We had us a kitchen full of workers today, with Mr. A., Helper Guy, Doug and me. Doug shoved the soup pot at me and
indicated that I was to fill it, handing me the key to the pantry. Mr. A. made
sack lunches, and Helper Guy followed me down the hall to help me carry the
canned goods back to the kitchen. He's quite an amusing fellow, never silent,
and quick witted. If I heard one quip about being a white woman today, I heard
a dozen. I was clearly outnumbered—and then he started calling me
"Mother." We were knee-deep in laughter.
Having been told that we have
a young teen girl there, I took a big, beautiful teddy bear that I've been
saving for special. I put it under the serving counter near the cracker box.
And I actually saw this child come to
the dining room with her mother early in the day, just for water or coffee. Her
mother is not rowing with both oars,
has been in and out of this shelter numerous times, and drives Doug slap up the
wall with inappropriate requests and comments—she wants special. We don't have special, and we are not a
full-service café…
The soup was extra good today!
I was going to make use of a can of
beets, hiding it in the soup, but Mr. A. tossed it out when my back was turned.
Later, as he ate the soup, he carefully picked out all of the chickpeas.
On the side, we
had our death-in-a-tub chicken salad, crackers, and apples that I painstakingly
cut up. The canned fruit supply was low.
The pre-release group numbered
maybe a dozen. They ate well and were fairly quiet. It's a gorgeous day, and that kept a lot of folks from coming to
lunch—they had better places to be. The resident homeless numbered around 18,
but there were no children. Those who came ate very well! I didn't see my
"old fellow" with the scruffy beard. The other old man (the one who
has "methed himself up" pretty bad was at lunch. He's so battered,
and so much younger than I.
Early in the day, a black
fellow came to the kitchen for coffee and announced to Mr. A. that he wasn't
taking any food from any WHITE people (speaking of Doug). Mr. A. was most
unhappy with the fellow, and spent some time plotting a comeback.
Then there was the big fuss
that filtered from the Gatekeeper all the way back to the kitchen about some
squatters who were using our front lawn. Mr. A. and I went out to see,
especially to see the "little old lady" among them who was showing
out (that's Southern for making a spectacle of herself—among other
definitions). To our disappointment, the woman was not around when we got to
the front.
As we neared the end of the
2nd lunch period, Mr. A. reached under the counter for more crackers and came
upon the stuffed bear. He grabbed it and held it to his chest. He LOVED it! He wanted it. "Can I have it???"
he asked excitedly. Yes, of course. Then he held it out to the last diners and
presented his new roommate—no trouble, no needs, no feeding or walking—just
lots and lots of love. I guess for him, it's a puppy—a perfect one.
My 3 hours were ended,
everyone was fed, and I started to disapron when I saw the men making up the
dinner plates. I still had lots of energy(!), so I stayed and helped with that.
The kitchen phone rang, and I heard Doug saying, "You're kidding! You're kidding!" It was Gatekeeper,
calling to announce that the "little old lady" had disrobed from the
waist up, and was making quite a stir on the front lawn.
Oh! And the big cheese got
wind that Doug was shopping for other jobs. He got a nice raise last week! I told you they'd wake up someday, and it's so gratifying that they woke up before they
lost him.
See you next time; keep your
shirt on.
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