OVERFLOW ON THE FLOOR

       The young blonde woman is keeping the gate today. She never looks up. People go in and out unseen (as folks on the inside open the door for them), and I must believe it would be fairly easy for someone dangerous to slide thru the cracks. But Doug says she's a good worker—better than Lanyard Guy who'll be in charge of handing out food later tonight. He's rowing with only one oar, so we don't expect much from him.

       This is the first bitter cold day of the season. No one was outside smoking, and the dining room held a number of folks seeking someplace to go—that pale whale of a man being front and center for the whole morning. He stays close to the food or someone to talk to. I used his expertise to judge the grits I was fixing—and yes, I was "fixing" them, not preparing them.

       Doug began by showing off a 5-gallon pot of soup he'd made "for the overflow" and a 3-gallon pot with grits (his first). He doesn't like grits, so he's never made them. He tried increasing the recipe on the bag, but when they didn't seem right, he winged it. We had about 6 quarts of gritty grits. I added at least 2 quarts of water over the next 90 minutes and simmered those "quick grits" until they were as tender as God would allow. The pale one taste-tested until they passed muster. I added cheese. The grits were good.

       The soup was thick, and Doug said it needed more liquid, but he wasn't sure how to do that. We didn't have chicken broth, so I added a can of mixed greens, a jar of spaghetti sauce and a lot of water. This soup pot was for "the overflow." Joey used to mention the overflow, but I never asked many questions about them. Today, I asked. Doug says they are folks who come in the evenings for a meal and a warm bed. They are not "regular residents," and they sleep on mats on the floor. There are usually about 20 of them, but there is room for 40. I'm never at the shelter in the evenings, so I've not seen these people. I assume they are all men, because they stay "downstairs." The weather has guaranteed a crowd of them tonight, and Doug is ready. As always, on bitter-cold days, there were a few folks holed up in the foyer, with no place else to go.

       For lunch, we served scrambled eggs, bacon, biscuits, and grits. No one complained, and we did run out of that food near the end. Latecomers had to settle for parts of the menu or leftover fish sandwiches in rock-hard buns. If I had not given the pre-release so many seconds, we'd have had enough for everyone… Doug sat in a chair, crossed his arms over his chest, and grinned as I handed out extras. He knew I was erring. Still, everyone left with a full stomach, and I was prepared to serve out the soup if necessary.

       We also served a "surprise" meal of sardines and crackers, again hiding a new ballpoint pen under the sardine can. I put grits and eggs on the side. There were three of us serving up lunch, but none of us saw who took the surprise plate! Aw, man…

       We have a "new angry mom," as Doug calls her. She has two absolutely gorgeous little boys, 5 and 7, who appear to be normal, busy little boys. They, too, were hanging out in the dining room long before lunchtime. On the advice of that jolly mopping fellow (who was mopping as I arrived), I got some copy paper from Gatekeeper without telling her what it was for… and gave it to the boys along with a box of crayons. Mom looked up at me with a huge smile. "Oh… thank you," she beamed. The boys settled down to color.

       Later, I heard her snapping at them to "Go sit down!" She's stressed. She's no doubt angry about her circumstances, and I understand how watching her gets on Doug's nerves because he has the privilege every day. But because I can stand so far back, I can be forgiving, and honestly, I feel like she is a good mom doing the best she can. She is nothing like the nutcase we had who was pregnant and refused to EAT anything we served—and taught her kids to eat only bread products like mac 'n cheese and ramen noodles—don't get me started.

       I was ready for the new boys and had put Beanies and gum in plastic baggies for them. I handed one to each child, along with an empty paper towel roll and instructions for its use as a "durt-de-dur." The younger child looked up at me distressed. "But I want the toy!" he said. I guess he thought I had put a toy in front of him, but I was going to make him take the cardboard roll instead. Who knows? I assured him that the toy and the gum were his. Then their mother made both boys put the toys aside and eat. Later, I looked over the serving counter to see them with those rollers at their lips, calling out softly to bugle the hounds.

       Boy #1 was watching me like a hawk. It was probably 15 minutes later that I took the time to give him his goodies; rest assured, he got the best toy in the bunch, and before I left he showed me again how to finger a scale on the piano.

       Of interest today was the report on one of our pre-release and his "alcohol incident." He was caught in the parking lot with a bottle of whiskey. Tomorrow, he returns to the Big House. I have no idea how long it takes to earn the privilege of the shelter's "half-way house," but it's probably a lot longer than the 6 months served there. Apparently, testing the boundaries is not uncommon among that group because another fellow (one who doesn't eat pork) threatened Doug this week with, "You're lucky you didn't put bacon in those green beans…" It's as if they are begging to be sent back… and you know, maybe they are; it's pretty scary out in the real world.

       We had 47 diners for lunch, and Doug expects 60 for dinner, with the overflow. As of next week, he alone will be working that kitchen. There have been no applicants to take the position of "chief cook," nor have there been any for the position of secondary cook. Doug has been named "Cook." Maybe the powers who orchestrated all the turnover in that place will come to fully appreciate this man who so skillfully provides and so lovingly serves.