GET OUT!

      Doug had a fellow working with him today—I assume he was there to work off some community service hours. There wasn't much for him to do, either, so he wound up sticking his hands in my pies, though ultimately there was more than enough to go around.

       Before I could scope out the set-up, Doug told me that our pre-planned recipe would not be coming off today because he forgot to thaw the 5-pound log of ground beef. So he was going to make potato soup and serve it with chicken salad, applesauce, and crackers. Then the gatekeeper told him that all of the homeless residents were staying in-house for lunch, so I made a small pot of vegetable soup, just in case we needed a bit more food.

       The refrigerator was full of sack lunches (Doug had three volunteers yesterday), and I saw many changes. He'd hung curtains in the kitchen, and put out a special container labeled "soiled aprons." There was only one apron in it because those volunteers had freed him up to do so many little things that had previously been neglected. The back porch did not have stacks and stacks of drink crates on it. In fact, there was nothing on the porch but a tall stool which is occasionally used when taking a break.

       The big word today was that Miss Lillian will be coming back part-time, starting tomorrow. Doug said the mean honcho had given Lillian three days and taken away one of his. But today's gatekeeper (who also has clout) told Doug to TAKE his fifth day—just show up and work with Lillian. So Doug was feeling his oats about that chain of events.

      He asked me to sack up the PBJs that were already made, so I set up my assembly line on the work table while he put together his famous potato soup. After it had boiled a short while, he got a spoon to taste it. Then he cruised by me with a very self-satisfied grin on his face, stopped to pat himself on the back and said, "I'm gonna be honest with you—that's probably the best pot of soup I've ever made."

       The man's in high cotton today—God's in his heaven, and all's right with the world.

       Before I finished my PBJ work, I looked up to see the new guy and Doug making up plates and ladling soup into bowls. It was five minutes until the first group would arrive, and they were doing my favorite job! I dropped everything and rushed to take back my place just in time to greet the RCCs. The tall, handsome intimidator came strolling in late. He'd had two weekends of home visits and a haircut. I remarked on his new haircut. "No," he said, "that was 2 weeks ago." But I reminded him he hadn't been there on a Sunday in 3 weeks …and they think I'm not watching.

       About 8 minutes before that group's mealtime was over, the homeless residents had made a long line out in the hall. Gatekeeper told them to move away from the dining room door, but they didn't. About 5 minutes before the RCC lunch was over, the homeless marched up to the serving counter, Angry Mom leading the pack. There were only a few plates prepared, and I was at the stove and didn't realize they'd come in until I heard her instructing her children. I looked up in shock. "We're not ready! I said. "It's not time for your group. Go back OUT!"

       The small mob shrank back out. I began hustling to fill plates, but something over by the icemaker caught my attention. Doug was standing there with paper towels covering his face, his body convulsing as if he were in tears, but he was laughing! His face was red. Then he began to tell the other fellow that I had yelled, "GET OUT!" to the homeless. He loved it. They walk all over him all week, and just for a moment my "instructions" to the crowd had filled a deep void in Doug's life. One of these days, surely they will fire me.

       After eating, Angry Mom came to the counter with one of her children and I told the boy to ask his mom if he could have a toy. I'm learning. Then I went out into the dining room to give a toy to the world's cutest high-chair baby and a bag of goodies to the 10-year-old girl—two neat kids with good moms.

       We served more than 50 today and ran out of chicken salad and applesauce about a dozen plates shy. No one complained that they got only soup and the makings for a PBJ. Also, those benevolent Christians came by with their multiple 50-pound potato sacks of week-old bread. When the dining room cleared out, Doug and I found some long, hard loaves for throwing passes. My first pass slammed into the fluorescent bulbs on the ceiling. The only thing that broke was Doug's laughter. Then we made some hoop shots into the dumpster off the back porch.

        As for next week, The Intimidator has hounded Doug for "that egg stuff," so we'll be having quiche again. Good times.