Cumberland.
It probably took me about an hour or so to get to Walnut Hill Plaza. I was just passing the newly built McDonald's and could smell the hamburgers. I sure was hungry. I forgot to bring any money though, so I couldn't buy any.
The police spotted me there, a lone boy walking steadily east on Diamond Hill Road.
Back home, my mother was busily hugging me and thanking the cops for finding me. She wailed and fawned wondering why I would run away. I later was sent to a shrink to try and find out why I wasn't happy. To this day, I still don't know what set me off.
I was 7 years old.
Early Spring 1977
I posted about this one in a FLASHBACK about a year ago.
I talked my friend Michael Drolet into running away. Again, I think New York was the supposed destination. Again, absolutely no preparations like money, clothes, plans for what we would do for a living or how we would get there. It just goes to show that somehow I was able to inspire someone else to my way of thinking, without actually thinking.
We were found by the Lincoln police sleeping in an abandoned car in the parking lot of Lincoln Mall.
Late Summer 1982
After the Bradford Street apartment fell through and I had to move back in with my family, I started feeling the wanderlust bug again.
Since Larry P. had fucked up my car and I sold it back to Paul D. I had been relying on a 10-speed Huffy for transportation. I quickly grew to like bike riding and got pretty fit developing quite muscular legs.
I got the idea that I would ride my bike across the country to California. I drew out my likely route across the southern US to avoid the coldest of the upcoming weather. I wrote out a letter of resignation for Howard Johnson's. I wrote notes for family and friends explaining my intent to bike to California. This time, I actually saved up some money (maybe a couple hundred) and got a backpack. I checked out prices for collapsible portable pup tents and a sleeping bag.
This time round, though, I didn't go through with it.
Late Fall 1990
After the dismissal from Amego, but before the onset of Black Winter, I was seeking a new direction. I went to a job fair at a hotel in Warwick for a company which held the concession for tourist hotels and restaurants at Grand Canyon National Park. The jobs were minimum wage positions like housekeeping and line cooks. If hired, they would provide room and board at the park, but you'd have to provide your own transport there.
I filled out the application and went through the interview. A week later I got the letter saying that I was hired.
But I knew I had to return the Cavalier and the Escort would never had made it to Arizona. So, again I didn't go through with it.
April 1997
I usually tell people that the reason I moved to Florida was the weather. I say that I was scraping ice off the windshield of my car in April and decided that I needed to move someplace where the weather was nice year-round.
That's true, but there were deeper reasons.
Though I grew comfortable with my job, I realized I was slowly burning out from boredom. I'd go in at 11pm, get through Kardex, quick check on the residents and then watch TV till about 2am. Made my 2 o'clock call in and then sleep on Donald's couch till the 5am call. (These calls were set up as a safety protocol, but really they were supposed to be a way to make sure staff didn't sleep on the job. Yeah, right.) I'd sleep again till about 8 when I'd get up, give out morning meds and watch TV until the next shift came in at 9.
Same routine, every Friday, Saturday and Sunday night. 3 ten hour shifts each week, and that was my career. Total slacker dream job.
I counted as full-time even though it was only 30 hours a week, so I got benefits. And being in the human services field, they were great benefits at that. But I made only $8.25 an hour. A little more than $200 a week take home. Until January of this year I was paying rent at $500 a month, and my car payment at $144 a month; that left very little for everything else. At least now rooming with Chiafalo I paid only about $300 a month.
So I needed to make more money, and I knew there was no chance of advancement at that job. Been there twice, and demoted twice. Once by choice, once not so voluntarily.
I also was hankerin' for a job which interested me and kept me somewhat challenged. Not too much, mind you, but something to keep the blood running.
But also, though I was in good standing with my employer, I knew it could come crashing down.
