Who IS This?

      To my delight, again, only Doug and Mr. A. came to the kitchen today. Doug had placed the tall, more narrow pot on the stove, and I was told to make soup, but not too much. While I was digging through the mystery box, he changed his mind. "Make egg noodles with garlic and butter."

       "Can we have a big fire like last time?" I asked eagerly.

       Mr. A. didn't know about the fire, so Doug enjoyed replaying the story for him. He remembers it in greater detail than I, so hearing the story again was fun for me, too. ("New Moon Fire Ceremony" 8-17-14.)

       As I returned to the pantry for the egg noodles, the phone rang, and I answered it. A woman wanted to speak to Doug. Doug had his hands in raw chicken, so I asked the woman if he could call her back.

       That's when she rudely demanded, "Who IS this?"

       Before I could answer, I spotted a very large, very black roach on the floor. The lady on the phone could wait. "Mr. A.!" I yelled. "Kill it! Kill it!"

       But Mr. A. doesn't do bugs. No, he doesn't. He backed away. Meanwhile, Doug took off his gloves and came to the phone. While he took his call, I did what I had to do… and stepped on the roach. Mr. A. would clean it up.

       Our snooty caller turned out to be Miss Lillian. She wanted to ASK Doug if he would work for her on her day off… because she has realized that she needs to clear such things directly with him… because he's the kitchen boss. Wonders never cease, and I especially enjoyed being there to witness that one.

       So I made a pot of egg noodles and we served those with chicken salad. No, Death-In-A-Tub will not be back. Apparently, it's no longer available, and we are stuck with the green-pepper yucky stuff. Oddly, none of the diners complained. I sliced a bunch of tomatoes, and found some cookies and grapes to finish off the menu. The colors were especially bright and inviting. The last diner got the last plate—that's calling it close.

       The only young 'un at lunch was the 12-year-old, and she got her usual little stash of goodies. Again, I had an opportunity to speak to every one of my guests, and they are in good spirits today. There's still a lot of grousing among the kitchen staff about those "lazy people," but I simply cannot embrace as fact that "normal, emotionally healthy people" would choose to live in a shelter. They may look normal; they may have lovely manners; they may feed you a good line about their hopes and dreams and efforts, but that missing element always stops them just short of success.

       The guys and I made up some sack lunches, and I left, nearly 3 hours after arriving. The morning had gone by far too fast.

PEACE, AT LAST!

      I sent three messages to Doug last Sunday evening, 1) "…that IDIOT loiterer/harassing thief is about to come between me and the kitchen…"

2) "Reaching the end of my rope. All I ask for is Sunday mornings. Asking too much?"

       I got NO response and wrote one last time: 3) "Guess I AM asking too much. Call me if he gives up his Sunday position."

       It was a few days later before I heard that Doug's mother was in hospital—but even that shouldn't have affected his texting finger for so long. Then, on Friday, I heard from Doug: He had TOLD Helpful to not show up on Sunday! "Sundays are Miss Joy's day, and you need to not come in then." That was at least the second time Helpful has been given those instructions.

       So I was "cautiously optimistic" climbing the back steps this morning. The back door was closed against the cold rain, and until Mr. A.'s smiling face greeted me, I had no clue what to expect. I peered in to check out the situation, but only he and Doug were there. Nobody said anything about Helpful… and I didn't ask.

       Later, the guys were talking about "the woman at the other back door in a bathing suit." Mr. A. saw her there this morning and mentioned it to Gatekeeper. Gatekeeper said she'd already asked the woman to vacate. Mr. A. said the woman was wearing only a tank-style swim suit. When I couldn't relate to the "back door" he was talking about, he took me outside and showed it to me. There, just outside that door were some large white plastic bags, an empty water bottle, and some small bits of litter. Apparently, this very delusional woman has been "sleeping" there on the concrete for a night or two… and just last night I had to move my nightstand to the other side of the bed so I would be using the mattress sides in equal portions…

       Anyway, out on the sidewalk, out of earshot, Mr. A. told me that he had come in at 7:30 this morning (hours before Doug) and that Helpful had shown up! So Mr. A. took matters into his own hands and ran the idiot off—"It's Miss Joy's day!"

       He didn't tell Doug, so Doug thinks his own soft words to Helpful last Thursday did the trick. Not.

       Doug was unusually quiet and sensitive for the first 90 minutes, and I was assuming it had to do with work-related issues in that dysfunctional place… but I was wrong. It's always interesting to watch that boy's mood swing from far left to far right, and once he's UP again, he's open about his issues: Today Mama comes home from the hospital! Doug was emotionally pacing the floor, waiting for the call. Once that happened, there was CW music and three jolly workers in the kitchen. Amazing. Simply amazing.

       And peaceful… and functional… and pleasant… AND I was able to actually speak to each person who came to lunch. There was time to give them eye contact and ask about their day. Wow.

