With the bed out of the way, I was ready to try bigger and better things. The next thing on my list was a place to hang my dress shirts and pants. In a real-world setting, this would be called a “clothes rack”. So I took another trip down to Home Depot, which is quickly becoming the most important place in my life, and I picked up some screws, a screwdriver, some clothes hangers, two mounting brackets, and a 6 foot long wooden rod. If I had done everything correctly, here is how the process should have gone:

One important part of this whole process is turning the back of a truck into a livable, comfortable space. I have a number of plans and ideas on how to do that, and I’m going to chronicle my attempts at turning them into realities in this “Home Improvement” series. This one is a super basic one, but hey, baby steps. If I plan on living in this thing, I’ll need a place to sleep, naturally. So I wandered over to Craigslist, found the sketchiest new mattress and box spring set I could find, and placed an order. Notice the word “new”, that’s super important, because I’m not in the mood for a case of bed bugs or crabs or whatever else you can catch from a used mattress.

So I’ve already laid out my pros and cons of why I’m actually doing this, but there’s another aspect to it that I didn’t really explore in that post, and it basically revolves around the idea of minimalism.

We do things big in America. We love our malls, our big meals, our bigger televisions, and our huge trucks and SUVs. We live in a time of unprecedented opulence and convenience, but that doesn’t come without its own issues. The main one is that it is completely and utterly unsustainable. I remember learning in a high school environmental science class that it would take the resources of four or more planet Earths if everyone on the planet were to live the way Americans do. We’re supremely wasteful and consumptive, and it’s a lifestyle our grandchildren will certainly not be able to “enjoy”.

When you move into a new home, a trip or two to Home Depot isn’t just likely, it’s inevitable. Turns out that holds true even when your new home is a box truck. Below, I’ve detailed the unfocused and wide-ranging list of items I found myself purchasing.

• Graffiti Remover. I didn’t quite find the truck in the most perfect condition. One tire was gouged pretty badly and the left side had been tagged up pretty good. The tire is all fixed, and the graffiti remover is surprisingly effective, but I’ve got a lot of area to clean - by my measure about 37 ft². A couple more trips to an empty parking lot to clean it and I should be all set.
• Work Gloves. To keep my hands from being coated in graffiti remover.
• Step Ladder. To reach the top of the graffiti, though I actually haven’t needed it yet.
• Rags. To wipe off and mop up the graffiti.
• Hornet Killer. Another pleasant feature of the truck, small hornet nests in both door crevices. Haven’t gotten around to taking care of this yet, mainly because hornets are terrifying. They’re like bees, but less fuzzy, more menacing, and can sting you until they’re completely sure you’re miserable.
• Rope. Until I start building/buying legitimate mounting equipment, I need a way to make sure big things (like the bed) don’t move around too much while I’m driving. I don’t want a few sharp turns or hard brakes to mean rearranging the furniture. I’ll post pictures eventually, but basically I tied sliding knots around the rails on either side of the truck.
• Switchblade. To cut the rope, and just generally handy.
• Broom. To sweep up the dust and trash that was in the back. I like to keep my truck dungeon clean.
• Trash Bags. To dispose of the dungeon dust and trash, though I actually need to find a waste disposal place in the area.
• Padlock. To lock up the back when I’m not “home”.
• Tape Measure. Generally useful, mainly for figuring out placement of shelves and furniture in the future.
• Battery Lamp. The truck actually has some built-in lights in the back, but I got an extra one for good measure.

The only reasonable theme to glean here is that I’m a serial killer. Between the rope, trash bags, switchblade, gloves, and padlock, I’m surprised Home Depot didn’t call the FBI as soon as I made it to the checkout area.

So here we are, almost a week into living in California. How have things progressed, you ask? Well allow me to tell you!

Arriving in California was comforting, but also a little overwhelming, and my roommate’s words kept echoing around in my head, haunting me.

Don’t live in a van. Don’t do it.

-Zach B, Roommate for Life

I started to second guess myself. Was this really what I wanted? Was I actually being insane? What if I went through with it and then decided I didn’t want it? I’d have to deal with all the stress of having to find an apartment while starting a new job, and trying to sell the stupid van on top of all of it. Would I actually be alright without truly having a home? I was in full-fledged panic mode, and I’d been on the West Coast less than a day. Panicking is very not my style, or so I like to think, so I decided to do the rational thing, and make a list of pros and cons of living in a van, and then make a well-informed decision based on that. So, ordered from most important to least important reasons, here is my list: