LONG FRIDAY

     The joint was jumpin' when I got there at 10. Doug and our truck driver and one of the residents were buzzing around, cleaning, organizing and talking. No, women are not necessarily "the talkers."
     When the extras cleared out, Doug and I got busy with today's schedule. I filled 25 sacks with PBJs, while he mixed 10 boxes of mac 'n cheese. Then we went to the basement for green beans for dinner. He was also planning deep fried chicken tenders and rolls.
     With all of that underway, we served sack lunches to a large group of residents. Our "chub" was at lunch too, and I'm not sure why he wasn't in school. He says he doesn't like school, not even one subject. He does like the after-school program.
     Our trans fellow, all 6'4" of him was at lunch, and I mention him only because today he didn't snarl at us. I tell Doug the boy is angry, and not to be too hard on him.
     The 85-year-old and his caregiver were there. I went out front to check the gate situation about an hour after lunch, and Caregiver asked me to let her inside. Her arms were filled with hair products, and she said she needed to put some color on her hair (it's dyed pitch black). "Your roots looks good," I told her, as we entered the building.
     "Well, I am a professional hairdresser," she said. Then she decided her roots could wait and returned to the smoking area outside, arms still loaded.
     A woman came to the back door and asked if we needed any foods. She had a Subaru full of vegetables and fruits. Doug absolutely hates it when that lady comes there because her foods often have a bit of mold on them, and if he accepts them he must accept the chore of throwing them out. So he sent me out to look over the offerings. I was thrilled, I tell you! I got us some beautiful yellow squash for a casserole on Sunday and a ton of lovely fruits: strawberries, miniature red grapes, black berries, peaches, apples, oranges, grapefruit, black figs… all we need is a big tub of Cool Whip. Even Doug got excited when I described the upcoming casserole and fruit salad.
     Eventually, dinner was ready, and we filled 35 plates for the warming oven. (Doug told me to remind him that next time, we only need four boxes of mac 'n cheese!) Right after that, he checked again on the gate and found a young woman with a small baby there. She wanted to know if they could stay at the shelter. She was neat and clean, as was her chubby, adorable, grinning baby. We've no idea what brought her to our door, but all we could do was give her a list of other places she could try. Our shelter requires applications and approval... Was I wrong to not bring them home with me?

THE AUTHOR OF CONFUSION

     The ex-gatekeeper is still hanging out on Sundays. I surely hope his many siblings have left town; their mama was buried 2 weeks ago! So I don't know why he needs a place to be, but he's sweet, and Doug and I have no complaints.
     Lanyard Guy came in today to take the dinner shift. Doug had to leave by 1:00. For a long while, there were 4 of us in that little kitchen. Lunch was Friday's donated corned beef hash, scrambled eggs and fruit cocktail. Just about everybody was there. Fancy Lady had a bowl of eggs, Nurse with dog asked for a sack lunch to give to a hungry man out front ("I don't think he can even navigate to the back door," she explained). I gave it to her, but who knows what was really going down?
     On occasion, Doug would check the front door. ALL of the hobos who've been hanging out front and back have been shooed away.
     LAST NIGHT, Richard the night-shift gatekeeper called in sick! There was no one to open the kitchen and give out the dinner plates (or anything else)! A phone call brought Major God himself to the shelter, and he sat in the front "cage" and monitored the gate until midnight when Shirt Man came to relieve him, after he found a baby sitter. He took over gate duty until 8:00 a.m. when Doug arrived, and for breakfast, he gave folks sack lunches, not knowing that we have breakfast sacks. He's an office worker and knows nothing about the kitchen.
     Apparently, I've lied again. We do have a security guard, but I failed to ask how long he's been with us. It's probably not long because Doug nearly fell over describing how the poor man cannot SEE anything on one side and is constantly turning to find the voice speaking to him. Besides, he only works weekdays. I'm thinking he's new. Secure? Who knows?
     I've become more and more aware of our lack of funds. Just today I realized that I haven't seen a #10 can of anything in several months. Doug orders them, but someone higher up marks them off. We get boxes of 10-oz. cans that are government issue—they say.
     For dinner, we plated meat patties with gravy, mashed potatoes, fried okra and a roll.
     Today's chuckle: A young man came to the counter for a lunch plate when Doug was taking away empty food pans and bringing new. It confused me for a second, and I admitted to the fellow, "I'm a bit confused, but we'll get there."
     "You know who the author of confusion is," he asked.
     Expecting an educated reply, I said, "No, who?"
     "The devil."