      …and (chuckle!) we have a tall exceptionally handsome fellow among our pre-release who is always the first one to come to lunch, and who never waits for us to announce lunch… so he came "too soon" today, as usual. To his own undoing, he took a plate and left the counter before I had a chance to add the big, chocolate-chunk cookie. A few minutes later, there he stood, head bowed, lower lip out a bit, eyes downcast saying (like a consummate 4-year-old), "I didn't get a cookie."

       The babies got toys, the 12-year-old got books, more crayons, gum… her mother always nags her about saying thank you, but the child's face says it just as plainly as if she were on the P.A.

       We had those el-cheapo shelter hotdogs, buns, sliced tomato, chopped onion, potato salad, and cookies.

       As for Death-In-A-Tub, Doug did not order last week's nasty replacement (Miss Lillian did), but Doug will see to it that the real stuff is returned to its rightful place on the next order sheet.

       Some people are still trying to throw Doug under the bus, and his stories always amuse me. This week's goes like this: Doug's day off was Tuesday. He's not responsible for the kitchen on his days off. Miss Lillian told someone not connected with the kitchen that she wouldn't be in on Tuesday, and as it turned out Doug was called in on the carpet as missing in action. So he asked the Bureau of Prisons Head Patootie, "Do you have to answer to the other folks here on your day off?" No, she doesn't. And now she seems to get the picture. How long she'll retain the picture is anybody's guess, but I do detest dull moments. Don't you?

EULOGY TO DEATH-IN-A-TUB

       Approaching the back steps this morning, I knew the kitchen was full of men—too full. Truth be told: unless Helpful is there, any number of folks in the kitchen is workable. But he was standing by the back door as I entered, so I forced myself to say, "Morning." He pretended like he didn't hear me, and I knew I'd catch hell if I didn't say it again…
       Doug is back—it feels like order has been restored. That's because it has. Before Doug left, there was much talk about his "dirty kitchen," and "missing food," and other nonsense that apparently comes from Miss Lillian and her spies. However… while Doug was gone, those problems increased dramatically. He is officially off the hook.
       Dean was there briefly, BOB came later in the morning, and Mr. A. packed a lot sack lunches and breakfasts. Doug was heating a large pan of leftover roast beef and another of rice for the pre-release. They got rolls with that too. For the homeless residents, I made a small pot of soup and we served out the leftover plates from last night. The plan was to open a tub of chicken salad IF the other foods ran out. Two people came to lunch after the other foods were consumed, so a new tub of chicken salad was brought to the work table. Three of us gathered around, remarking about the obviously new product—new label, 5% less fat and not as yummy-looking as the usual salad. The guys tasted it first and declared it to be wonderful, so I took one bite. It's full of some sort of green peppers (my body rejects those). Two hours later, those @#$%&*! peppers are still haunting me. I'm really going to miss Death-In-A-Tub!
       I was there only 2-1/2 hours,  but Helpful made it seem much longer, having to be on guard every minute. I've been warned to not SAY anything in front of him about Miss L or anything else that might be food for his mischief. He'll stand between me and the stove as I try to bring a tray of full soup bowls to the serving counter. He knows he's being rude, and after all of the pre-release had been served their beef, rice & roll, Helpful yelled to me from the counter, "Aren't you going to serve the soup!"
       There was not enough soup to feed the pre-release and the homeless… the soup was not for the pre-release… and to get a group interested in something they couldn't have was playing with fire—mostly mine. Something in me was "set aloose" today, and I heard myself shout at him, "NO!"
       Sometimes he was reading the paper in the dining room, sometimes helping himself to food, sometimes going up to the front-desk area to hang around. He loiters at the shelter every day. Just when you think it's safe, he'll come sliding through the back door, having left through the front. I do not understand why this supposedly sacred institution allows loitering, but no one can think of a way to get rid of him—no one on my watch.
       Only the 12-year-old among the children was at lunch. I had some delightful gifts for her, donated by a friend whose girls are grown. The child was so pleased. The babies' mothers were gifted with adorable new Onesies from my friend. They too were thrilled. The only disappointed soul was Mr. A. "Didn't you bring me a bear today?"
       Between the crowd and the IDIOT in the kitchen, there was very little room for interaction with our diners today; besides, the groups were not so large because spring has sprung and folks have better places to be… sounds like time for a nap.

HOPPY, HOPPY EASTER

      It really IS all about me… Today was positively the best Sunday I've spent at the shelter. Of the two people around there these days who are less than delightful, only one was present, and he's a pre-release. "Helpful Guy" was nowhere to be found. Dean, Mr. A. and I WERE the kitchen staff, and we make such a fine team.

       I've been collecting stuffed bunnies for weeks, and Dean saved a banana box for me to put the bunnies in today, nestled in a soft yellow blanket. On the front of the box I placed a note: "Everybody needs somebunny." Early comers to the dining room perused the bunnies, drooling over them to no avail. I made them wait until lunchtime.

