IT's ALL GOOD—FINALLY

       It has take him the better part of a year, but Doug has finally chilled. He says I am the one who has chilled, but clearly, it is he. He says when he first came there, I was waiting on the patrons like an eager mother hen, but that I am now laid-back and not so accommodating. He's right, but I don't believe my attitude has given him the pressure relief. He has simply (finally) realized that he is not required to fulfill every wish and whim of the shelter folks.

       I was going to say "residents," but we don't have "pre-release" and "homeless residents" anymore. By government edict, we now have RCCs and homeless residents… I've forgotten the definition of the acronym.

       An RCC came to the counter well before lunch to inquire about the menu. "Snails," I told him. He was not amused. "Soup," I said, "chicken and vegetables." He left appearing satisfied. Later, another of that group asked if there were eggs in the chicken salad. I read the label, and told him there were. Doug was most interested in that news because the man eats eggs for breakfast every morning. Heck, I even asked the guy, "What happens when you eat eggs?" and he said he breaks out in a rash. Those people have no limits to their need to finagle. It must be a psychological need, for it's surely not physical.

       Angry Mom had come in long before I got there to ask about the dinner menu—beef stew, green beans, mashed potatoes, rolls. Fine. She didn't ask about lunch, which I found curious.

       The RCCs were happy enough with their lunch, but before all of them had finished eating, Angry Mom brought her boys to the dining room and stepped up to the serving counter to get their meals. "We're not serving your group yet," I told her. "Come back in a few minutes."

       This woman will not be put off. She sat her boys at a table and presented them with prepackaged foods. When the intercom announcement invited the homeless residents to lunch, she came again to the counter and took three plates.

       After everyone had been served, I motioned to her boys to come up and get the toys I had for them. Their mother told them to "SIT DOWN!!!" Then she came to get the toys. Much later, the boys came to say thank-you.

       The Crazy One came for a sack lunch to take to her job. Doug handed it to her and walked away. She opened the bag, removed the cookie, placed it on the counter and said, "This is stale."

       I was busy stirring my soup, but Doug was long gone, so I said, "That's okay; just throw it away." Then she grumped that the sandwiches were stale too. "You can throw them away too," I said, "it's okay."

       I saw her walk toward the big trashcan but paid her no more attention. When I told Doug about the incident, he said, "You're kidding!" and he went to look in the trash can. Guess what? She did not throw away her sandwiches. The sandwiches—one ham and one turkey—were not on her diet a few weeks back. I'm just sorry I didn't have a Twinkie for her, so I could have heard about the "drugs" hidden in it.

       So we had soup, chicken salad, and fruit again for lunch, but today's soup was not tomato-based, as we didn't have tomato ingredients. It was based on what I found in the mystery box: great northern beans, black beans, lots of chicken broth, chicken, spinach, fresh diced potatoes, corn, carrots, peas, and a box of multi-colored pasta. We thought it was unusually tasty.
       During both lunch periods, Doug and I put together 30 sack lunches. After the last diner had left, we made up 30 PBJ sacks for the street folks. Each sack has two sandwiches, so that totaled 60 sandwiches, but we have a system :)

       The church folks dropped off three 50-pound potato sacks of stale bread again. Doug slammed one boule on the floor several times—and caught it when it bounced back up. I took a hard thin loaf, dashed to the far end of the kitchen and ran a long pass. He caught it with one arm. We didn't miss any of our 2-point dumpster shots! Good times.

       Next week we're planning to try a recipe I got from a friend in Rhode Island. It will be interesting to see how well the disparate cultures intermingle. It's all good—it really is.