I Was A Teenage Homeless Decoy

A dispatch from one of the quality-control plants in the latest citywide homeless census:

Two pairs of pants, outer layer ratty. Check. Boots, thermal socks from my scouting days. Check. Hat, gloves, hoody, survive-the-winter-apocalypse jacket. Check.

I left home for a church basement on 107th St., our staging area. There were roughly two dozen “plants” at our location, part of an army of 150 across the five boroughs. We were posing as street dwellers to serve as a control group for HOPE 2006, an annual attempt by the city to conduct a census of thousands of homeless New Yorkers.

. . .

I was just nodding off when a passerby had dropped two sandwiches in front of me: turkey and cheese on sesame bread, wrapped in tinfoil. The real homeless man continued to snore. I soon joined him. I don’t know how much time elapsed, but I was roused by a gentle foot.

“It’s better to sleep in the middle,” said a man, whom I would later hear called Carl. I made a groggy noise in reply, and he continued. “You’re not in people’s way.”

I followed him to the bench the original man had occupied. I offered him the sandwiches. He and two companions gladly accepted. “How long have you guys been out here?” I asked. Carl gave me a skeptical eye, and I began to elaborate, telling him about the homeless count.

“So are you dumb or are you stupid?” the man next to Carl, wearing a flute in a case around his neck and sporting a tam and dreads, leveled.

Wait for it . . . wait for it . . . yes! The post-modern flourish!

He starting cursing like a sailor, focusing his rage on me and all the others who came out to try to “understand” the homeless. People who later write about their experiences in some evocation of self-worth and pity. People like me.

See also: Ben McGrath’s Talk of The Town piece about homeless decoys during last year’s census.