7 HOURS IN HELL'S KITCHEN

     Yes, I've been working with Doug on Fridays this year, but this Friday I was there because the shelter asked me to come and BE the cook… because there was a death in Doug's family. No, I did not want to BE the cook, but my neighbor said she'd come by in late morning and help me. You begin such a project with positive feelings and a smooth plan, and I do know the drill.
     I went by yesterday, and Lanyard Guy gave me full instructions on today's meal. He made it sound so well planned, and he assured me that "all you have to do is..."—well, that was his take on it.
     Arriving around 9 a.m., I found that Kevin's nasty trash heap from yesterday had been cleaned. I felt relieved. I phoned the front desk and asked to be let in. The kitchen was dark, but soon I began the daily grind. Lanyard Guy had labeled the foods I was to serve: donated meatloaf and corn in pans in the walk-in fridge, and I was to open two cases of another vegetable (pick one) and heat biscuits from the fridge.
     There was so much food in the fridge—donated, rotting, gonna rot… and just as I decided to "save" a box of fresh zucchini instead of opening two dozen cans, the lone onion rolled out from under the bottom shelf, as if an angel knew I'd want it.
     I began my labor peeling the zukes.
     After putting the fresh veggies on to boil, I set about making the PBJs. Lanyard Guy said to give each sack one PBJ and one Nutella sandwich because we have a lot of donated Nutella and a shortage of peanut butter. Halfway into that project, I ran out of peanut butter and was unable to open new jars of Nutella. The office staff found peanut butter in the front pantry and opened jars for me. But, really, can you imagine a Nutella sandwich for breakfast... with its whole 2% protein, and 150% sugar? Well… at least, I made them with whole-wheat bread—not that it matters.
     When my neighbor arrived, we added some failing squash and a half dozen new potatoes to the zucchini. The pot was full of "fresh vegetables" that were otherwise destined for the garbage. My wrists are killing me.
    One of the office workers came in and put the pans of donated meatloaf in the ovens, telling me that I should put a tomato topping on them. We had no catsup, so I poured some spaghetti sauce over them. The loaves were burned to a blackened crisp around their edges, but still edible for the most part. It IS a homeless shelter. Our donated corn was somewhat frozen, but it thawed well in a big pot on the stove. As for using the biscuits, I decided to serve a pan of donated pita bread instead (my neighbor and I noted that it would soak up the meatloaf grease nicely).
     The morning meshed into a blur, but Kevin was mixed in thickly. He has moved again to the back porch, suitcase, trash and all, and while he's never in his "right mind," today he was especially not there. It was several hours before I figured out how to deal with the situation. Unless I could convince him to "clean up his mess," I would be obliged to use the front entrance. Besides, I was so hoping Kevin would help me put some of the myriad boxes in the cardboard dumpster… didn't happen. But eventually, I found the stash of Gatorade (his favorite) and told him I'd give him two if he'd clean up. He bargained for two cups of ice to go with those. Win, win.
     Eventually I had 50 PBJ and/or Nutella sandwiches, and my neighbor and I sacked those with drinks, chips and napkins. Then we made 50 meat and cheese sandwiches and sacked those in 25 sacks. But there was so much else to do!
     No one had put fresh water, rags and bleach in the dining room bucket for residents to clean their tables. The bucket had dark gray water in it. Ew! The floors were dirty. Neighbor took thorough stock of the kitchen and asked, "Do you ever have volunteers who come here just to clean?" No, we don't.
     At noon I put out some sack lunches for the few residents who might come to lunch. Five minutes after noon, an office worker came to the kitchen. She asked about lunch, and I told her no one had come. "Did you unlock the door?" Well, no.
     Our guests numbered about a dozen, including the autistic boy and his mom and Fancy Lady. We have a tiny, toothless old one (previously noted) who needed mayonnaise today. I didn't have time or energy to find a jar, so I gave her packets, but I had to cut them open for her. She can't open those. We have some things in common.
     On the serving counter, I noticed a zip-lock bag of rocks (and one large bolt). Those, I was told, were "payment" from Kevin. Evidently he felt beholden to Lanyard Guy who is generous with plates of food and drinks. This homeless shelter is obviously functioning outside as well as inside.
     Oh! A new office worker came to the kitchen to offer his services. We let him take out a heavy trash bag! He's the PR guy. Nice fellow! I wonder how long he's worked there... and how long he will last.
     When Neighbor and I were more than ready to GO HOME, it was time to make up 35 plates for the dinner meal. She patiently filled those plates with corn, zucchini and meatloaf, I added the pita bread and wrapped them in plastic wrap. Then I put them on huge metal trays (6 each) which I put in the warming oven. Heavy stuff all. My body wants to QUIT.
     After my neighbor left, I washed pots and utensils, wiped down surfaces, swept the kitchen, filled the napkins dispensers, gathered my things and was surprised to find that the back stairs were neat and tidy for my exit. Turning out of the parking lot, I saw Kevin bent over on the sidewalk (his rock-hunting position). I rolled down my window and said, "Have a good night, Kevin!"
     He turned quickly around and thrust his dirty broken arm (still heavily bandaged) through the window, very gently placing a lovely piece of mica in my hand. Rewards come in surprising ways.