SHORTS IN A WAD

       Yesterday, I got a bee in my bonnet  to make deviled eggs for the shelter. Two dozen eggs—less than four dozen halves. I'm not very good at getting the shells to come off neatly. All afternoon on my feet left me wondering why I ever entertained such an idea, but it was too late to turn back.
       On arriving this morning, I set the deviled-egg carrier on the work table and went to the pantry to put on my apron. By the time I returned, Mr. A. and Doug had sampled the fare. They tried to put the lid back on so I wouldn't notice, but they failed.
       Doug put me to work on a pot of soup that he'd started on Thursday. He said it needed to be "saved," just as I've been saving the new-nasty chicken salad. WHY am I always assigned a pot of soup that is mostly tomatoes? That stuff could pour itself, it's so strongly acidic. So I spent a long time literally spooning out more than a cup of chopped tomatoes… probably should have syphoned off some of the juice. Added two cans of chicken broth, a can of corn, a can of pintos, and 2/3 can of refried beans. Near serving time, I added a cup of elbow macaroni. I never did give it the taste test. Sometimes you just know the stuff isn't going to cut muster, and you can only hope the diners will slurp it up along with the sides, so their meal blends well.
       Mr. A. spent 2 hours bagging donated donuts. Doug taste-tested every variety. For a skinny rascal, he can pack away the donuts and never get busted. His favorites are "cream-filled" with birthday cake frosting. Talk about decadent!
       During the donut-bagging time, one of our pre-release wandered into the dining room and mentioned to Mr. A. that Doug's food is awful, and that she's so happy on those few days when Miss Lillian is there. You may recall that Mr. A. will NOT volunteer in that kitchen alongside Lillian… there is no love lost between those two… and Doug is the professional cook there. So Mr. A. let his guard down and wound himself into three or four knots over the comment. If he said it once, he said it a dozen times, "I HATE PEOPLE WHO AREN'T APPRECIATIVE!"
       I tried to explain that the woman's brain doesn't work like his, or that she was just looking to stir up trouble, or any number of silly things, BUT to waste his time and energy THAT ANGRY over a comment from a prisoner was not good. Mr. A. was not hearing me. In the end, and after more than 2 hours, he stepped onto the back porch, lit a cigarette, and seemed to let the matter go.
       You see, Mr. A. has been in circumstances wherein he found himself in need and greatly appreciative, so it's especially hard (impossible even) for him to accept other behaviors.
       We had no children today unless we count the 40-some diners from all walks of life and from all levels of dependence and independence. I looked out over the crowd of homeless residents and made note that some were well-kempt, others not so much; some were of good humor, others with flat affects; some wiped tables and emptied trash in a robotic fashion, others had more pep in their step.
       Everyone enjoyed the deviled eggs! I had put gourmet olives stuffed with garlic cloves on top of six or eight of the eggs, and it was interesting to see who wanted those. Most folks did not want an olive. Those who wanted an olive were excited to see that it was stuffed with garlic (special). It's these little things that I see from time to time that tell me our homeless have not always been homeless, nor have they even lived with less—they've been around.
       I left Mr. A. in better humor than he'd had earlier. When I say his shorts were in a wad, there is no exaggeration! The man was furious. He was livid. He was fit to be tied. I wonder if he realizes that having a stroke or a heart attack over a prisoner's comment isn't worth it.