Reason #8243 Why I Do Not Love My Job
I got another love letter yesterday. And not the good kind. This time it came in the mail, from one of the homeless guys who stayed here at the shelter where I work for several months and recently left to be out roaming free in the world again. This one seriously creeped me out. Highly upsetting.

Now, I cannot blame these men for falling in love with me. After all, I am dead sexy. But the irony of the fact that I have these homeless men thinking of me in ways that I never want to be thought of by anyone, on a daily basis, even after they leave here, yet I cannot attract a nice, normal, non-homeless, non-crazy boyfriend is frustrating beyond measure. I come to work everyday trying not to be noticed or sexy or inviting or potential girlfriend material. I try my best to hide in my office, do my stuff, and get the heck out of there as quickly as possible everyday. Yet (and I don't say this to brag at all) the homeless men here inevitably fall for me. I just can't help it. And I hate it.

The 'infatuation factor' is not something I bargained for when I took this job. I'm not here to be drooled over. If I wanted that, I could go work down the street at the Bikini Sports Bar. And make more money, at that.

By now I can recognize the signs to know which guys have taken a fancy to me. It's happened too many times. Picture the homeless guy you see on the street corner everyday. Then picture him being around you all day everyday for months, where you work. Then picture him waiting by the window to greet you every morning as you get to work. And waiting by the door to see you off as you head home every evening. Picture him always trying to sit by you, and talk to you, and ask you personal questions. Picture him constantly staring at you from across the room, always managing to be in your line of sight.

Then one summer afternoon you get a letter from this man. He is writing to tell you he left the shelter so that he could get a job, and to be able to pursue you without breaking any of the rules of the shelter. He thoughtfully mentions that he already knows many details about you, and would like to know more. And by the way, he still thinks about you everyday. And he wants you to send him a picture of you.

Holy cow. Freak out.

Needless to say, I took the letter immediately to one of our Directors and told him this cannot happen anymore. He was understanding. He recognized that this was a problem. He said he would do a few things to take care of the matter. I almost felt better, until he mentioned this guy's serious 'mental problems'. Then I needed to leave immediately. . . and have a good cry as I hurried home. Hoping no crazed-in-love homeless men were there to greet me outside my door.

Blech.

Anyway, other than feeling like I need to travel with bodyguards, mace, a ten foot pole, and an attack dog, I'm good.

Considering entering the Witness Protection Program. But good.

C.T.