Doug was having a hissy fit over all that needed to be done, so I began by assuring him it would all get done. His nerves are always so near the edge that it's easy to imagine he was a colicky baby. Among his grievances was the fact that people had taken two dozen sack lunches last night without signing for them. I made more.
Mother's Day always brings out sentimental feelings and kind behaviors in the folks at the shelter. Doug assumes they're recalling better days. Looking forward, I watch our adorable 6-month-old while I listen to Doug's review of her mother. How will this child feel on Mother's Day when she is older? Her mom is somewhat unsavory, and she leaves the baby with anybody who will tend her. At lunch, the baby was with a woman who just got out of jail—a crack head and ex-madam. We know these things because another resident who was also in jail has shared them with us. Before Doug gave me the skinny on that one, I had remarked that she has a very sweet face—a sweet countenance.
I like to think I'm a good judge of character, but that's being disproved.
We served fruit, chicken salad, Doug's cream of broccoli soup, chicken nuggets, crackers, and little skewers of cheese cubes and olives that I took from home.
Among the pre-release we have a fellow who seldom eats in the dining room, but comes there on Sundays. Doug says he's got anxiety issues with being in groups. When the group cleared out, that fellow stayed behind to bend our ears for awhile. He's been in prison 10 years and out 1 month. When I pick apart the many things he said, I feel that he's terrified, but hopeful. He can't believe he lost 10 years. I'm guessing he needs more people on the outside to talk to—all he has now are other prisoners—and the kitchen help.
Among the homeless is a tall young fellow who slides up to the counter and bellows, "What's going on here?" nodding toward the food.
"It's lunch," I answer turning away.
"Well, what is it?" he demands.
So I give him a verbal menu and turn away again. He takes the food. Then Doug leans in close and says, "I can't stand that guy; he does that at every meal!" Doug's days are fraught with irritation.
Our Oriental fellow got most of my special ministrations today, as I took a can of sardines just for him. When I mentioned it to Doug, he reached into a cabinet where he squirrels away delicacies and handed me a tiny can of anchovies. Our target was so pleased with his gifts, and his "thank you" was perfect.
Children: I was told that we had one baby and two teenage girls, but the 1- and 9-year-olds are still there, and I did not take enough goodies for everyone. After some hand wringing, I gave all the big girls two packs of bubble gum and the babies nothing.
Bitty Baby's mother is also manipulative. After first taking her plate, she returned to the counter and asked Doug for some Saran wrap. We thought the request was unusual, but harmless. The woman then wrapped her plate and took it out front to give to her boy friend! Gatekeeper was livid!
Returning to the counter, she asked me my name, then told me hers. Later she came again, calling me by name, "Joy?" (It feels out of place… really out of place.)
She wanted another piece of Saran wrap. I just gave her a blank look. God forbid I should become an accessory to feeding the boy friend. When I wasn't forthcoming, she reached toward the piece of wrap that was hanging from my cheese/olives dish and asked if she could just have that.
Miss Lillian again did not order what Doug had put on the Wednesday list. Later in the week, one of the budget heads called him in on the carpet for "over spending." She accused him of spending $6,000 in only two weeks! He was quick to point out to her that he had not spent anything…
The worm is turning, slowly but surely.
I left knowing that everyone had a full stomach—even someone we had not intended to serve… Squarely centered on the landing at the bottom of the steps was the leg bone, and each end had been gnawed off.
I returned to the kitchen and fetched Doug. He descended the stairs and perched himself on a stool. Then he flipped a switch to raise the big metal "lift" used for bringing heavy deliveries to porch level. Surely something was under there, and Doug didn't want his feet exposed. We both examined the underneath area long enough to determine that it was nasty and offered numerous places for a nest. Then I headed to my car, and Doug returned to the kitchen, tightly closing the door behind him.
Like I said, everyone had a full stomach.
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