BUSTED

     I apologize if it takes me longer than usual to gain a full understanding of things at the shelter. I'm just a weekend volunteer. That said, today I got an earful and an eyeful of reality. I'll try to be brief.
     No, "the government" did NOT take away the pre-release prisoner program. The man who was Major God at that time cut off the prisoner program. We don't know why. He also severed the shelter's 20-year tie with a great food supply. You may recall when the "Death in a Tub" chicken salad went away. After that, we could no longer afford that or anything else appealing—because we no longer had that wonderful government money.
     The woman who had managed the shelter and the prison program and the finances for all of that was relieved of her 40 years of dutiful service—and it was dutiful service. Other positions also changed or went away.
     Without the money the prisoners brought in, there wasn't enough for food orders and full staff. After all, it's a homeless shelter that supposedly runs on donations. Which reminds me: Because "the economy" is doing so well… the shelter hasn't enough money to buy food and pay for sufficient staff.
     Those circumstances have finally dictated that Doug be assigned as weekend gatekeeper, along with his cook and bottle washer duties. I'm telling you: The boy's shorts are in a wad! We had a security guard last winter, you may recall, but that position is no longer affordable, and we truly need one. The street folks have been hovering in and around the front door, to get out of the heat. Our residents use those same areas for smoking and visiting. You wouldn't want to live there.
     So, the Hostile One has been coming back around looking for drinks and food. Doug has run her off several times because she's, well… hostile. Today, each time he checked the front lobby she was sleeping on the floor there, and he told her to leave. Finally, she went to the glass entryway (which is not air-conditioned), and there she lay, out cold, for the rest of the afternoon. I know because I took turns with Doug checking on the gate.
     The phone system is not working. I couldn't decide whether to put that in bold or italics or what, so there it is, plain and simple. Doug often bleeped, "What if I needed to call 911?" The answering machine apparently does work because a little red light on the phone would often blink, signaling a message.
     Around mid-morning, Kevin came to the back door, and Doug said, "I have never seen him like this!" So I went to see for myself. He looked like Kevin to me, but his voice is so very soft today that I understood little of what he said. I did make out, "You and Doug and me…" Whatever it is, we're in it together.

     Poor little fellow wobbled around on the porch for about 20 minutes. I gave him a sack lunch, two drinks and a cup of ice. Then he began to gather some of our broken-down boxes, no doubt for a bed tonight. Doug reminded him to leave nothing on the porch, but Kevin left a jacket and sunglasses. Doug gave them away. Teaching is a hard job.

     When Doug came through the kitchen cheerfully announcing, "Meet the new Kevin!" I went out to see. "The new Kevin" is two guys I call Moe and No Moe. They were not inebriated, and they were thankful for the lunches and drinks I gave them. I hope they don't leave trash. They spent the afternoon in the shade of a tree, stretched out for a nap.

     Lunch was Doug's famous potato soup, donated deli sandwiches and my own French-style sliced tomatoes (balsamic vinegar, olive oil, sea salt). All was well received. After the meal, the little lady whose grin says "we've got a secret" came to ask me if she could have some food to give a fellow out front who hadn't eaten all day. I told her to send him to the back door. He arrived at the bottom of the stairs looking absolutely pathetic—some mother's beautiful, tall, young, sandy-haired son, shaggy and worn and wearing a hot fleece jacket, zipped up to the nines. I told him, "Stay hydrated!" …stay alive…get sober…
     Our 85-year-old was at lunch with his caregiver. It is said that he has a monthly income of $4500 and that he cannot get up and down the stairs to his room without help. So many questions come with his situation!
   We filled 37 dinner plates with donated beef and gravy, new potatoes, red cabbage and a roll. It is wonderful to have so much nutritious donated food, but such a bummer to know that we have no choices now. Perhaps this financial bust is the thing that's stuck in Major God's craw (or lower).
   Doug really doesn't want to be a gatekeeper and cook. His pay has not changed, and we are quickly becoming far too dependent on volunteers. I don't have a good feeling about the future for our shelter.
    At 2 o'clock, Doug checked the front again and found a young woman there with a fresh syringe in her hands. He told her "No!" then made her break off the needle and put the syringe in a soda bottle. She said, "I really want to quit," and there he left her, quit for the moment, and most unhappy. He brought the soda bottle to the kitchen, then threw it over the porch rail and into the dumpster.

