PLEASE DON'T CRY

I knew something sad was afoot when I stepped into the kitchen at 10 o'clock. Doug was filling a tray with PBJs and wearing a solemn face. The dining room lights were not lit, and the pleated metal curtain at the serving counter was down—as if the place were still in night mode. I put away my things, donned my apron, and washed my hands. Doug offered some vague greetings but no smile. He had unrolled my rubber mat and put it in front of the work table, which was awfully thoughtful.

So the stage was set—darkened dining room, closed serving counter, and just the two of us. It stayed that way for a long while. Hottie's absence was palpable, and while I felt certain he was minding the front desk, I also knew there was a sad reason he was not in the kitchen with his usual Sunday razzing. That's when Doug announced rather hurriedly that Hottie is leaving, returning to his home state, will be here just one more Sunday, and the shelter's organization will be turned upside down after that. Here's an opportunity to save some money...

He went into the myriad ways the organization was hoping to rearrange things, the worst of which is that they plan to use residents to work the front desk and in the kitchen on Doug's days off. That, we agree, opens a can of worms for theft and neglect of all sorts. And, yes, giving residents some responsibility for their provisions is good, but putting the responsibility of other residents in their hands might not be so good.

I listened quietly to Doug's lengthy input, but I couldn't ignore the feeling in my chest, as if a death had just been announced. I set to work sacking the PBJs, and Doug asked me to "mind the store" while he went up the street to gas up his truck. There was no reason he could not do that on his way home... except that as soon as he left, Hottie slid into the kitchen. I wonder if they'd planned that, thinking I might cry, and I might have, but Hottie looked sad enough for both of us.

So the cat was out of the bag, and a semblance of normalcy resumed when Doug returned. I made meat sandwiches, lunch sacks and breakfast sacks. Doug kept an eye on the meatloaf he was baking for dinner. Lunch was to be chicken nuggets and French fries. That's all. It was good that I had brought a half dozen oranges and 20 bananas. Hottie took SIX of them. Most of the residents got HALF a banana. The autistic fellow picked up his banana and said, "I don't eat these," but his mom came between us before I had a chance to correct his manners. Lucky for him.

That young woman who was said to be "crazy as a shot cat" is one that I am studying carefully, albeit opportunity is slim. Today, it just so happened that as she approached the counter, Doug grabbed my pan of chicken nuggets and went to refill it. "Well!" I said to the young woman, "your nuggets have been taken!" She smiled, gave me good eye contact and replied in kind—normal as apple pie. Within seconds, a fresh pan of hot nuggets was brought to the counter, and I filled the woman's plate. I remarked that her nuggets would be very hot, and she agreed, but she was pleased. There was no shot cat in the room! And her EYES stayed mostly on track. I was so pleased to see her have a truly normal few moments. She's pleasant too!

The fancy lady wasn't there today, but we had quite a crowd, as Doug said they also had yesterday. He assumes it's the gloomy weather. We're expecting rain all week. All three of the young folks who work at the hotel across the street came for a plate of food. We enjoyed visiting with them. There were four little boys at lunch! Next week, I'll be sure to have crayons and PlayDoh with me. My daughter dropped in, and everyone enjoyed meeting her—she has an enviable charismatic charm. I take no credit for it.

Eventually, just Doug, the hot one and I were left in the kitchen. Doug asked Hottie, "What's the story about that fellow who just left the dining room?" Hottie said he didn't think the fellow had a special story other than "he's" [Hottie offered a limp wrist]. Right there I got a brief insight into both boys. Hottie hasn't reconciled that gay is just another way to be human, and Doug is light years ahead of him.

Doug said, "Sure, but that's not what I'm asking you."
I said, "Maybe he's a little bit angry with the world."
Hottie stood by his opinion, whatever that is.

That's when Doug found a can of raw oysters in the cabinet, and those crazy guys opened it and tasted the juice!!! OMG!!! All I did was smell it, and the taste crawled down my throat, but they literally had that nastiness IN their throats. There was spitting in sinks and garbage cans, slurping and rinsing from the sink, and a lot of sorry. I hope there's no other payback for that antic.

Well... it's sinking in. Change is afoot, and I don't like it. Fantasies are rare; we hate to lose one.