Life is hard when you’re perpetually auditioning for the next episode of The Walking Dead. For the vulnerable populations on the streets of California, moving everything they own every day isn’t just a task—it’s a full-blown Olympic event no one signed up for. The city calls it “public safety.” The homeless call it “Tuesday.”
Take Daisy, for example. She got “lucky” and landed herself a van—a four-wheeled chariot of salvation, courtesy of the benevolent Vanlord. In Venice Beach, where dreams go to tan and die, Vanlord’s fleet of stationary storage units masquerading as vehicles has become a weird kind of community service. Daisy doesn’t have to carry her stuff anymore—she just parks it. Who needs a stationary home when you can have a house with wheels that technically can’t legally sleep you?
Oh, right. It’s illegal to sleep in vans in California. But no one said anything about using them as mobile junk drawers, so Daisy’s van is less “bedroom on wheels” and more “personal vault.” The rest of the city’s homeless? They’re not so lucky. Armed with grocery carts and broken suitcases, they schlep their entire existence from one spot to another like modern-day nomads with a Target fetish.
“Laziness” or “Logistical Nightmare”?
Some say, “Why don’t they just get a job?” Sure, Karen. Why not add a 9-to-5 on top of your daily marathon of moving every possession you own before the city shows up with a broom and an attitude? If you’re spending all your energy dodging authorities and hauling your stuff from point A to point B (and then back to point A because surprise, the city planned your bedtime), there’s not much left in the tank for a LinkedIn update.
And don’t forget the city’s thoughtful contributions to this chaos: locked bathrooms. Because nothing says “uplifting community spirit” like depriving people of basic bodily functions. Who knew planning your toilet schedule was a thing?
The Art of Not Sleeping
It’s not just moving during daylight hours that drains the soul. No, the city adds some spice to the mix by waking everyone up at unholy hours. Mondays and Wednesdays are prime zombie nights—3 AM wake-up calls, courtesy of municipal planning. Nothing like the sound of rustling tents and groggy grumbling to make you feel alive—or at least undead. By morning, everyone has sunken cheeks and grumpy attitudes, shuffling around like extras in a post-apocalyptic movie. Sleep deprivation isn’t just a side effect—it’s a lifestyle.
“Self-Affirmations” and Other Survival Skills
How do you keep your spirits up when society treats you like the physical embodiment of an inconvenience? You do self-affirmations, of course. And by self-affirmations, I mean you make sarcastic cracks that could rival an SNL Weekend Update.
“I’m not homeless,” one might joke. “I’m an urban minimalist with a side hustle in extreme cardio.” Or perhaps, “My lack of address isn’t a problem; it’s a feature. I’m off the grid like a conspiracy theorist, minus the tinfoil hat.”
The Truth No One Wants to Admit
Here’s the thing: moving everything you own every day isn’t just exhausting; it’s degrading. It’s not just about surviving—it’s about being systematically stripped of dignity while others pretend you’re invisible. The system that forces people to shuffle their belongings like nomadic ghosts in their own city isn’t just broken—it’s cruel.
So next time you see someone pushing a cart full of their life’s possessions, remember: they’re not lazy. They’re surviving a game no one wants to play, orchestrated by a system that’s rigged from the start.