The Billionaire Bum (2 page)

The airport was pretty dead this time of night. Most of the shops and restaurants were closed and only a small handful of employees were left at the ticket counters checking-in late night passengers. I found a vacant set of three chairs linked together in the hallway around the corner from the United Airlines check-in counter. The bathrooms were right across the hall, and I was just out of sight of the security line. Perfect.

I balled up my jacket and slipped it under my head as a makeshift pillow. It wouldn’t be the best night’s sleep I’d ever had, but I probably would get some sleep, and that was good enough for now.

Jackson

“Wake up, sir.”

“What?” I mumbled, shielding my eyes from the blinding fluorescent light.
Where the
hell am I?

“I need to see your boarding pass and driver’s license.” A police officer? No, he was a security guard. Airport security. I wondered how long I’d been asleep.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I mumbled, trying to shake off the sleep. “I um…” I didn’t have a boarding pass. I wasn’t flying anywhere. I was camping out in the airport because of some stupid-ass bet I’d made with my brother. How many beers did I have before agreeing to this?

“I haven’t checked-in for my flight yet,” I said, stupidly. “Could you tell me what time it is?”

“It’s almost four a.m.,” he said. “You can’t stay here without a boarding pass. Check-in for your flight and go through security. You can sleep at the gates but not out here.”

“Oh,” I said. “Yeah, my flight leaves in about two hours anyway, I guess. So I’ll go do that now.” He looked at my doubtfully but didn’t press any further.

Barely three hours of sleep.

I ducked into the bathroom to wash my face. Getting a toothbrush was definitely on the agenda for today. My hair was a disheveled mess, even more so than usual, and I had developed a kink in my neck from the uncomfortable sleeping position. It would be dark for at least two more hours. What on earth was I going to do until morning? I clearly couldn’t stay here, as I’d just lied to the security guard.

Leaving the bathroom, I walked down to the subway platform. The cold night air crept in here, and the cement tunnel felt eerily deserted. I sat on one of the cold wooden benches and waited for the train.

I wanted a cigarette.

I hadn’t smoked since college, and even then, I only smoked when I drank. Funny how being awake at four in the morning gave me that craving.

Eight minutes later the subway screeched to a stop, and I climbed aboard the empty car. I chose a seat in the back corner and laid my head against the window. This train was on a loop from the airport to downtown. I’d taken it occasionally when I was traveling without a lot of luggage. I preferred to leave my cars in the garage at home where I knew that they’d be safe.

Who knows what could happen to a car left unattended in the airport parking lot?

Supposedly, the train would just continue to make the loop every forty minutes or so, twenty-four hours a day. There wasn’t a lot of traffic going to and from the airport right now, so I thought my seat would remain mostly unoccupied with the possible exception of the four downtown stops. I knew it wouldn’t be great, but my body was not ready to give up on sleep yet, and I didn’t want to wander the streets until daylight. If I made the loop three times, it should get me through until morning.

Knowing that I would need to make better arrangements for tonight, I began to put a list together in my head. First things first, I would find a job. I was not a lazy homeless bum. I would work my way into a better sleeping place for tonight.

I knew that I’d have to find someone who would pay me a daily. If I had to wait a week for my first paycheck, the whole thing would be a moot point. Surely, someone would need day labor.

I slept fitfully. The first loop was all right, but as it grew closer to morning the subway became more and more crowded and sleep became less possible. It was difficult to keep track of time in an underground world, but I finally decided to make my exit when I could see the daylight filtering down the stairwell at one of the stops.

Wearily, I left my seat and climbed out into the heart of downtown. It was raining... of course. I reminded myself that it could have been worse; it could have been snow. I hoped that I wouldn’t get too soaked.

Stopping at a newsstand, I picked up a paper. I needed the help wanted section, and I was hoping that I might be able to find a charitable organization that would let me sleep in temporary housing for a few days.

I stepped out of the rain and into a small breakfast café that was just opening for business.

