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.
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