Fashion Victim
I can now say I've been made fun of by the homeless. I've been the object of their ridicule. I've been pointed at with laughter and jeering. And I can't make any sort of retaliation. Why? Because they're homeless and it's not nice.

I work in a homeless shelter full of homeless men. I am a young woman. There are a few other women working in my building. But they are old, married, and have kids my age. Therefore, by default I am the office hottie. An honor that I abhor with every ounce of my being.

When I first began working here, I was not prepared for the attention I would attract just by my presence. By nature of being the only young, cute, skinny, white girl in the office, I tend to stand out a bit among my office workers and other people in the building. Even having an open mind about this completely new work environment, I wasn't quite sure what to expect about the atmosphere of the office. I was completely caught off guard that I was in the spotlight from the beginning. I don't like that much attention. I'm just not used to it. And considering where the attention comes from here, it's kinda creepy.

But, being the kind, somewhat naive (at times) person that I am, I did my best to figure out how to politely interact with the homeless as called for daily, assuming the fascination with me would soon go away. I was wrong. The friendlier I was, the more interested they became. The more I shrugged off, the more insistent they were. The 'newness' of me never wore off, since new men arrive daily to the shelter. Here I am wanting to help these needy people and just do my job, and I am rewarded by being constantly ogled and hit on, as best as men without homes or income can hit on a girl. I don't say any of that to brag or make fun. It all just makes me very uncomfortable.

For the men who participate in our long term rehabilitation program, they have a work assignment in the shelter during the day. Guys were fighting over who got to wash my car. (Ok, that one isn't so bad. My car can never be too clean.) But the guys cleaning the offices would come by to take out my trash several times a day. I appreciate the attention to the state of my office, but I don't make that much trash during one day.

When I'd come down for lunch it was a contest to see who would greet me first and who would get the best response from me. They all would make comments to compliment my outfit of the day. Nice the first time or two, but when I realized how much attention they were paying to every detail of what I wore everyday, it freaked me out a bit. Hair, clothes, jewlery, make-up. I make a point to dress conservatively while at work, but I still like to look cute. I made the mistake of wearing a skirt (a very long, non-tight skirt) once or twice. You'd think I'd just given them a brick of solid gold, the way their eyes lit up. I quickly learned that a burlap sack of some sort will likely be the only thing I can wear here that won't attract attention. A very large, very drab burlap sack.

Several guys would greet me at the door every morning as I arrived at work. Several other guys would stand at the door to say goodbye to me at the end of the day. One or two guys were so attached to me that when they decided to leave our rehab program, I'd get a drunken phone call at my office from them later, sometimes regularly for awhile, saying how much they missed me and apologizing for leaving. I began to get a little scared.

After one guy mentioned to me that he'd like to date me after he gets out of the program, I realized maybe I needed to change some of my patterns throughout the day to repel this fascination with me. I started distancing myself from the general population of the shelter. I'd keep to myself. I didn't venture out of my office as often. I'd try not to make eye contact. I didn't want to be rude, but I also didn't want to encourage that kind of behavior or whatever intentions they had towards me.

It created an interesting situation for me. Here they are, homeless men trying to get their life back together. Some of them learning for the first time how to talk and treat women properly. So, really having no course of action, but being exctremely uncomfortable by the amount and nature of attention I get here everyday, I'm in a quandry. How to repel, without being rude.

I thought some of the attention had died down a bit over the past few months. We have some new guys here, and I keep my contact with all people here to an absolute minimum, what with the evil co-worker and other co-workers of strange variety. Then, the lunch incident happened yesterday and I'm reminded that I'm still very much under scrutiny by the watchful homeless eye.

First of all, I blame the weather man. He misrepresented the forcasted temperature for the day, so if he hadn't told me it was going to be warmer than it actually was, I never would have worn the sandals. My feet were cold all day long, and I blame him. But the sandals I wore are very conservative black sandals, which cover almost my entire foot, except for the heel and my toes. My toenails happen to be painted a fabulous shade of pink, which contrasted nicely with the dark sandals and the shirt I was wearing. With the pants I wore, looking at my feet you would see the tips of pink toenails, and black shoe. Nothing shocking about that.

I'd worn these sandals many times throughout the previous warm season. I'd also worn them all morning, interacting with all the homeless men during our morning chapel service. My feet had been in plain view all day, just like any other day, without any disturbance thus far. Honestly, my footwear never entered my mind as a possible source of excitement. I was very, very wrong.

I went down for lunch, and as I headed towards the food line, one of the homeless men suddenly looked at me and started laughing, VERY LOUDLY. He pointed at my shoes, said he'd never seen shoes like that before, and continued to laugh like my feet were the funniest things he'd ever seen. Now, over the past year or so I've moved past a phase of being self-conscious about my large clown feet. I just never felt they were very attractive, so I always kept them shoed and socked. I now confidently keep the toenails painted during the warm seasons, the feet themselves well-groomed, and I allow them to be seen in various sandals. They are actually quite cute, and I have liberated them from shoe bondage to roam freely out in the world. But, for someone to suddenly direct a roomfull of attention to my feet was very off-setting, to say the least. Nightmares of people ridiculing my long, bony feet were rapidly returning to me. I was caught off guard. I hadn't anticipated such hub-bub about my feet on this particular day.

He continued to laugh and attract a lot of attention in my direction. I just stood there, unsure of what to do. I tried to laugh it off and move towards the food, but he kept going. I didn't understand if it was the shoes themselves, or the fact that I was wearing sandals in cold weather, or that my cute pink toes were out for the first time at work since last season and they were a shocking turn of events. Soon, all the other men in the room starting scrambling towards me and calling at me to come show them my feet. This was definitely a nightmare. A room full of homeless men laughing and making a big deal about my shoes. I mean, had they checked their own footwear lately? Not to point out the cruel and obvious, but they aren't exactly in a position to laugh at anyone's shoes or attire.

I became very uncomfortable that my feet were under such scrutiny. I had hoped my wardrobe had stopped attracting so much attention, but alas, it hadn't. I didn't want to be rude, but these guys were starting to make me a bit mad. They didn't understand that they'd pointed out my silly shoes, had a good laugh, and now the joke was over. I think they were more fascinated with my girlie feet than anything else, but really I'd just come down to grab some lunch, minding my own business. I did not come down to model my feet to a room full of men.

I secured my lunch and decided to head back up to my office to eat with my feet under my desk, safe from interested eyes. I don't think they meant to be mean or rude, but I was still very uncomfortable, nonetheless.

I guess I just need to abandon all good fashion during the work week. They just can't handle my style.

Seriously, burlap. And moccasins. My only hope.

C.T.