MIXED BAGS & FRUIT

       I had to knock twice before the back door was opened, and there stood Mr. A, the fellow who used to live there but now comes to volunteer (to give back). Doug had not arrived, and his whereabouts were unknown. Mr. A was sweating adrenaline. He gave me a quick rundown on the pizza and fried onion rings he'd planned for lunch, and soon slid large pans of pizza in the oven. He didn't want me to make the soup because, he said, the leftover soup from last week was still in the fridge. I told him to throw it out.
       Mr. A. went on to say we needed 45 sack lunches, 6 breakfast sacks, and 25 PBJ sacks. I was onboard and ready to pull my weight when Doug came in.
       No! We were not having pizza. "Put 'em pizzas back in the freezer, Buddy"; I need them for Thursday. We're having deep-fried chicken fingers and French fries. And what's all 'em po-lice cars doin' out front?" We also had some really fancy fruit—mixed melons, red grapes, orange slices and fresh pineapple. Doug said the salesman got a little extra for selling us the special fruit. NOBODY complained about that fruit!
       The police cars (and ambulance) had come to see about a man who'd come to the shelter seeking medical aid. He was turned away by the authorities as just a freeloader. I'm told this happens at all the shelters and not infrequently.
       Just before serving time, Gatekeeper came to the kitchen to ask Doug for a sack lunch, "for a lady out front."
       "NO!" he replied, as always. Doug teases awfully! So I teased back, "What do you need, Sweetheart? Just tell me."
       Doug didn't like being shown up as unkind (because he certainly is not), so he launched back into the conversation, and said of course Gatekeeper could take a sack lunch to "a little 85-year-old woman out front who doesn't have anything to eat." Have you ever? What are we doing to each other? Who are we? Why can't we get a better system?
       Before you forget about our "freeloader," 2 hours later, he fell in the parking lot, cut his head, and was taken away by ambulance as I was leaving to go home.
       In addition to Mr. A., that other fellow (the one who mostly socializes in the kitchen) was there most of the morning, so our kitchen was crowded at times. To my surprise, we were all useful! BOB was said to be coming in "later," because he had too much fun last night and was having to rest up…
       Doug took last week's soup pot and put in on to boil. It was much larger than what I had left last week, and I asked why. Doug said he'd added to it. When serving time came around, I looked for the soup, but it was gone. "Where's the soup?" I asked Doug.
       "I threw it out," he said.
       The lunch groups were interesting, and there was a lot of cheer in the crowds, tho the "crowds" weren't as large as on colder days. The 57-yr-old who has a crush on me was front and center for attention. "Good morning, Joy," he said softly, his toothless smile shining thru the scraggly gray beard. And we have a new fellow, a Vietnam vet, who is said to be in our care just until the VA gets his planned accommodations set up. He's beautifully ebony, tall, and dressed all in black with a black bowler hat. His wrists are thickly covered in bracelets, he has earrings, and a gentle demeanor. And he ate six big pieces of that fried chicken.
       Our other extra-tall fellow came to the counter after lunch and asked why didn't we have the soup today. I couldn't give him a satisfactory answer. "Well," he said, "If you're gonna be here on Sundays, I'd really like to have chili!" I made a note, but he needn't hold his breath. I've mentioned chili many times, but always been put off…
       The grandmother who brings the two children arrived a bit late. Doug swears every Sunday that he has not laid eyes on those children all week, so I assume the grandmother only has them on Sunday. The children are still playing some sort of "hide" game, even after I've greeted them and promised them goodies—the little boy in particular. Today, he was hunkered under the serving counter. I wonder if they've been threatened… Still, I gave each of them plush toys and a durt-de-dur (with a definition and a demonstration).
       Mr. A. and I made those 45 sack lunches and the 6 breakfast sacks before serving the lunch groups. My back hurts, my shoulders hurt, and my feet cramped all the way home. It's hard to drive with cramps in your toes. Still, I'll do it again—God willing.