Though I found out that even a month after my license was suspended as a result of my DUI in Florida, the RI DMV knew nothing of it. I was still legal to drive in Rhode Island. (This was before the widespread ubiquity of the internet; I'm sure today, a suspension in one state is instantly conveyed to all the others instantly)
But I knew it would be just a matter of time. And my job required a valid driver's license. And I felt that even once the suspension was over in 6 months, a DUI on your record wouldn't go over well. A clean driving record was also mandatory.
And living in Providence while working in Woonsocket, a 20 mile commute each way, I couldn't do it without being able to drive.
Florida, meanwhile, allowed a suspended driver to get a hardship license. RI had no such animal. If you had a suspended license, you couldn't drive until your suspension was over.
So for the love of the freedom to drive, I moved to Florida. Nice weather, better scenery, better job prospects, lower cost of living, theme parks and beaches...that was all secondary.
I planned well for this one. I contacted the DialAmerica branch in Orlando and got a job like that. Then I scouted apartments on the internet and found what looked to be pretty nice for a good price. I cashed in my 503b plan (non-profit employer equivalent to a 401k) for about $4000. Paid off my $2000 balance on my Capital One card and put the rest in my checking account ready to transfer to a Florida bank once I moved.
I packed up as much of my shit as humanly possible into my Geo Metro hatchback, which meant I had a lot of stuff left over. I gave it all to Chiafalo.
I drove 12 hours, stayed overnight at a motel in North Carolina, and in the morning drove on another 12 hours to Orlando. When I got to the apartment complex, I nearly had a panic attack. It didn't look like the lush, luxurious resort style living like I saw in the website pictures.
In reality, the place was not that bad. But it definitely was in a low income area of town. And to my eyes, having grown up in a 98% white New England town, the neighborhood certainly had a strong minority flavor.
I ended up settling in fairly quickly. Except I got too accustomed to living off my savings and credit card and showed up for my hated telemarketing job very infrequently.
Which eventually led to...
January 1998
Though I broke my lease at the apartment complex and rented a room in a 3 bedroom condo with 2 gay guys in Altamonte to save money, I was still having problems making ends meet and finding a quality job. I was still struggling with low paying telemarketing that I took lots of time off from.
And after my breakup with Justin, I was in another funk.
So, I secretly (since I was skipping out on rent) packed up my stuff in my Metro again, and decided to go home. Back to Rhode Island.
I didn't give this decision a second thought, even though I wasn't sure where I would stay and had about $90 to my name. Not a second thought, that is, until I reached New London, Connecticut.
As I drove eastward on Route 95 through this eastern Connecticut city, it seemed suddenly as if I had just woken up from a dream. I looked around at all the grey dead trees as I sped along just east of the city limits, within 30 miles of the Rhode Island border. It suddenly dawned on me I had no money, nowhere to stay, no job, and it was still winter. I nearly freaked out thinking that I must be crazy. I call this moment and the subsequent experiences of the next couple weeks my New London Syndrome.
I showed up at Wayne's doorstep after finding his address in the phone book. I hadn't called or written him in about 2 years but we clicked like we had kept in touch all along right away. He said I could stay with him for a couple of weeks till I got on my feet. I looked in the papers over the next week or so for jobs but there seemed to be no prospects. I inquired about working at my original DM office in Warwick, but they contacted Orlando and found out I averaged about 14 hours a week; they had a mandatory 30 hour minimum. I knew I couldn't do that many hours so I declined.
I decided I would go back to Orlando after talking with Chris, a guy I met while I was volunteering at GLCS. After telling him my situation, he said I probably could stay with him in Metrowest for a while. I sold my computer to Wayne for $650 (double what it was worth) but I think he paid that much as an unspoken charitable gift to help me out.
By the middle of February, I was back in Orlando and back at DM again, but this time I saw real potential at a promotion so I started working pretty much my full schedule.
and finally the Koyaanisqatsi moves back and forth from Florida to New Orleans:
March 2003, to New Orleans
June 2003, back to Florida
August 2003, back to New Orleans
November 2003, back to Florida
August 2004, back to New Orleans
January 2005, back to Florida
Yeah, I know.