Sleeping in Boxes

This weekend I had the (somewhat dubious) privilege of chaperoning a youth group activity in which the primary objective was to learn what it's like to be homeless by sleeping outside the church in cardboard boxes. At first, my only real concern was that I wouldn't get enough sleep to function well the next day (which happened to be Sunday, the day I'm required to teach Sunday school for the kids). But as the time drew nearer, my concerns became much, much greater. This being Wisconsin, weather patterns do not follow the standard procedures I have come to expect in my years on this earth. Namely, "spring" is very often a misnomer for this time of year, and "extended winter" is very often far more accurate. This was certainly the case on Saturday night when temperatures were expected to bottom out in the 30s. Obviously, I was not particularly drawn to the idea of sleeping outside in a cardboard box in this type of weather, but the kids were determined to persevere (God love 'em).

We built our box houses on the sidewalks and grassy areas leading up to the front of the church building and had a grand time with duct tape and markers, making our houses secure against the wind (which was whipping quite strongly around us) and pretty enough to be inviting. I must say, I was quite impressed with the ingenuity of some of the housing designs. One kid fashioned his abode after a Navy or Air Force jet, very low to the ground and small on sleeping space, but he lasted the whole night in it. Several of the kids included shelves on the inside of their houses (for what purpose, I can only guess), and one even fashioned a rudimentary satellite dish and a security camera out of cardboard (which then required extreme amounts of duct tape to attach to his dwelling). My own box house was rather plain, although I did draw some flowers by the front door and labeled my house as #33 1/3.

After a miniscule supper of half a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a small cup of soup, it was beginning to grow dark. After a few games of SPUD and a some very intense flashlight wars, I called the kids banished the kids to their boxes and settled into my own. In my sweats, coat, socks, shoes, and with my hood tied securely around my head to lock in heat, I snuggled down into my sleeping bag and determined I would stay until I absolutely could not stand it anymore. Things were going pretty well. I had found a--relatively--warm spot and was just drifting off to sleep when I heard the first rustles and whispers that meant the kids were out of the boxes. I tried to ignore it for awhile and hoped the other chaperone would say something since he was much closer. Soon, however, I began to hear the soft rumble of snoring emanating from the general direction of his box, and I knew it would be up to me to nip the mischief in the bud. Gathering together every shred of willpower I had, I left my warm spot, pulled down my hood, and poked my head out into the cold, cold, cold, cold night. Like deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car, two of the kids froze staring in my direction. After telling them to go to sleep, I waited while they reentered their cardboard quarters, leaving me to survey the damage. Not too bad. They had pilfered some toilet paper from the church bathroom (I know, stealing from the church! I'm surprised they weren't struck dead on the spot.) and proceeded to paper our "shanty town". I waited a few more minutes, listening for movement from other mischief-makers, and finally decided simply to make a round of the boxes to check things out. Aside from telling some of the girls to put away their electronic devices, all seemed quiet.

Back in my box, I tried vainly to recapture the warmth I had previously discovered, while being constantly interrupted by rustles around my box. My search for warmth took a backseat to my desire for order in Shanty Town, and I repeatedly stuck my head out of my box to check for escapees. Finally, I realized the bulk of the rustling was coming from the wind blowing the toilet paper against the boxes and settled down once more. It was not to be. By this time, warmth had completely eluded me, and I was starting to feel the ominous scratching in my throat that hailed the onset of yet another cold virus. I had had enough. Gathering together my sleeping bag and pillow, I gave up the ghost on the whole homeless experience and moved inside the church. Pulling a futon mattress from our youth room to the front coat room, I settled myself to monitor the kids' comings and goings from the building from a more comfortable perch. I still didn't get much sleep, but at least now I was warm. I suppose you could say I failed the objective of our activity to experience the horrors of homelessness, but I think I learned very well that I would never want anyone to go through what I went through for those two hours I stayed in my box. Additionally, I learned that when you've survived a Wisconsin winter the likes of which have not been seen in many years, you don't tempt fate by sleeping outside in the 30s-ish temperatures of (pseudo)spring.

In conclusion, I would like to say that homelessness is bad. Habitat for Humanity is good. Fight homelessness and support Habitat for Humanity. But don't sleep outside in the cold. It's not good for you. The End.