Doug and BOB left within 15 minutes of my arrival, but the Sweet One remained to prepare and serve dinner. Lunch was mine, and the makings were provided—a friend sent me with a dozen large cans of chicken/vegetable/curly noodles soup, and we had egg salad and fruit to serve on the side.
For dinner, Sweet One was baking butterflied chicken breasts, spiced on one side and to be offered with mushroom gravy for those who want it. The standard Sunday green beans and a roll finished off that menu. By the time I left, shortly before 1:00, Sweet One had dished up most of his dinner plates in Styrofoam carryout boxes to put in the warming oven until serving time at 4:30 and 5:00.
Both groups of diners were cheerful and hungry. There were several servings of soup and fruit left over, but no one was shy about taking seconds, thirds, and (you won't believe this) one man kept eating until he simply couldn’t hold another bite. He's just an average-size fellow, but they call him the Bottomless Pit.
I especially enjoyed making a plate for a latecomer. He'd obviously overslept. "You want lunch," I stated with a smile. Yes, he did. So I poured up a bowl of soup for him and put the sides on the plate before setting it on the counter. He reached for it. "Wait," I said. And this always surprises me… he pulled his hand away and waited obediently as I placed a candy beside the soup bowl.
This quiet morning with Sweet One gave me an opportunity to get to know him better. Our conversation segued into "the situation" at the shelter, and he jumped on the chance to express himself: the situation is no doubt much worse than anything I indicate in these little reports… and according to Sweet One there is only one person responsible for "the mess"—Miss Lillian.
She has not been medically released to return to work, but she comes in three days a week and punches in for 4 hours. She spends those hours puttering about the kitchen, but not doing any heavy cooking. She does a lot of heavy complaining and whip cracking. While Doug whines about it to the head gatekeeper and others, Sweet One has very quickly reached the end of his rope. THIS, he says, is the week—tomorrow, in fact—that he's going to cuss that woman to hell and back if she so much as opens her mouth about how to or how not to cook or serve. He, too, has heard her bashing those "lazy, good-for-nothing" homeless people, and he says she even sat in the kitchen last week laughing at them because they wanted more food, and she wasn't going to give it to them.
You may recall many a Sunday when I slipped food to them behind her back, just to stay out of the fray, but I'd do it even if it meant fray—what can she do to ME?
I told Sweet One to hold his tongue! I advised him to ignore all of her instructions, cook and serve as he pleases, and wait the woman out. Given time, she'll implode. I believe that. Sometimes, you just have to let folks hang themselves.
So there you have it: cheer, full tummies, and happy kids in the dining room, and a hornets' nest in the kitchen. Something's definitely shaking out, and it's taking awhile… but shake it will.
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