Boy was I surprised to get a call from one of the shelter's managers today. She'd heard I had some "concerns" about the kitchen. I was trying to sneak that can opener in there without a lot of fracas… so I felt a bit like I'd been called into the principal's office and was just waiting for the axe to fall.
No. She really wanted to hear my concerns, and she was very anxious to know where, exactly, I found a table on which to mount the new, donated, can opener. She said she would see their in-house carpenter about installing it—so I have high hopes of learning to use it next Sunday!
ALSO, she gave me her personal cell phone number and told me to call her anytime I had a concern! Wow. So I said, "Well, we need knives in the kitchen—sharp ones." And I told her that I had taken knives in, but we needed more and better. I told her I'd been obliged to rush to the store one Sunday for a potato peeler because there was no way to peel the 50 pounds that were rotting in the cooler. She didn't know!
Needless to say, I'll be very careful from now on to not show my face if Joey isn't there—besides, I'm all gospeled out with shouting sermons and screaming "music."
Anyway—whew—I hate going to the principal's office, even if it does turn out okay. I just can't take that kind of pressure anymore.
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