One of my favorite stories to tell the younger employees and customers at my retail gig was about the difficulties I encountered when I worked the late shift. It would make me a very sympathetic figure in a story that was completely fabricated. On a slow evening I would choose a small group of young people to talk to (sometimes one on one but I small group gave me a better vibe). After some initial chit chat, I would casually say I hoped I would be able to sleep inside after work. The folks I was talking to usually thought I was joking. That was when I knew they were hooked and I would begin telling them that I lived at The Home. Like the retail store where I worked, The Home closed it’s doors at 9pm. As a result, I never got there until 30 to 45 minutes after The Home had locked up for the night. Some nights I circled the building for over an hour trying to find an unlocked door or get the attention of a nurse. If I wasn’t able to get into The Home by midnight, I would assume the nurses had either dozed off or were in different parts of the building. I would pull a blanket from the trunk I stored there for that purpose and find the most comfortable spot I could. Usually I chose the garden next to the front entrance for safety and slept until staff arrived in the morning. I would share my tale of woe with sincerity and a straight face. The upside I found was that most of these young folks would compassionately offer me a place to stay or offer to speak to management on my behalf to allow me to leave early. The down side was that never did a person say that I seemed much too young and vital to live in The Home.