   When I left, there were three young people on the sidewalk near the parking lot. One was obviously sleeping, one was obviously very stressed, and the third was trying to comfort her. I did not put two and two together. I warned you earlier that I am slow. SO… as I began to exit the parking lot, I saw a little car easing my way. I waited for it to pass (few cars use that street and that one didn't appear to have a nearby destination). The car passed, and I pulled out behind it. Soon, that driver pulled over and put on his caution lights, so I went around him and came home, kicking myself all the way for not thinking to get his tag number. THAT CAR was surely there to service the young woman in withdrawal.

     Gee, I hope I learn to understand what I am looking at before it's too late again.

EVERYBODY HAS ONE

     Doug greeted me this morning with a sweet gift and birthday card. Great way to start any day!
 He had dinner in the oven and the PBJs ready to sack. We also made 20 meat-sandwich lunch sacks.
     Remember those meals Doug prepared for Major God's church—those meals that no one collected—those meals that were thrown away? Today, Major God told one of the office workers that he had decided to "just serve dessert." He never told Doug on Sunday. I've noted before how difficult the man seems to find it to be basically polite or thoughtful. The office workers are beginning to pay special attention to that man's behaviors. Stay tuned.
     We had about 10 for sack lunches, among them a new fellow who is 85 years old and who has a caregiver with him! This is a situation that I've not seen before. The old fellow wanted to go into town after lunch, so Doug arranged for one of the younger residents to accompany him and his caregiver. I dunno.
     As for Kevin… his apartment is completely cleaned out. "Major God sent him away," Doug said.
     "Really?" I asked. "What did he say to Kevin?"
     "Oh, he never actually spoke to Kevin; he told an office worker and she told the gatekeeper…" So it was handed down until someone told Kevin to clean up his place and not return there to sleep. About 2 p.m. today, we heard Kevin's knock. He looked good! Well… for Kevin. He had a lot on his mind. First, he said, he wanted to tell me about his encounter with the police… "and then I want a cup of ice, a drink, and a snack and a Gatorade." I stood there several minutes while he recounted his legal issues. I think he was telling me that a policeman had called the station to see if there were any warrants out on him and that he was proud to report there was none. He put his fist to his mouth several times as if speaking into a radio receiver, as he gave me both sides of the conversation he'd witnessed.
     Kevin's words are not very clear, his little body bent and unsteady. I gave him a sack lunch, a cup of ice and a Gatorade. Doug went out onto the porch to chat with him.
     We filled 37 plates for dinner: meatloaf (frozen long ago), mashed potatoes, peas 'n carrots with a roll, and that's a wrap.

THE SICK, THE SAD, AND THE ODD

     One of our ex-gatekeepers is hanging out at the kitchen this week—avoiding a hoard of siblings who have turned up from far and wide to see what they might gain from their mother's passing. Anyway, said ex-gatekeeper was safe in the kitchen with Doug and me, and he was so very pleasant and helpful.
     We did no cooking, as lunch was more of those horrid donated BBQ chicken nuggets, yellow rice, and chicken on skewers. Our several refrigerators and freezers are overflowing still (more). For dinner, we made 31 plates of pinto beans, peas 'n carrots, and turkey. The turkey was frozen 6 or 8 months ago and had long since lost its inviting aroma, but what can we do? Personally, I just went without lunch and scrounged a wee bag of chips from the pantry.
     Our Sunday-lunch guests included "my little boy" whom I have not seen in many weeks. He spoke to me from his seat at a table, but I couldn't hear him for all the kitchen noise, so I went into the dining room to hear him better. "I'm cold," he said. And he was having chills. I put my cheek on his forehead and announced to Doug, "This baby has a fever."
     The child's father entered our conversation. He was especially upset by this fever, as the child has strep throat for which treatment was begun on Friday, and not only that, but the child's tonsils were removed 2 months ago, supposedly to halt his too-frequent upper respiratory infections.
     I gave the child some school supplies from my godmother bag, and asked him if he'd like some chicken noodle soup. No. He might eat some chicken and rice soup. Half an hour later I had found a can of chicken and noodle homestyle Healthy Choice soup and replaced the noodles with yellow rice from a donation pan. Dad put the soup in the big wall fridge, then took the child to the ER. He hadn't given him the "pain and fever" med since last night, so I reminded him to stay on top of that… He's a super dad, but he's a guy.
     Our other child (Spanky, the extra fluffy one) came to lunch today. He asked me to bring him a sack of fried pizza rolls that is kept in the freezer for him. "Don't you eat regular food?" I asked. No, he doesn't, and boy is he overweight! I asked him, too, if he needed school supplies, and he said someone had provided those last week. Still, he appeared envious as I handed color pencils, crayons, eraser and glue to the other child.
     An hour past lunchtime, the nurse with the therapy dog came for a meal. She got a sack lunch. She was with "her new friend," as Doug calls him. Her new friend is that very tall, very skinny young man I mentioned last week (the one who was newly released from prison and never wants to go back). Doug had been trying to tell me that the young man was gay, but I wasn't buying it just because Doug said so.
     And then there he was, even taller than last week, in his black suede 6-inch boots. Well... maybe he just likes to dress up on Sundays.
     Doug had gatekeeper duty, so once or twice an hour he'd go up front to see if anyone needed to be let in. Things were quiet on that front. No EMTs today, no evil people, and only a few vagrants.
     And that's how I left the place, well after 2 o'clock, having done little more than serve a few plates and keep company with some folks. My friend Sylvia always said, "Company is good to the grave."

