TWO QUINQUAGENARIANS and ONE SUNSHINE

     Doug and Crazy appeared busy when I arrived shortly after 10:00. Doug had a large pot of hot dogs boiling, and he was preparing to make a few dozen meat sandwiches. Just as I finished tying my apron, Hottie strolled into the dining room, ostensibly for a cup of coffee (he does have cameras in his office, and he can see when anyone arrives). Otherwise, I wouldn't know how to explain his impeccable timing… "Hey, Sunshine!" I called.
     Suddenly, the kitchen was ablaze with 10-year-old boys! Doug and Crazy forgot they are middle-aged and began to chant, "Ooooh, Sunshine! Ooooh! Hey, Sunshine!"
     I put my hand on Doug's shoulder and calmly explained, "This is a perfect example of separating the old men from the boys." They settled down, but not before getting in another dig or two, and Doug made it clear that Hottie is only 10 years younger than he. So he's 40—and they might be a little bit jealous. Hmm.
     As for Sunshine, himself, he appeared pleased with his new-found status and came several times to stand by me at the work table while the crew exchanged laughs of memorable events. They do have entertaining jobs.
     For lunch, Doug said we were serving corn dogs and French fries. Period. These particular corn dogs are about 2" long, and I'm told they're "not very good." Doug let me scavenge through the canned goods box and make a pot of soup. Sadly, I used all the cans, and we don't get much of those kinds of things anymore. The soup was tolerable; a few folks asked for seconds.

Doug says these are angus beef dogs; you can tell by all the grease floating on top...
Doug is quite fond of a good joke, so I never know…

Concoction soup, mini corndogs, fries and candy.

If you squeeze 15 on a tray and stack them by 2's, you can make 30 at once.

     Doug gave me a more complete understanding of our shelter today. Since the government stopped housing pre-release prisoners there, we don't have enough money to buy that fancy chicken salad we used to have—or those #10 cans of fruit—among other things we once enjoyed. There are 20 #10 cans of food in the pantry today; I think those same cans have been there more than a month: turnip greens, peaches (1 can), biscuit gravy, corn, green beans—nothing appealing. We do have offers of frozen meats from a food bank, but Doug doesn't want to put his reputation on the line by serving meats of which he has no history—have they ever been thawed? Where have they been? How old are they? So his hands and budget are tied to the few things he can trust. He reminded me, "Miss Joy, this is a homeless shelter. That's the bottom line. These people are lucky to get a bowl of soup and a sandwich." I just never saw the bottom line before, but it's real, and it's a hard place.
     Doug's expression of the day came as he pointed out a woman at the lunch counter, "That woman is as crazy as a shot cat." I believe him.
     Our little girl (now 10) gave me a smile and said, "I remember you!" much like a 3- or 4-year-old might do. I'm pretty sure her I.Q. took a hit in the womb. The 17-year-old was equally amenable and just as off key.
     The fancy lady was there—sleek and calm as ever. The young folks who work at the nearby hotel came for plates of food and were a lot of fun to chat with.
     Crazy is such a different person now. He lets me serve the plates any way I please, and he faithfully checks off names as folks come through the line—background backup. Both he and Doug left the kitchen twice to perform some duty downstairs, taking a mop along. As he left, Doug said, "Lock the door." There are unpredictable folks who wander into the shelter at times, but I've not seen any. Some event today elicited a round of stories of past events from the guys. They should write a book.
     When lunch was over, I helped finish sacking Doug's meat sandwiches, then helped with putting tonight's hotdogs in buns. Those went into the warming oven, and a huge pan of chili went into the gas oven. On the side, they'll serve pre-fab potato salad.