DON'T LOOK NOW, BUT…

       Part of the draw of the shelter kitchen is its constant change. While "the soup, chicken salad, and fruit" sound repetitive, change is the only constant. Today's kitchen staff was back to "the new normal," with Doug, Mr. A., Helpful Guy, and me. BOB refused to come in because he and Helpful clash (see? it's not just me), and we had no other "volunteers." Helpful read his paper in the dining room when he wasn't washing dishes. He didn't even hang over my work at the serving counter. Mr. A. was dragging, said he'd been up in the night with bad leg cramps, and went home long before we served lunch. Doug was dragging a bit too, and all because while winter is God's way of reminding us that we are not always in charge of comfort, daylight savings time is something we do to ourselves. The pangs of this change reached deep into the shelter today.

       FMI (For My Information), Doug says we cannot speak of Miss Lillian in front of Helpful because he tells her everything. Good to know. Also, Doug turned in his vacation request last week, but "somebody" took it off the prison honcho's desk before she could see it and gave it back to him saying, "You'll have to get Miss Lillian's OK on this."

       Of course, that sent Doug into a small rage: What full-time manager asks a part-time worker to approve his vacation? That's okay. Doug will resubmit it next week, handing it directly to Mdm. Prisonworks. Love watching these mini-soaps unfold.

       Both lunch groups were unhappy with the time change, and many were late. We served 16 pre-release and 14 homeless residents, tho there are probably 50-some people living there. I know that because near the end of the second lunch period, the fire alarm went off. No one moved. They wanted to eat, they couldn't smell or see fire, and it was difficult for them to hear Doug and me say, "Get OUT!" Our voracious eater (the smartly dressed fellow with brain damage) was seriously going after the food, even as I said, "I'll save it for you! And you can have more!" But he would not leave until he felt he'd scarfed up as much as he could.

       In the end, I was the last one out the back door. I didn't grab my purse or anything because, after all, the entire human contents of the building would be outside with me, thankfully, on a warm sunny day. We filled the sidewalk across the street. The coughers and hackers too… What a motley bunch, some in their pajama bottoms and many sporting myriad tats.

       It was at least 10 minutes before we heard sirens, but eventually, two mid-sized fire trucks rolled up, and eight or 10 firemen alighted and sauntered into the building wearing full gear to include oxygen tanks on their backs, with their hands clutching axe-like implements. I do love a uniform… but I swear one of those firefighters looked no more than 18… Grandsons are 18; not firefighters…

       Doug and Gatekeeper stayed close to the firefighters, leading them to the bathroom where too much steam had set off the alarm… and eventually bringing me the report. About 20 minutes later, the all-clear was given, and everyone returned to the building. Oh, and you should know, while we were outside, Gatekeeper passed a clipboard around the group of pre-release for each to sign.

       Our little girl is not well. She was well enough to stand outside with her mother, and I saw a pink fuzzy pig dangling from her hand. Later, she came to the dining room, and I gave her a new bear. Good times.

       During the hoopla, Helpful Guy disappeared. Doug tidied the kitchen while I served the latecomers. Then I went to the back to get my things. My purse was where I'd left it… but… the zipper was closed all the way. I had left the zipper open about 3 inches because I couldn't get a good grip on it earlier, and it was hurting my hands to try, so I just left it like that. Also, I had placed my car keys on top of my wallet (in my purse), so I was alarmed to find the zipper closed. Then I found the car keys under my wallet. Oh, sigh. Nothing to do but look, so I looked. GONE were the two 20s I'd received at my last stop late yesterday when I checked out at Wal-Mart. The ones were there, but those 20s are history.

       I began to moan to Doug, and we tried to piece together the puzzle. Naturally, we both want to blame Helpful. Doug says that while the man's efforts with serving breakfast on weekdays are appreciated, otherwise he's "as useless at tits on a bullfrog." We don't like him. He has an odd sense of entitlement that we don't have—and he was simply gone, after the alarm. Doug said, "He just left!" And I said, "I guess so; he's got money!" Then Doug remembered that the firemen had been in the kitchen too… looking all around… This is not how we want to think of our firemen. I just cannot go there. I reminded Doug that he and I had both been very busy making lunch and dinner and serving lunch, while Helpful had many opportunities to step into the back.

       We talked about setting a trap next week… but I think I'd rather just lock my purse in the car and keep my keys on me. No need to throw more money at the problem.

       So that was today's version of "feeding the homeless."

       Next month, I'll have been there five years, and it's been an awesome experience that I would not change. Also next month, I get to dye 5 or 6 dozen eggs for Easter Sunday. Those never fail to make a huge hit… as if the purple ones were grape flavored, pinks strawberry… Everyone is a child when it comes to dyed eggs. Me too.