THE VERY SLOW DAY

     The porch appeared tidy when I approached the back stairs this morning, but on second glance I found Kevin sound asleep, sitting upright, exactly as he was 3 hours later. We must find help for Kevin. He is always welcome at the county jail, but that is not helping him.

     Doug was extremely proud to tell me that all we had to do was sack the meat sandwiches—that took 10 minutes. Lunch was in the oven and among the donations in the walk-in fridge. There were massive amounts of aluminum baking pans filled with restaurant donations in that fridge, in the walk-in freezer and in the wide, lighted wall fridge—meals, was far as the taste buds could imagine. Too far.
     The lunch bunch numbered about 10, and some had the gall to come as much as 90 minutes late, but everyone was pleasant. After that, Doug spent some time helping the gatekeeper with a man who made her nervous… and then a woman came in who was feeling suicidal. They gave her a sack lunch, but very soon she was hauled off by the EMTs. The shelter foyer receives many visitors from the streets—the saddest in winter.
     Doug and I plated 37 meals for dinner. When I left, Kevin was wobbling about on the lift, tidying his area. He called to me, "Hey there. Stop." I pretended I didn't notice, not wanting to become involved in a lengthy discussion of the outer dimension we call the Twilight Zone. He called twice more, raising his voice to a level I could not ignore. He just wanted to wish "Miss Lady" and nice weekend. How does one keep track of weekends when days and nights roll into a perpetual ball of hunger, thirst, addiction, collecting and sleep?
     You have a nice weekend too.

TOO MUCH AND TOO LITTLE

     Minutes after I arrived, Doug got two phone calls and left me alone with barely a hello. He was waylaid long enough for me to make 40 PBJs and sack them with drinks, chips and a napkin. THEN I was let in on the conversations. Doug's new boss asked him to be the gatekeeper and the cook today. That is a stretch because the "gate" and the kitchen are at opposite sides of the building. Richard, our usual gatekeeper, had been there all night and until late this morning, so the boss told Richard to go downstairs and sleep because he'll be keeping that gate again tonight. Furthermore, Major God had called to ask Doug to provide lunch for his whole church congregation.
     We did have an abundance of donations, with more on the way. So Doug put two large pans of fried chicken in the oven, a large pan of asparagus in the steamer, and potato salad on the prep table. As time passed, and the food was not collected, Doug was told that Major's wife was going to pick it up, but a lady had asked Wife to pray with her… and they were still taking care of that.
     When I left at 2:00, the foods had not been collected and church was long-since over. No one called to change the plan or to apologize; nor will he ever.
     For lunch we served BBQ, coleslaw and baked beans to a modest crowd, including two fellows from the hotel across the street. Doug was gone about half the time, checking on the gate.
     Kevin's area was clean when I arrived, and I only saw him briefly when he came to the back door for a drink. (I still think something's wrong with his legs; God only knows.)
     By 1:00, Doug's boss had come to relieve him of the gate, and we cleaned the kitchen for the night.
     The Hostile One checked herself out of the shelter; we're all glad to be relieved of her issues. Those who came to lunch were calm and quiet. Doug said they didn't like the food. Maybe he was right. It was eastern barbecue, and not recognizing that, Doug had dumped red barbecue sauce in it. No, I didn't give that a taste test.
     Tonight's dinner plates were filled with Salisbury steak 'n gravy, mac 'n cheese, Brussels sprouts with carrots, and a roll. The pantry, the freezer, the walk-in fridge and the big wall fridge are overflowing with donations, as are boxes stacked in the pantry and other places where they block our paths. I couldn't even step into the walk-in fridge…
     There was no joie de vivre in the kitchen today, as The Powers had left a pall on the place from the start of our morning. I suppose we can make up for it next week.
     I had to ask Doug to see me to my car this afternoon because a stranger with an expensive bicycle was rummaging through our dumpster. Doug just approaches scary situations with, "Hey, Buddy, can we help you?" Nope. Buddy and his bike scurried away.