Despite the burger last night, I was hungry. My body seemed to be burning more calories from the lack of sleep. I ordered coffee and a short stack of pancakes. $6.50. I wasn’t accustomed to eating on a budget. After leaving a tip, I would be down to almost $50. An income was becoming a priority in a hurry.

Help wanted. Administrative Assistant… Sales… Real Estate…

Dish Washer – that was a possibility.

Bar Tender – that would mean immediate tips, but I wondered if I would need training. I could pull pints of beer, but I wasn’t too sure about all the crazy mixed drinks.
Well, it was a
place to start anyway.

Now for shelter – where would they put the listings for homeless shelters and temporary housing? Classifieds maybe? I searched the paper from cover to cover and found no information on shelters. How were you supposed to find these places? Through a church, maybe? I hadn’t been in a church since Jason’s wedding almost four years ago.

I left a small tip for the waitress and then headed back out into the rain, only mildly satisfied by my pancakes. The bar probably wouldn’t open until noon, so I’d have to wait to inquire about the bar-tending job. In the meantime, I was in need of a toothbrush and some deodorant. Who knew that it would take less than a day to feel this disgusting? Between the subway grime and the light rain, I was feeling dirty already, and I didn’t think that was the best way to go job hunting.

The RiteAid down the street proved helpful. I bought a toothbrush, travel toothpaste, travel deodorant, and a bar of soap. I paid for them and then carried my bag to the restroom in the back of the store. I locked the door and pulled my shirt over my head. Getting cleaned up in a public bathroom wasn’t ideal, but I thought it would do for now. I did feel a lot better knowing that at least my teeth were clean.

There were several churches between the RiteAid and the bar, so I thought I’d stop and ask for information on shelters and possibly soup kitchens. I couldn’t keep eating out, unless I found a source of income. My cash was dwindling quickly.

Just my luck, the first two churches appeared to be locked. Seriously? Who locked a church? Didn’t they have office staff that would be around during the day or something? The third church was also a Catholic school. This one had unlocked doors, but the administrative assistants that I came across were only associated with the school and could offer me no assistance with homeless ministries.

On the fourth try, I managed to find a back entrance that admitted me to a pastor’s office.

There was a woman sitting behind a cheap desk, her eyes focused intently on the bulky computer screen. After a moment, I cleared my throat, hoping that she would acknowledge me. She looked up quickly as if I had startled her.

“Can I help you?” she asked, never ceasing her typing.

“Uh, yeah,” I replied, “I was hoping that you might able to help me find some information on homeless shelters.”

“You’ll have to be a bit more specific.” She was looking at me like I was daft.

“I just wanted to know where the homeless shelters or soup kitchens might be located in the city and also their hours of operation if you have it.” Her eyes raked up and down my body as if considering why I would want such information. I knew that I wasn’t looking my best, but I hardly looked homeless.

“Do you want to make a donation?”

Good.
That meant that I didn’t look like a bum, at least not to her.

“Well, possibly,” I said, which was mostly true. I would consider making a donation, if I could find a place that would help me get through the rest of the week with my pride intact. “But I wanted to see the places first. I prefer to take a personal interest in the charities that I support.”

“Mmhmmm,” she replied, “well, there is a battered woman’s shelter three blocks up on Shady Avenue.” That wasn’t going to help me, as they didn’t allow men. “And a men’s shelter over on 5th. They have a drug rehab, too.” That was more promising, although the thought of spending the night with drug addicts was less than appealing. “And I know there’s a soup kitchen at Grace Evangelical, but I think it’s only on Fridays. I’m not sure if someone would be there during the rest of the week. I’m afraid that’s all the information I have. If you want to make a donation though, I’m sure I could get it into the right hands for you.”

“No, thank you,” I said, “but I appreciate the information.” I left the office and wandered back into the rain. I would wait until the bar opened, apply for the job, and then head over to the men’s shelter. If all else failed, I could make a few friends amongst my “peers” in the shelter who might be able tell me where to find a decent free meal.

