Complex Mathematics for the Homeless

Last night, I dropped some friends off at their hotel after a lovely evening.  We said our goodbyes and I headed for the Underground station nearby.  On my way, I passed several darkened doorways, and in two of them there were homeless guys settled in for the night.  Both of them were reading books.  My curiosity got the better of me and, as I passed the second guy, I asked him what he was reading.

“Boolean algebra,” he said, tilting the book forward to show me pages covered in symbols which, as far as the depth of my understanding went, could have just as easily described interstellar space travel as algebraic logic problems.

I asked my new friend how he got into the subject.  He told me that he was an electrical engineer, working on synthesisers and other technological artefacts about which I am totally ignorant.  He got very excited talking about the different sound waves that his book described.  Apart from the dirt under his fingernails and a missing tooth, there was nothing about him that would keep him out of a job.  He got laid off during the recent crash and subsequently lost his apartment.  I’m sure there was more to his story, but he wanted to get back to his book and I had to catch the last train home.  I left him in the doorway, huddled up in his sleeping bag.

Years ago, I shared an apartment with a Filipino man and his wife.  His wife was a trained nurse and he was a telecom engineer.  They were living in London and working as a cleaner and a carpenter respectively.  They shared the box room of the flat and sent every penny they made back to their son in the Philippines.  Their earning power in the UK was better than it was back in the Philippines, even with all their specialised training.  I remember how shocked I was by the idea that a nurse got paid more for mopping toilets at Heathrow Airport than for saving lives in her home country.  I was younger then.

In Britain in 2011, and throughout the so-called developed world, people with valuable skills have lost their jobs and their homes through no fault of their own, no failure in their field of expertise.  They sleep in tents and doorways, waiting for the upturn that will make their skills economically viable again.

On my way back to the station, I passed a Starbucks.  They were hiring.