       Among our homeless is a very pretty middle-aged lady who always brings a bit of sunshine to lunch. Today, she came early to the dining room to spread her Easter things on a table and make up several little gift baggies for her special people. She gave one to me, and to Dean and to Mr. A.  In my plastic bag are 6 candies, a small dab of blue Easter grass, and a plastic egg with 2 candies in it. She used one strand of the grass to tie the bag shut. She was in her element, doing for others, but when she saw the bunny box she homed right in on the biggest, pinkest, fluffiest bunny in the gang. She lifted it out, pressed it to her heart, and wanted it. I had to be fair, "Wait until lunch; if it's still there, it was meant to be yours." She liked that idea.

      Sadly (Miss Joy was majorly pissed!), the other less-than-delightful person at the shelter is a very bad-ass pre-release. He's pretty too, and he struts his bad-ass self around with a mean attitude. His group eats first, and yes, that heathen snatched that big pink bunny, and my sweet lady saw him carry it to the parking lot and drive away with it. Well… the rest of today was not sullied by Bad-ass—but he certainly had given it his best shot.

       Next year, I'll start collecting earlier—a lot of folks didn't get as many bunnies as they thought they "needed" for their nieces, nephews, and friends, but in the end, there was one little critter left in the box, and Dean claimed it for his grandson.

       We served burritos, chicken nuggets, French fries, soup (Lillian made it; I saved it), little candy bars, and dyed eggs that I took from home. The soup had enough tomato acid to choke a horse, so I put about half of it thru a sieve and returned the vegetables to the pot. Then I added chicken, water, a can of refried beans, and macaroni. Saved.

       The new baby's mom brought him to lunch; the 2-month-old's mom brought him to lunch, and I got to drool my eyes out. Boy, are they precious—little pink feet curled under, all snuggled up on Mom's shoulders… well, sleeping babies are perfect.

       The 12-year-old took a bunny from the box, and later I asked her to find the wheelchair lady (who did not come to lunch) and give her a special candy that I know she likes. Interestingly, the child was delighted to have been asked to perform that favor for me. I heard her telling her mom, as if I'd given her a personal present. Makes you wonder: what are the details of that child's deprivation?

       Near the end of the second lunch period, a tall man came into the dining room and asked the group if he could speak. Everyone became quiet. Then the man explained that while we were all having a wonderful day with our candy and toys, we might be missing the reason for the celebration. He wanted to know if he could have a brief moment of prayer. All heads bowed, and at the end was a unanimous "amen!"

       Then, that sweet lady I like so much got up and hugged the man, and she started to cry. A short while later she brought her still-weeping self to the counter with her food wrapped in napkins and asked me to please save it in the warming oven. "Are you crying happy or sad?" I asked. She said some of both. Mr. A. said she recently lost her son… so I don't know where the "happy tears" could have come from! Bless her heart—and that @$^$#@ MAN took her bunny. You know? Next week I think I'll take that lady the most beautiful toy in my collection. Mr. Nasty, you haven't seen payback time until Miss Joy has dished it out for you!

       Dyed eggs: Everyone was asked, "Would you like an egg?" And then, "What color?" Most didn't care about the color, but those who did would tell you why, "I want blue; I'm a Carolina fan!" Actually, blue was the most favored color. Last year, I let them take the eggs themselves; this year, I doled them out.

       Nearly all the food was consumed, and only one critter and one egg remained after lunch. It doesn't get anymore perfect.
       Then Mr. A., Dean and I made several dozen PBJs sacks and several dozen meat-sandwich lunches. When my body said it was time to go home, I listened; but I didn't want to. I thanked the guys for giving me the most perfect Sunday at the shelter. They'll be there again next week, as Doug's vacation has one more Sunday. Hopefully, we can rock out again. It's all about me; yes, it is.

NO, WAIT:
       I'd finished this blog and was ready to start the rest of my day (whatever that was), but the issue with Bad-ass and the crying lady just wouldn't let go. So I loaded up my two best bunnies (saved for myself… see?). One is weighted and feels like a real 5-pound baby; the other is an expensive infant toy, soft as down, pink as a whisper, and it rattles when you shake it. I returned to the shelter and had Crying Lady called to the kitchen. I handed her the bunnies and told her, "Pardon my French, but the bad-ass who took your bunny didn't know what kind of old lady he was messin' with!"
       She squeezed those toys to her heart, she hugged me, she explained that her son had died only 6 years ago (God forbid I should ever fully understand her pain), and she left the kitchen gleefully. I told her that if Bad-ass looked confused, she could say simply, "Oh, you didn't see these? They were in the bottom of the box." Dean and Mr. A. got a huge kick out of it too. Maybe this old lady will have brought the bad one down a peg.
       The guys sent me home with two boxed dinners of ham, potato salad, beans, and cornbread. Win-win again—all about me :)