It was just after 10:30 am when I reached the bar that had posted the ad in the paper. Sure enough, there was a help wanted sign in the window as well.
I knew that there was work
available for those who weren’t lazy. Some people just need to get off their asses.
The hours posted on the door claimed it would open at 11:00.

Having time to kill was an unusual experience for me. I was itching to check my email or at least place a call to my personal assistant. Time moved so much slower outside of the corporate world.

There was a small park across the street with a fountain and couple of park benches. It was an appealing place to sit and wait. The rain had stopped temporarily, but the benches were still wet. I wiped the rain off as best I could and then perched precariously on the driest edge of the seat. I unfolded my newspaper in front of me. If the bar-tending job didn’t pan out, I would try the dishwasher next. It was on the way to the shelter anyway.

Maybe I could get some lunch, too. Those pancakes weren’t holding me.

Finally, a middle-aged man stepped out from the bar and unlocked the door. I walked across the street.

“Good morning, sir,” I said, extending my hand. “My name is Jackson. I was hoping to apply for your open bartending position.” He shook my hand and let his eyes sweep over my form. I was hoping that I looked young enough to pass for a recently graduated college student.

“I’ll give you an application,” he said.

I sat at the bar and filled out the application with a borrowed pen. Permanent address.

Well that was going to be a problem. I couldn’t exactly tell him that I lived in the penthouse suite of the highest-priced apartment building in this city. I had other homes as well: a beach house off the coast of South America, and a ski chalet in Tahoe, but neither of those would work for this application. Could I list my parent’s address? I wrote it down.

Phone number… Shit, Jason had my phone. If an employer wanted to call me, I would be virtually unreachable.

Work history… Yeah, I’m the CEO of one of the most profitable companies in the United States. I was clearly going to have to edit my work history. Fuck, this is going to be impossible.

I finally settled for making everything up. I gave my parents’ phone number. I was going to pretend to be still living at their home, but I would have to do everything that I could to keep him from calling their house. I could just hear my mother now, “Why is my son applying for a job at a bar? Are you sure he didn’t want to buy your bar? Would you consider it an investment property?” That would not be good. I was going to have to talk my way out of this before it came to calling anyone.

I can do this.

I was a Princeton graduate for God’s sake. Of course, my application named a local state system university instead, but somehow I didn’t think that it would matter for a position pouring drinks. Surely, I could bullshit my way through one lousy interview.

“Sir?” I said, putting on my most professional and respectful demeanor. “I’ve finished the application. I was hoping that you might have time to conduct an interview now, if everything looks acceptable, of course.”

He took my application and skimmed it briefly. “You’ve never tended bar before?”

“No, sir. But I did work in a pizza shop for a while where we served beer.” It was a lie. I had interned with a large commercial real estate firm for a year when I was in college. That was the closest I’d ever come to this line of work, which wasn’t very close. He gave me a non-committal grunt. I was going to have to do something in a hurry or this interview was going to go downhill fast.

Just then the door opened and two beautiful young women stepped through. The bar was open for lunch and the two of them, probably co-workers, appeared to be here for sandwiches and possibly cocktails. I could do this. I put on my very best smile and then turned to my new customers.

“Hi, come on in,” I said, throwing the full weight of my inherited Hayes charm at them. I grabbed a couple of menus from the bar and ushered them to a table. The owner hadn’t stopped me yet, and I was too afraid to look over my shoulder for his approval. I handed the girls the menus. “What can I get you lovely ladies to drink?”

One of them giggled and one of them blushed. Yes! Even homeless I could charm the pants off of them. I allowed myself a brief moment to finish that fantasy before they answered.

“Captain and Coke,” the first one said. I looked to the other.

“I’ll have a Bud Light in a bottle please.”

“Coming right up,” I said.

I turned back to my interviewer. “Captain and Coke and a Bud Light in a bottle?” He burst out laughing. “Yeah, all right, smart ass,” he said. “The beer is in the cooler in the corner. Captain’s right here, and the Coke is in the tap.” He handed me a glass, pointed to the ice and then showed me how to measure and pour the drink. “Give the girls their drinks and get their order. Then we’ll work out the terms.”