NEVER A DULL MOMENT

     It's Doug's birthday! He got two cakes and sundry other goodies in recognition of the occasion, and we celebrated until 3 o'clock! It was not a dull day.

Welcome!

     My morning began at the back steps, where Kevin's litter was front and center. Doug met me in the kitchen with the announcement that he'd had it out yesterday with "Major God 'n 'em" about the massive amounts of donations we're receiving. Later, when two of the office workers came to discuss the issue, I asked them outright, "Exactly who is going to hell if we just say 'No, thank you?'" Their response was amazingly comprehensive. I surely wish Major God had been there for my question!

"Hey, Buddy… you think you can clean up your stuff right away?

Major God is coming, and we need to have it clean."

     Around mid-morning, Kevin brought a copy of Animal Farm to the back door and told Doug, "Give this to Miss Lady; I know she reads." Poor Kevin. Doug tried to hand it to me, but I refused to touch it. Later he brought another book and said, "You take it; you got gloves on." No sale.
     I don't know what keeps Kevin alive, though there are surely hundreds of thousands of humans in the Third World who live in poorer conditions. Kevin was eating foods we'd thrown in the dumpster and sharing them with flies. He tried twice to pay me with rocks today, but I begged off with "save them for me on Sunday! Okay?"

Have you tried this hemp water? 

     We had donated chicken pot pie for lunch, and when that ran out, the latecomers got sack lunches. The Hostile One from last Sunday arrived late and was most angry that we'd run out of pot pie. She claims that her bright red hair (cut harshly short) is her excuse for "attitude." She refused a sack lunch and sat down with the mother of the autistic boy—the woman who sometimes wears her teeth. That woman may be an addict, but she's no dummy; within a very few minutes, she had calmed down the Hostile One and was telling us not to worry, she had it covered. She did.
     Autistic Kid took one look at the pot pie and said, "I don't like that." I took a lesson from his mother and told him he needed to try it and that if he still didn't like it, he didn't have to eat it. Of course, he ate it all.
     Later, Office Worker was telling us that Hostile One's room was being searched and cleaned of many foods and drinks (like all that she took from the dining room last Sunday). No, she wasn't giving it to the people out front. She appears horribly addicted, with her edgy attitude, shaking legs and missing teeth…  and she's treading on thin ice with the staff.
     There's another new resident, very thin and very tall. He just got out of prison and says he never wants to go there again! All I could do was offer him sustenance, an encouraging word and a thumbs up.
     Doug and Shirt Man spent about an hour hashing out the downside of donations: Some things are rotten, some are molded, and why does "that woman" keep bringing us her rotten apples? Imagine a sealed box of mini muffins with a resident fly inside. Imagine a dozen banana boxes full of apples, plums, lemons, and bananas! There simply aren't enough people in that little shelter to eat such an abundance of food--not to mention the cooked meals in aluminum pans--dozens of them.

They come in the front door, are scavenged for salvage,

 then tossed out the back. Sad but necessary.

Ready-to-eat dishes, chef designed, carefully dated,

and much too much. (The walk-in fridge is full.)

     Kevin followed me to my car when I left, trying to give me a handful of rocks. I do feel a bit guilty begging off, but I left him with the promise of accepting them on Sunday, hoping fervently that he will not remember. After all, he'd spent the afternoon talking enthusiastically with an imaginary friend or simply to himself. I do it all the time.